I smirk at my phone.
Happy: Your dad is literally sitting in front of me while we watch game tape, and you send me a photo of you wearing my goddamn name and number on your back?
Happy: I’d excuse myself to the bathroom if I didn’t have a raging hard on right now.
Me: So, you like it then?
Happy: Like it? I fucking love it! That jersey was made to be worn by you. Although I’m a bit sad you didn’t get it from me… Where did you get it from?
Me: NHL shop. It was in the window as I walked past, so of course I had to go in and buy it.
Happy: Wait a second. My jersey was in the window of the NHL shop?
Me: Yep. Front and center. I even took a photo of the storefront so I could show you. [Photo]
Happy: Look, Mom! I made it!
I smile. He’s so cute. And honestly, it’s a crying shame that Happy doesn’t seem to realize just how good of a player he is.
Happy: I’m gonna need you to wear it the next time I see you.
Me: Win against Dallas tonight and it’s the only thing I’ll wear next time you see me…
Happy: Fucking deal.
Since Dallas and Millie are from Texas originally, and the Thunder play the DFW Knights tonight and the Houston Drillerstomorrow, Millie and Emily flew out to Texas to meet up with the guys, watch the games, and spend some time with the Shaw family.
Fran invited me to the apartment she shares with Robbie to watch tonight’s game with some of the other WAGs, but I had to politely decline because when those women get together to watch a game, they spend most of the time gossiping instead of actually paying attention. Plus, Jackie Harris, wife of Thunder captain, Rusty, is as much of aC U Next Tuesdayas her husband; I try to avoid her as much as I can.
So, tonight, it’s just me in my Slater jersey, Toasty wearing his custom-made Draper jersey, a bottle of rosé, and dumplings ordered from the best little dumpling joint in the city. The perfect evening. At least, it was the perfect evening, until the Knights came out of nowhere after the break and scored three quick goals, pushing them into the lead.
Our guys aren’t playing bad. In fact, they’re playing better than I’ve seen them play so far this season. But it’s as if Dallas-Fort Worth have suddenly figured out that their spot in the playoffs is in jeopardy, and they’re like a completely different team than the Knights who have sucked for most of the regular season. Their defense during the last fifteen minutes has been out of this world, and now, with Logan icing the puck with only ninety seconds to go, the Dallas home crowd is already celebrating as the players line up for the faceoff.
I sag defeatedly against the couch cushion, tipping back the remainder of my third glass of wine, Toast huffing an exaggerated sigh as he rests his huge head on my thigh. I scratch him behind his ear with a muttered, “Same, dude.”
“We’re into the final minute here at American Airlines Center, DFW holding onto a one-goal lead, but New York’s not going down without a fight, Harris winning the faceoff!”
I look back up at the TV.
“The puck’s in deep. Thunder cycling through the zone… back to the point—it’s Slater… Happy Slater!” the announcer practically yells.
Sitting up fast, Toast Malone grunts at my sudden movement, but I’m on the edge of my seat watching the action unfold on the ice.
“Happy Slater winds—he shoots—he scores! Happy Slater! The defenseman comes roaring in and lights up the lamp with seconds left in the third!”
I jump up onto my feet, wine sloshing over the side of my glass as I shout, “Yes, Happy!”
“What a rocket from the blue line. Absolutely no chance for the Knights’ goalie. And, just like that, as the siren sounds, the New York Thunder have stormed back to tie it up! Can you believe this? The arena is shaking! A two-goal lead erased in a matter of four minutes, and now we’ve got a battle heading into overtime.”
You know how wine, or any kind of alcohol for that matter, makes you braver than what you normally might be when you’re stone-cold sober? Well, an hour later, after taking Toasty for a walk and opening my second bottle of wine, I’m kneeling on my bed, wearing Happy’s jersey and nothing else, holding my phone at just the right angle to get the best lighting possible, waiting as the line trills through the silence of my room, my dildo perched at my lips. But when the FaceTime connects and the screen flickers, I regret every decision I’ve made leading up to this point when, instead of Happy’s handsome face filling the screen, it’s Millie and Emily, their eyes identically wide and, understandably, full of shock.
“Oh my God!” I cry, tossing the dildo across the room, the silicone hitting the brick with a loudthwack.
“I knew it!” Millie squeals victoriously while, at the same time, Emily at least has the decency to shield her eyes, clearly trying not to laugh.
I pull the neck of my jersey up and over my head, concealing my flaming red face.
“What are you guys doing with my phone?” I hear Happy laugh from a distance before a few cuss words ensue, followed by the sound of a struggle. “Shit! Baby Draper?”
