I looked up from taping my stick to find Tyler and Erik flanking my stall like a pair of very large, very smug bookends.
“So what?” I said, though I already knew where this was going.
“Tonight’s the night,” Tyler continued, settling onto the bench beside me with the casual grace of someone about to ruin my entire pre-game routine. “The big debut.”
“It’s just a hockey game.”
“It’s Jacks’s first hockey game,” Erik corrected, his accent making the name sound more significant somehow. “There’s a difference.”
“Abigdifference,” Tyler agreed. “This is like . . . meeting the parents. Except instead of parents, it’s twenty-three brutes with sticks, twenty thousandscreaming fans, and a dozen TV cameras.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help. I’m trying to make you more nervous.” Tyler grinned. “Is it working?”
“I wasn’t nervous until you two showed up.”
“Liar,” Erik said. “You’ve retaped that stick three times.”
I looked down at my hands, which had indeed been obsessively wrapping and unwrapping the same section of tape for the last five minutes. “I like it tight.”
“Isn’t that what Jacks should be saying?” Tyler snapped, then waved his hands in the air and squealed. “Ooh, my boyfriend’s so tight.”
Erik devolved from a Cro-Magnon caveman into whatever the hell came before bulbous noggins and grunting hunters.
“Please don’t call him my boyfriend in the locker room,” I hissed, glancing about to make sure none of the other guys overheard.
“Why not? It’s accurate.”
“Because walls have ears, and some of those ears belong to people who aren’t ready for that conversation yet.”
Erik glanced around the locker room. The guys were going through their usual pre-game rituals—some listening to music, others stretching, andMurph holding court near the whiteboard with what appeared to be a detailed analysis of why pineapple belonged on pizza.
“Fair point,” Erik conceded. “But you know half these guys already suspect something, right?”
“They don’t—”
“Kowalski asked me yesterday if you were seeing someone,” Tyler said. “Said you’ve been painfully cheerful lately.”
“Painfully cheerful? Is that even a thing?”
“His words, not mine.” Tyler studied my face. “Although, if we’re honest here, you have been glowing harder than a pregnant woman who thinks chocolate goes on Pop Rocks. Like, legitimately glowing. It’s been pretty obvious.”
“I have good skincare.”
“You have a good boyfriend.” Tyler blew me an air kiss.
I threw a piece of tape at him. “Shut up.”
Erik leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. “Are you nervous? About tonight?”
I considered lying, but these were my best friends, the two people who’d held my secret for days and somehow already felt like co-conspirators in whatever this was becoming.
“A little,” I admitted. “I keep thinking, what if someone notices something? What if the camerascatch me looking at him, or what if I react wrong to something, or—”
“Sky.” Tyler’s voice was gentle now. “You’re overthinking again. It’s one game. He’s in the stands with friends while you’re on the ice doing your job. Nobody’s expecting you to sky-write his name or anything.”
“Though that would be pretty romantic,” Erik added. “Do it in blood like real Viking, though. Otherwise, no Valhalla for you . . . or your tight boy toy.”
