Page 66 of Puck, Marry, Kill

“You and me? Tattoo buddies.” I point between us. “It’s gonna happen. I’m manifesting it, as my sister would say.”

Chapter 23

Briar

“I spy, with my little eye, something blue,” Harley says around a mouthful of cotton candy.

“Your face.” I point at the blue ring around his lips.

He shakes his head, grinning. His teeth are blue, too, and I make a mental note to have him double-brush tonight before bed, while simultaneously giving myself credit for the vegetables I got him to eat before his one sweet treat of the night.

“No fair. There must be a million things in here that are blue.” I hold my hands out, gesturing to the entire arena, which is a sea of Blizzard baby blue. We’re not sitting on the center glass tonight, but rather, halfway up the lower bowl, not that Harley has minded a bit. Truth be told, I think he’s slightly more interested in the junk food selection than the action on the ice, though he’s been watching that as closely as he has the wandering snack vendors.

Getting in on the fun, Penny says, “Your mom’s jersey.”

I meet her eyes, seeing the teasing light dancing in their brown depths as she points at my shirt, which is indeed a Dominic Lee jersey that I paired with red pom-pom earrings to match my tennis shoes.

Dominic’s sister is sitting with us tonight as the Blizzard takes on the Hawks, which means Dom is playing against his old team, teammates,and most especially, his “brother from another mother” Griffin. This has the makings of a Shakespearean tragedy, but so far, the game has been pretty evenly matched with a score of 0–0 at the end of the first period. The teams are playing hard, but clean.

Meeting Penny tonight had made my entire belly flip-flop with nerves, but she’d instantly set me at ease by running up and hugging me like we were long-lost sisters. A second after that, she’d become friends with Harley by giving him a signed Griffin Mahoney card, though she’d also required him to raise his right hand and vow to tell Dominic that Honey is the best defenseman in the league, which he’d laughingly done but he’d also held up crossed fingers. Then, as we went to find our seats, she accidentally tumbled up the metal stairs—yes, going up them—and we’d bonded over my handy-dandy, mom-approved Band-Aids, which I’d whipped out of my bag. She’s now sporting one on each knee, neon orange on the left and neon green on the right, neither of which match her hunter-green Hawks jersey or black tennis skirt.

In short, we’re basically besties now.

“Nope, not a jersey,” Harley answers. “Want a hint?”

Yes, definitely. But before I can answer, Penny does. “Not yet. What about the logo on the ice?”

Harley looks down to where she’s pointing but shakes his head again. “No, but that was a good guess. You’re warmer.”

He’s giving hints anyway, realizing he really has set forth an impossible task. But it takes several more rounds before we finally figure out that the something blue is the top lip of the wall surrounding the ice.

As the second period starts and Harley loses interest in I Spy in favor of locking in on the game, Penny sits back in her seat and leans my way. “On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole has my brother been since moving out here?”

“Is ten a complete asshole or not at all?” I clarify.

“Complete.” She winces, one eye closed like she’s afraid to hear the answer.

“Then, I’d say ... a one?”

“What?” she balks. Then she waves a hand, like she’s negating what I just said. “You’ve got it backward. One is not at all.”

I nod, sticking by my rating. “I’m sure the guys would feel differently, but he’s been great with me. Patient and kind and sweet. He’s really thoughtful and has helped me figure some stuff out that I should’ve seen a long time ago.” I hope I don’t sound too psycho-chick obsessed, but the truth is, I’ve fallen hard for Dom.

Her brows knit together, and she smiles wonderingly. “Dominic Lee. Number sixteen. That guy?” She points at the ice like I might be confused. “He’s not all grunty and bossy, telling you what to do and what not to do all the time like you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached?” She taps her temple, obviously talking about herself.

“No,” I laugh, shaking my head. “That must be just you.”

“Well, don’t I feel special?” she says dryly. But she instantly perks up. “You should hear the things he says about you.”

“He talks about me?” It’s none of my business, but a girl can’t help but be nosy when she’s dangling the intel out so enticingly.

“Oh yeah,” she says, her smile wide. “Nonstop. Well—” She pauses, tilting her head, reconsidering. “When he’s not complaining about the guys, his apartment, or his new coach. That’s your dad, right?”

Nifty little sidestep there,I think. I see where Dom gets his verbal skills from.

“Yeah. He takes some getting used to,” I say diplomatically.

“Dom called him a pickle juice enema,” she confides.