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He’d put on a few pounds since the last time I saw him, too, and his face was a little puffier.
“It’s the brewskis, brotha.” Dad jabbed him right back, but he undoubtedly felt the same thing I’d felt when I coyly brushed up against Rust while we were talking—a rock-solid wall of muscle. The man was built. “Speaking of beer, I could use another. And I am absolutelyeyeingthat buffet.”
“Go make yourself a plate,” Rust said, and clapped Dad on the shoulder.
Rust and I were alone again for a few precious seconds. We watched the game, standing side-by-side, in deafening silence. Iwantedto say something, but what?
So was I imagining things or were we totally vibing a minute ago?
Hey, um, I liked it when you almost kissed me, wanna do that again sometime?
I won’t tell him if you don’t.
Instead, I said nothing, and neither did Rust.
A minute later, Dad returned with a beer and a plate piled high with pot roast and potatoes.
“Holy fuck, bud,” Rust teased. “You eat like you’re still playing twenty minutes a night.”
“Are you sure you want to chirp me over my playing time?” Dad warned as he shoveled a hunk of meat into his maw. “Tonight of all nights? When that nineteen-year-old stud is playing in your spot, and you’re sitting up here with the rest of us peasants?”
Rust forced a smile. “Got me there.”
“Hey, what was that saying you always used to say?” Dad adopted a gruff voice to imitate Rust and said, “‘You can either be dedicated to a woman, or to hockey. But you can’t be both.’ Well, Rusty ol’ boy, right now, you’ve got neither!”
Rust laughed through gritted teeth.
I yanked on Dad’s sleeve. “Dad, don’t be mean.”
“It’s okay. He’s right,” Rust said.
“Rust can take it,” Dad said, giving his buddy a side-hug. “Besides, it’s not like he’stotallyalone in the world. How’s Minka doing, big fella?”
“Good, but I think the move’s been tough on her.”
“How so?”
“She keeps destroying shit while I’m on the road. It’s the weirdest thing, because she never did it until we came to Vegas. Last road trip, I came home to a chewed-up couch.”
“Ouch. That hurts,” Dad said.
“Brand new, too. I don’t even wanna say how much I paid for it.”
I butted in. “Minka is your dog, I take it?”
“No, Minka is his girlfriend,” Dad said. “She’s a real homewrecker.”
“Oh,ha ha,Dad.” I rolled my eyes at the lamest dad joke ever.
“Yeah, Minka’s my pup.” Rust pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Wanna see her?”
My eyes lit up. “Yes! I love dogs.”
Rust sidled next to me. I was just happy to have him standing next to me again. His body was so big and warm, it was justcomfortingto be in his presence—like huddling up to a big bonfire in the biting cold. I leaned even closer, and his scent filled my senses. He smelled like oak and leather, a subtle but manly scent that made me weak in the knees.
Rust swiped through his photo gallery, which was full of pictures of a grey and white husky. Minka had eerily blue eyes, funny puffs of white fur right where her eyebrows would be, and the most expressive face ever. In each photo, she seemed to be conveying a different emotion. I wished I could hug her.
In one picture, Minka wore a birthday hat, and was sitting in front of a doggy cupcake, one eyebrow raised—as if she were saying,really, Dad?
