Page 26 of Your Kiss Is On My List

“It’s always like that isn’t it? On edge until the end and you know it’s over, in the books.” He nods and I see it, a tiny lift of one side of his mouth. Then he moves on to the next question from the clamoring reporters, all more seasoned than I am, all men and all far more knowledgeable about hockey by the sounds of their questions. I thought I knew something about the sport, having watched Trey play since he was in pee-wees and I was a kindergartener new to the neighborhood. Standing back, I listen and learn, pay attention to the questions he expounds on, the ones he answers curtly, and the one he ignored altogether.

That was the one about their chances to win the Frozen Four championship. He doesn’t like to predict the future and I can’t say I blame him.

“That’s it for tonight. I’ll send out Nate and Bigby for commentary. Take it easy on them.” He doesn’t crack a smile as he turns away, gives me a last nod, and stalks down the crowded hallway taking the fans’ well wishes in stride. I watch him until he disappears into a door I presume is his office.

“Let’s get this film back to the station for editing,” my camera guy says.

“Don’t you send it electronically?”

“Sure, but I want to do the editing in the studio.” I nod and, though I’m reluctant, I leave with him because I need to have input, ideally to make sure we get a clip of that last save Coach talked about and of Coach on the bench as the buzzer sounds. Unlikely, but I can hope. Or I can get a clip of Coach when the buzzer sounds at the end of the period and cut to a clip of the scoreboard of this game.

I pick up my pace as I follow him out, grabbing Heather’s hand as I pass by her against the wall. “Tell everyone I’ll be late, but I’ll be there.” She nods and I squeeze her hand before I let go and move out the nearest steel door with an exit sign. We’re all meeting at Wildbeast pizza and I hope that includes Trey, but I haven’t talked to him. We jump into the station’s van and I pull out my phone to text Trey. Worrying my lip as I thumb my message, I tell myself not to overthink whether or not I have a right to expect him to go out with me after the game. Tomorrow is the first day of classes and I know he’s said he doesn’t go out during the semester. But that was before we made our deal. How far does our pretense go? How far does our friendship go?

Me: Meet u at WBP L8tr. Going back 2 studio 4 a wile xo Doll

I put my phone away and as soon as we arrive at the service entrance to the studio building, I jump from the van and race inside. There are a dozen people in various cubicles or in Jaworski’s office, probably brainstorming the big back-to-class morning show. He promised me my clip would make the sports segment if it’s good, because interest in the hockey team is so high. The room buzzes with voices and anticipation as my camera guy, Lenny, flicks on the computer at his station and we get to work.

When we’re finished forty-five minutes later, I rip the phone from my bag in a panic.

“Oh shit.”

“What’s the matter? Did we forget something?” Lenny asks.

“No, it’s nothing.” I can’t explain to him my disappointment as I scroll past a column of texts asking me where I am, looking for the return text from Trey. When I find it, my heart goes from beating rapidly to sinking like a lead ball into my gut.

Trey: Not going out 2nite. Have fun -Baby

My disappointment starts with him not coming out and ratchets up to extreme when he omits the xo from his signature. At least he signed it Baby. That’s something. But there’s no reasoning with my heart as I drag myself from the office, barely pasting on a professional smile.

“See you later. Thank you for doing such a fabulous job.” Lenny smiles back, still on the computer, and gives me a thumbs-up. I text Heather to let her know I’m going home and I head outside.

It’s cold. A gust of wind whips me as if Mother Nature understands I need a dose of cold reality. Trey’s not mine. Don’t forget that, baby doll.

Those were the last words my father said to me before he left so long ago, only he also said, You’ll always be my little girl. Don’t forget that, baby doll.

I had forgotten about it, or at least I hadn’t consciously remembered Dad said that to me when I came up with the idea for Trey and me to have our special names. Baby. Doll. Duh. It’s my subconscious working on me connecting the loss of my father and Trey, yet another male figure who doesn’t want me. I’m so pathetic. Half jogging under the bright lights of the campus, I clutch my coat collar tight around my neck against the whipping wind.

I don’t belong to anyone, do I? Mom’s right about needing to be independent. When I reach our street, I hear the unmistakable ping of my phone, the harbinger of an incoming text. All notions of independence fly from my head and I stop short to fish my phone from my bag. It’s a message from Trey and my stupid pathetic heart speeds up.

Trey: U can come ovr if u want. 4 a few mins

There’s no signature line, but I refuse to overthink it and thumb back my response that I’ll be there in five. Apparently, I have a very high threshold for how pathetic I can be before I give up. Or maybe I’ll never give up because dad came back, didn’t he? Sort of.

Logically there’s no connection between my dad contacting me and Trey changing his mind about our friend-to-lovers status, but don’t tell my heart that because it’s not listening. Not at all as I practically run down the street past my house to BMOC House all the way around to the back door. It’s unlocked and I breathe a shaky sigh of relief as I let myself into the dark kitchen, only a night light illuminating the half-eaten cake on the old wooden table. The cake makes me smile and I rush up the stairs two at a time, unfiltered joy moving me, giving me an unreasonable jolt of life and energy.

The knock on his door is impossibly soft and so uncharacteristic of me, but the floor is quiet with only muffled music drifting from the other end of the hall. My heart jumps around like a caged bird in my chest, flying in and out of my throat as I wait for Trey to answer my knock. Maybe I should leave.

The door opens halfway and I get an eyeful of bare man-chest like I don’t ever remember seeing—not outside a movie theater. When I drag my eyes up to meet his gaze, I’m not surprised to see the knowing smirk on his face, but his gravelly voice is my undoing.

“Come on in, Dani.” His eyes glance around the hall to see that it’s empty. “I barely heard your knock, but I’m glad no one else did either.”

“Because you want to be alone with me?” My devil-may-care confidence returns in spades in spite of my wildly erratic heartbeat.

He doesn’t answer me as he closes the door behind us and sits down on his messy bed. He’s dressed in flannel pants and nothing else and I want to join him on the bed and push him back onto his pillows and …

“Sit. We need to talk.” Crap, that doesn’t sound good, but I sit next to him because it’s the kind of invitation I can’t refuse in spite of the impending dread his comment conjures.

“Did someone die?” I manage a smile. He quirks one side of his mouth.