Page 5 of This is a Kissing Book

Oly makes an exaggerated Ooh sound that can only mean one thing. She’s canceling. I’m a sinking ship. The shore is far away. Goodbye, cruel world.

“I’m so sorry. Nate’s trip was scrapped because he was laid off.”

Sympathy quickly replaces disappointment. I’d tell her about my day and the near layoff scare, but she has to console her husband, so we’re off the phone in record time.

I don’t mind being alone, but sometimes silence can almost be louder than a summer concert in the park.

Guess it’ll be me, a girl dinner, and a rerun of “The Sweetheart Report.” Before I put on my quitting-for-the-day clothes, I check the Meridian Holdings employee app to make sure I didn’t miss anything important—like I was actually let go and can go commiserate with my best friend and her husband.

I want to keep my job, but Friday nights at home, when I’ve been anticipating fun plans all week, can be their own kind of reality check sandwich.

The little red dot indicating I have a Meridian app message glows. I read the email from HR detailing that I’ve been transferred to the thirty-ninth floor with the title “Special Projects Assistant.”

This must be a mistake. I reread the message while the neighbors with whom I share a wall argue as usual. Screechy and Grumbly bicker about replacing the toilet paper roll.

If only they had real problems.

Like the error HR made.

To my neighbors, I holler, “Guys, the solution is simple. Rock, paper, scissors.”

Screechy and Grumbly are quiet for a moment as if contemplating my advice.

I follow up with, “But only paper wins.” It doesn’t follow any logic, but neither do their arguments.

I don’t want to be single forever, but if that’s what being in a relationship is like, they can keep it and their TP. However, I do want romance. The love song kind … or even a love letter.

Not likely.

I check my employee profile in the app. Sure enough, my job title has been changed. I’m now a Special Projects Assistant. It sounds innocuous enough, but the thirty-ninth floor is the shark tank. Way up there is where the executives lurk—the Franks and Maxines of the world.

The message doesn’t give specifics, only that I have to report to L. Sullivan. He’s probably another stiff in a suit who thinks the words please and thank you are optional. I have a feeling I’m going to hate him, too.

3

LINC

A shiver brushes across my skin, and it’s not because I’m gliding off the ice after my teammates and I endured the Ottawa Outlaws coach’s debrief practice after the finals—we only made it two rounds. It’s basically an opportunity to lace up one final time at the end of the season without the pressure of a big game.

Butcher, one of the top defensemen in the league, claps me on the shoulder as we walk down the hall toward the locker room. “Nice assist, Linc.”

From behind, Bīriņš calls in broken English, “But let’s see you polish up that saucer pass. I want to see it on a gold platter.”

“You mean a silver platter,” I counter.

Having caught up with me, I get a pair of finger guns. “Ah, I see. The Stanley Cup is silver.”

“Yep. And I’ll work on that if you remember that the puck doesn’t belong in our goal,” I tease.

When we enter our home arena locker room, everything is the same as when we left—a roll of tape on the bench under my locker stall. Bīriņš’s shirt is on the floor. There is the usual mess that the assistant coach scolds us about. The shower farthest on the left drips. The light in the bathroom area is slightly brighter than in the main section. The AC pushes against the slight humidity from the sweat of over a dozen grown men returning from exerting themselves.

Yet, the air is different.

I can’t put my finger on it, other than that I’ve felt a similar feeling twice before.

One was when I graduated from high school. Yearbooks were being passed around. People were saying their goodbyes. Some of the girls were crying. Mrs. Benes hugged everyone. The guys were acting chill, as if it were a regular Thursday.

The other time was when I left college. But like missing the passing of a baton, that same nostalgic feeling of change was there and then slipped through my fingers as the rush of all that was coming toward me after being tagged for the NHL barreled my way at top speed.