Page 29 of The Puck Bunny

“Your hand is going to freeze. I don’t suppose you have an ace bandage to wrap it in place?”

“No, but I think I can dig up a scarf that’ll work.” She raises a finger to indicate one minute then returning remarkably fast with a long colorful scarf in hot pink and turquoise.

I laugh as she gets to work wrapping it around the makeshift icepack around my upper arm and then around my neck to hold it onto my shoulder.

“Perfect,” she says, looking proud and happy and expectant.

“Yes,” I say, close enough to be staring at the light spray of freckles across her nose, faint enough that I hadn’t noticed them before. I clear my throat.

“I’ll set my timer for fifteen minutes.” She taps her watch.

“You go full tilt at everything you do, don’t you?” I ask. This is something I can identify with. Getting to the NHL required me to be single-minded from a young age.

“I guess.” She stares at me like she wants to go full tilt with me again, but as tempting as she is, I’m convinced about it being a bad idea.

“How old are you?”

“Plenty old enough. Don’t worry, I’m not a minor.”

“Answer the question.” I narrow my eyes at her.

She’s trying to look offended and miffed. “Twenty-two. I graduated last May from UNH.” Her face lights up in a smile. “Tell me about your time at UNH. It must have been so much fun. I’ve heard it was an exciting time to be there, to get swept up in the Wildcat fever, all the wins and the Frozen Four Championship. We didn’t win during my time there.”

“It was the best time of my life,” I admit, realizing it for the first time. “I haven’t been part of a team like that since then.”

“Until now,” she says confidently.

I nod. She’s right. Her face lights up in that same smile, but she doesn’t seem like the same awkward would-be puck bunny she did an hour ago, all flustered and unsure.

“Tell me, Sara, as a mischief-maker, what were your college days like? Did you plot elaborate schemes to meet guys back then?”

She laughs and covers her face, but just for a second. “Okay, I had that coming, but no. I was too chicken to carry off any of the schemes I might dream up in my head—and I admit there were a few. Billie Mae always talked me out of anything I’d actually mentioned out loud after a few tequilas—my kryptonite, by the way. She was my best friend then and now, but she believes in more conventional methods of attracting men.”

I laugh. “Tell me some of your secret plots.”

“Not—I’m already working off the embarrassment from tonight. You tell me about some of your mischief-making escapades.”

“What makes you think I was a mischief-maker?”

“Because you haven’t called the men in white coats to take me away yet.”

“Touché. You’re right. I appreciate a good bit of outlandish behavior now and again. Of course, at my advanced age, I’ve grown out of it mostly.”

She hits me with a pillow to my chest. “You owe me at least one story as consolation and I don’t care how far back you have to go.”

“Okay, here you go. When I was a kid, I was the mischievous one in the family, the kid who did dumb things to get attention. Maybe I needed to get attention from my parents because they favored my older brother who was perfect. But I got their attention all right. It worked so well that my mischief carried over to school, though I eventually realized I got more attention from playing hockey so I quit being a knucklehead.”

“You still have a bold exhibitionist streak,” she says, nailing me like she’s known me forever. “Give me one story. I promise I won’t tell.”

“Since you’re so irresistible, I will. Hmmm…” I rub my chin and pretend to think about what to tell her, but there’s one story that leaps to mind. I’ll share it, but not right away.

“In sixth grade my coach, Mr. Derico, had to intervene and put a stop to my mischief because I put hair dye in my friend Lenny’s older sister’s shampoo bottle and she had to go to school with green hair—way before it was fashionable to do so.”

She laughs. “That’s nothing. I know you have a better story than that.”

She’s right. “I’m saving the good story, but I want a reward. What will you do if I tell you?” I’m all too aware that I’m flirting with her now and I’m not sure if it’s my natural instinct or if it’s her who provokes me. Either way, it’s dangerous and not what I need to be doing, so I reign it in and I’m about to shut it down when she responds by leaning in.

“How about a kiss?”