I looked up just in time to see Graham disappear through the doorway.
“Let me guess,” Skippy said. “He’s never seen any of us before in his life. Especially you, Rik.”
“Oh…” Daphne said, frowning. “That’s not cool.”
“It is what it is,” I said.
“Coward,” Skippy hissed.
I held in my groan. Because even though Skippy was probably right, I really didn’t want to hear it from him.
“Coming, Rikker?” Bella called. She was holding the door for me, and everyone else had gone in.
“Come here a second, Bells,” I replied.
“Oh, it’s her!” Skippy jumped up and down. “Ross, unzip Bella.”
Ross was holding a duffel bag on his shoulder. And when he unzipped the end of it, I noticed that it wasn’t an ordinary bag. It was a mesh-walled dog carrier. From inside, he extracted a wiggling poodle.
When Bella joined me, I said, “Bella, this is…”
“Ooooooh!” she crooned, reaching for the dog. “Hello my lovely! Hello! Who’s a good girl?” Bella (the dog) began to vigorously lick Bella (the girl) on the face. Laughing, she passed the dog back to Ross. And then she introduced herself, before announcing that we had to go inside. “Coach is going to wonder what happened to us.”
“Just a sec,” I said. Then I gathered my friends into a semi-awkward group hug. “Nice of you to show up for the game. Seriously.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Skippy said, kissing my cheek. “Break a leg.”
“That is not what you say to a hockey player,” I laughed, wiping a little orange face paint off my cheek.
“Iknowthat, I used to date one,” Skippy winked. “I was just being ironical.”
I gave them a wave and followed Bella inside, praying to myself.Please don’t let this be the most embarrassing night of my life.
“Your ex is pretty cute, for a skinny guy,” Bella said, swatting me on the butt. “So that’s your type, huh?”
I couldn’t help it. My eyes flicked over to Graham, who I caught watching us. He looked away.Busted. “My type? Eh. It’s not that simple. I like ‘em tall and complicated.”
Bella laughed. “So do I!”
The locker assignments were sorted out. And then the usual checklist of locker room antics was followed. Hockey sticks were taped and retaped. Sore muscles were taped and retaped. Coach paced the room, reminding us not to go postal at the first sign of trouble, like a pack of cranky toddlers. Bella did nervous little circles around me, wearing a groove into the blade-proof rubber padding underfoot. “It’s going to be fine this time,” she kept saying.
The lady doth protest too much.
“Hey, Johnny Rikker!” came a shout through the partially-opened locker room door. “Getcha ass out here!”
The sound of my name pushed past the clouds out of my brain. Petey Pulaski’s rough voice brought me the first untroubled smile I’d had all day. I went through that door in a hurry, and was immediately tackled into that sort of half hug, half beating that guys began perfecting during their teenage years.
“Jesus, Petey,” I laughed as I fought off the headlock with my knuckles in his ribs.
“HEY! Knock it off!”
Coach’s ear-busting shout startled the both of us. Petey eased up quickly, and I took my hands off my friend. “We’re just kiddin’ around here, Coach,” I said quickly.
The old man’s face did not immediately relax. He stared at us for a beat before turning back into the locker room.
“Jesus, Rikker. Do you have a rep for brawling?” Petey asked. He couldn’t resist one more playful punch to my hip.
“Ow! He’s just, um, wound a little tight.”
