Page 41 of The Puck Bunny

“Are we going to win The Cup?”

I’ll be answering that question in my sleep tonight, but Quinn finds a way to make it seem like he’s giving the answer due consideration each time, coming up with a different way to say Yes with conviction over and over again.

What a man—that’s what I call stamina. And dedication. I sigh.

* * *

The end of the day seems to come abruptly since there was no slow down in the stream of fans as the doors shut down. Delaney pulls us from the room to instruct us on controlling the social media posts.

“Make sure you put up the most positive shots you have, especially the ones with the princess. What’s her name?”

“Anica Romanova,” I say automatically, wishing I didn’t have her name seared in my memory—in the dark place reserved for enemies of the people care about. Crap. I care about Quinn—as a person.

* * *

The next day, work is blessedly quiet and I contemplate putting my head down on my desk for a nap the way I did in kindergarten. But these cubicles aren’t private enough and, as much as I should call this quits and find another better-paying job, I don’t want to. Everyone says you need to stay in a job for a year or people get suspicious about your rep.

Plus, even if I’m not normally a fan of self-inflicted torture, I want to stay so I can see Quinn. I’m not delusional enough to think I’d ever see him again outside of work.

I’m exhausted and confused. Luckily, I don’t have to take the T home tonight and can relax back into the seat of Billie Mae’s car and close my eyes.

Billie Mae is coming to dinner tonight because my older brother, Bobby, will be home. I’m pretty sure she has a crush. It’s a big occasion in the family, of course. I try not to be jealous of all the attention he gets because… how can I be? I’m just as smitten and guilty of treating him like the second coming as everyone else is. He’s a pro hockey player.

He’d been named for Bobby Orr and does play goalie for a minor league AHL team in the Midwest, but, other than that, he’s nothing like the hockey great. He’s got a slim chance of making it to the NHL. At twenty-four he’s an old man on his team, and this year could be his last chance to make it.

Thank God Billie Mae isn’t grilling me for details about Bobby’s love life—not that I have any. Instead, she’s trying to talk me down from the disappointment of my abject failure at accomplishing my big O goal the one night I had my chance.

“Maybe Quinn will still be up for a one-night-only rendezvous on the sly.”

I don’t tell her that my disappointment goes well beyond that because a big O dam-busting night is only the tip of the iceberg of the kinds of things I’ve now allowed myself to want. I’m way too big a dreamer. Way too non-action oriented. This is what happens when I act on making dreams come true.

What happens? Horrific crushing disappointment and an even bigger dream to take home, one even more impossible than the last. I’m not even going to admit in my head what that’s all about no matter how much I feel the ache in my chest as if I’d done fifty push-ups last night.

“Why would he go to the bother?” I wave a hand in dismissal. “He’s clearly playing in another league that is so far above my pay grade that I may as well be a kindergartener.”

“That mixed metaphor makes no sense,” she says.

“You know what I mean. Keep your eyes on the road.” She’s driving because she has a car and I, of course, do not. “Maybe I should quit and take one of those well-paying jobs I was offered last summer. Do you think OMD still has an opening?”

“Don’t be hasty. You’re a grown-up. You can handle this. The cure is for you to meet someone else. Someone not related in any way with hockey.”

I give her a side-eye which is lost on her since her eyes are glued to the road.

“Besides, you wanted this job for a reason. We’ll qualify for game tickets soon—we can’t leave now.”

“That’s true. We didn’t work this hard for peanuts the past three months to miss out on the one true perk that makes this job special.” I pat her shoulder. “Thank you for reminding me and helping me keep a cool head. I’ll just have to suck it up like an adult and stop dreaming about crazy fantasies and enjoy the job, stay for a year for the resume like we planned and maybe even meet some nice guy when we’re out some time now that I feel more confident about flirting in bars.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m holding you to the plan to go out to bars.”

That reminds me of Sheila and Mindy and my conscience squeezes my achy chest. “Sure. Except I can’t go back to The Tea Party or be a member of the puck bunny text group anymore. I hope Mindy and Jonas are going to be okay.”

“If you want to still be friends with them, you should. Meet them somewhere else.” Billie Mae shrugs. “But don’t, whatever you do, let them know you work for the Brawlers. Who knows what they’d make of that?”

“What do you mean?”

“They might try to take advantage of you, Sara. You’re too giving to people.” She taps my arm.