You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey #2) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,14
nickname?”
I blink at the unexpected question. “You mean a hockey nickname?”
“Yeah.”
“The guys call me Hellsy or Hells Bells.”
Her delighted laughter rings out. “I like Hells Bells. Can I call you that?”
“No.”
She laughs again.
“How about you?”
“I don’t play hockey.” She smirks.
“Ha ha.”
“Okay, I’ve been called Sahara. My dad calls me Sarahbarah. And when I was little, I was RaRa.”
“RaRa kind of suits you.”
She makes a face. “Don’t even think about it, Hells Bells.”
I grin. She amuses me so much.
“What do you think about brunch?” she asks.
“Uh…” Is she asking me out?
“I mean, do you think it’s brunch because of the time of day? Or food related? Like, can you have a hamburger for brunch?”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “If you have a hamburger, it’s lunch.”
“Even if it’s, say…ten-thirty in the morning?”
“Why would you have a hamburger at ten-thirty in the morning?”
“Say you did.”
“Well, then it’s lunch.”
“I think if you eat a meal at ten-thirty or eleven, it’s brunch no matter what you eat.”
“The word brunch is a combination of breakfast and lunch.”
“That proves me right.”
“What?” I frown. “Okay, maybe it does. What does it matter?”
She points a French fry at me. “Exactly.”
I snort-laugh. Jesus.
“How’s your hamburger?”
“Fantastic. You were right.”
“Good.” She takes another bite of her burger, chews, and swallows. She has a spot of ketchup just beside her mouth. “What’s something that makes you really angry?”
“Hmm. Bad drivers.”
“Yeah.” She appears to like my answer. “What else?”
“Lying, cheating, laziness, people not keeping their word, friends who betray you.” Ah shit. I shouldn’t have said that last one.
Her face softens. “Oh yeah. Those are all good ones. I also get angry when I’m hungry. Things bother me so much more.”
“Hangry. Oh yeah, definitely.”
“Excuse me.”
We both look up to see a woman standing by our table with two teenage girls, maybe fourteen and sixteen.
“My daughters are wondering if they could get your autograph.”
They’re looking at Sara. Not me.
The fact that this startles me makes me want to laugh. I feel my ego deflating like a balloon with the air let out of it.
“Of course!” Sara signs their paper napkins and poses for a picture with the girls, who tell her they watch all her videos. She’s very sweet about it, talking easily to the girls.
When they’re gone she slumps back in her seat. “Sorry. That still freaks me out.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I still can’t believe anyone wants my autograph.” She shakes her head. “It’s bizarro.”
We finish our lunch. She insists on paying, since it was her idea, and I let her. Outside the restaurant, we pause.
“Where are you headed?” I ask.
“Subway station, I guess. Just going home to do more work.” She gestures.
“I’ll walk with you there, then.”
We’re right near Bryant Park and as we get closer, Sara says, “Oh, they’re doing the bumper cars on ice!”
“What? Bumper cars?”
She takes my arm, urging me forward so we can see. There’s an ice rink in the park and sure enough, brightly colored bumper cars occupy one part of it. “Let’s see if we can do it!”
“Wait, what?”
She’s bouncing toward the entrance. “I think you have to buy tickets ahead, but sometimes they have spots open. Come on!”
With my mouth hanging open, I follow along, my gut tightening, I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, so I can do this, but all this socializing is a lot and I kind of don’t like having things sprung on me like this.
People are skating around on another part of the rink. The city buildings tower around us, a few flakes of snow drifting down from the pale sky.
Sara has already paid our admission fee by the time I catch up to her, and we’re soon led out onto the ice and given instructions and rules to follow. I can’t believe this is happening. I cross my arms as I listen, my neck and jaw stiff and tight.
Sara is practically jumping up and down, nodding along to the guy giving us the talk, and then she glances at me. Her smile dims and her eyes widen. She moves closer to me and whispers, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I can barely unclench my jaw.
“You don’t want to do this?” She sets a hand on my arm.
“No, it’s fine.” I exhale and try to relax. “It looks fun.”
She eyes me curiously, returning her attention to the guy saying, “When the ride is over, the cars will start to beep. Drive your car back to the rink wall or ask an attendant for help returning the car.”