Page 53 of Lucky Mother Pucker

“What’s good here?” I ask.

“Everything. The big daddy is my favorite.”

I read the description on the menu board. Fried chicken strips, mozzarella sticks, and vodka sauce on a toasted ciabatta roll.

“Okay, that sounds amazing.” I order it, then Leo orders his sandwich. I’m surprised when he asks for a grilled veggie sub with no cheese or dressing.

We sit down at a small table near the window facing the parking lot. A minute later, a worker brings our sandwiches to the table.

When I take a bite, I groan at the burst of flavors. “Oh my god,” I say around a mouthful. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

He grins. “So good, right?”

I take another bite. “Why didn’t you order this?”

“It would put me over my calorie limit for the day,” he says while unwrapping his veggie sandwich.

I almost laugh. “Leo, you’re in fantastic shape. I’m sure one indulgent sandwich wouldn’t kill you.”

He doesn’t laugh like I think he will. He just frowns down at his sandwich and takes a bite. “Every little bit counts. I can’t afford to slip up on my diet. Not if I want to play at my best.”

I’m taken aback at how serious and robotic he sounds. It’s not like he’s eating only junk food for the next week. It’s one sandwich. Is he really that strict?

I suddenly feel guilty for eating this—the one thing he wants but can’t have—in front of him.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Is it bothering you that I’m eating this in front of you?”

He looks at me, his brow lifted in surprise. “No, it’s fine.”

“I just don’t want to rub it in your face.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile. “You’re not. Keep eating.”

I take another bite. “I didn’t know you had to be so strict with your diet to play hockey. But, um, I don’t know much about sports at all.”

“I’m a little stricter than other guys.”

“Why?”

He looks at me for a second without saying anything.

“Sorry, I’m prying. That’s rude.”

“It’s not. It’s just…kind of a messed-up story, and I’m not sure if I wanna make you listen to it.”

“I told you the messed-up story of how I lost my parents and ended up homeless. You listened patiently. It’s only fair that I do the same for you,” I say quietly, hoping I don’t come off like I’m being pushy.

Because I really do want Leo to talk to me, to open up to me. But only if he wants to.

He clears his throat. “It’s a habit instilled in me by my dad. He was a professional hockey player for a long time. He retired due to injury when I was a little kid. Ever since then, he’s made me his project.”

“His project?”

“He’s committed to making sure that I’m the best hockey player I can be. And part of that is being perfect with my training, recovery, and my diet.”

“Oh.” I’m quiet for a second.

He looks at me. “What?”