Page 18 of The Puck Bunny

I do another circle in front of the mirror. “But, seriously, do you think he’ll recognize me?”

“I don’t think so. You don’t look like yourself at all with all that make up and red hair. Plus the super bra really pops your boobs. You should wear it all the time.”

I hunch my shoulders, self-conscious about my size.

“He’ll never know you’re Sara. I’ve forgotten already. You’re Lola to me.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.”

“God, you’re good at that husky voice. You sure you can keep it up for the whole night?”

“No choice.”

“You sure it’s necessary?”

“Ye-aah. He’ll know it’s me otherwise because he heard me at the meeting with Delaney. But he never really heard Lola-the-puck-bunny talk—except that crazy speech I made when I was half drunk and didn’t sound like myself anyway since I was loud and crazy on tequila.”

“Promise to take videos—with the volume up. I got to hear all the drama.”

I snort. “Now who’s crazy? No videos. You heard Delaney; we’re supposed to be avoiding puck bunny videos of Quinn. Plus, I want to stay anonymous and plan to hide my face from every person in the place except our little group.”

“Don’t get paranoid.”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see how fast any little stir can bring up those cell phones, even in a bar where the crowd is notorious for letting the team be.”

She shakes her head. “That’s right, I didn’t see it. But I’d sure like to. Are you sure I can’t come and sit in the corner? I promise—”

“Absolutely not. I couldn’t play the part with you watching. And don’t even think of disguising yourself because I’ll see right through it.”

She laughs. “I told you, stop being so paranoid. You’re the only nut who goes out in disguise around here. I’m me, myself, and I, the one-and-only.”

It’s true. Billie Mae is singularly self-possessed and sure of who she is. It’s what drew me to her. And what I envy most about her. At the advanced age of twenty-one, I’m still searching and confused, still getting my footing, still coming out to the world and myself, not quite yet fully formed and comfortable in my skin. Whoever’s skin that is.

She finishes spraying my freshly-dyed-red hair with a gallon of hair spray while I cough.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, checking my watch and scampering to the door with my heart picking up speed as this charade starts to get real.

Tonight the skin I’m wearing is Lola, the puck bunny avenger.

CHAPTER 8

QUINN

I arrive in the locker room three hours before game time. A group of the guys head toward me from the buffet. Jonas is with them.

“Hold on a minute,” I corner Jonas at his locker. “It’s time we had a talk.”

“Not that bullshit again.”

He takes a seat on the bench and opens his bag.

I sit next to him. “We need to clear the air. We’re teammates and there’s a problem between us.”

He gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind, and frankly, I’m thinking maybe I have, because this thing with him and the puck bunny—or all the puck bunnies—has me bothered like I’ve been walking around with a sprained ankle.

“The only problem between us,” he says, “is that you’re getting into my personal business where you don’t belong.”

I sigh. “You wouldn’t know a mentor if one rolled you up in a ball of dough and baked you in the oven at five-hundred degrees, would you?”