Page 6 of Net and Chill

COREY: Thats brisket cross. She doesnt dare haockey players

DAVE: For fuck sake moron check your spelling before you hit send

COREY: Use punctiuations sixkhead!!!!!

ADAM: This chat should be for game-related sharing of information only.

COREY:

DAVE:

DAVE: I’m sorry, Bowie, but my wife will literally kill me if I don’t tell her about this. Everyone knows Bridget Cross isn’t into hockey guys. If she goes home with you that’s like winning the Stanley Cup.

DAVE: Or the opposite of the Stanley Cup if she’s not into hockey, I guess.

DAVE: It’s like winning the Nobel Prize for hooking up.

COREY: Wait what just happened? Did she just blow you off?

WINSLOW: Everybody shut the fuck up. It’s my birthday. My phone keeps vibrating and I check it because I think it’s someone wishing me a happy birthday. But it’s you guys being shitheads.

ME: I was just saying hi to my tailor. Everyone settle down, wish Winnie a happy birthday, and

By the time I’ve slipped my phone back into my pocket, Bridget’s stepping through the door andlooking around. She’s wearing those same skinny jeans with high-heel sandals, and I like watching her walk. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweats I take a few steps toward her as she approaches, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She grins at me, like we’re both in on something. I like it.

“Hi.” She shrugs. “Small towns, you know?”

“Yeah. I’m right here.” I lead her to where I parked my SUV. She still smells like a sexy shower, but like the shower is in a fancy spa.

“So you come back to Kenton every summer?” she asks.

“Yeah. I love it here.”

“Yeah?” She wrinkles her nose, grinning, all impish, but it’s so cute. “It’s not for superstitious reasons?”

“Now, why would you say that?”

She waves her hand in front of her face, giggling. “I may have listened to an old episode ofThe Net Zeroespodcast this afternoon where they listed every known superstitious behavior you’re said to have practiced.”

“Those guys are assholes.”

“They really are, but it was fascinating—they have a lot of respect for you.”

“I doubt even twenty percent of the things they listed were accurate.”

“Is it true you talk to goalposts? I mean, I know it is because I watched a video someone edited on YouTube. What do you say?”

“That’s between me and the goalposts.”

“Fair.”

We reach my car, and I rest my forearm on the roof, above the passenger door. She naturally leans back against the door panel, her arms still wrapped around herself. I’m not crowding her, but I do feel like I should guard her from the street.

“I really hope it’s true that you have a special relationship with one of the stray cats that lives in the Detroit arena.”

“Well, if I did have a special relationship with Phyllis, I wouldn’t tell anyone, because I am discreet. However, she is not a stray so much as a resident cat who’s allowed free run of the building when it’s closed, and she enjoys a particular brand of high-quality sardines from Spain that you can only get in the US at a mercado in Brooklyn. They always keep a few cans for me in stock.”

“Awww!” She touches her hand to her chest and sways a little as she smiles up at me.