Chapter 20
Winnie
Lucky’s beaming from the win and I’m still floating from last night. It’s a lot of emotion to process which is probably why my stomach won’t stop doing gymnastics as we step into Jerry’s Bar.
The place is louder than I expected, this little hole-in-the-wall hangout owned by Hendrix’s fiancée, Stevie. I haven’t met either of them yet, but I expect I will tonight.
The guys—I’m not quite sure who that all entails—decided to hang here tonight after the win against Minnesota rather than Mario’s. And while tonight is mainly about celebrating victory, I expect Lucky’s orchestrated this to be my official introduction to his hockey family.
He keeps a warm hand at the small of my back as we cross the threshold, like he knows I’m one breath away from bolting.
Not because I don’t want to be here—I do.
But this is a big deal… to meet his team and their significant others.
Not just Mazzy, Mila and Tempe, who were all so warm and welcoming in the family room the other night, but everyone.
All at once.
In the flesh.
And I’m about to be officially labeled The Girl Lucky Branson Is Into.
No pressure.
“Relax,” Lucky murmurs near my ear, like he can read every thought skittering around in my brain. “They’re gonna love you. Mostly because they already do.”
I shoot him a dubious look as we pass the main bar and head toward the back, where everyone occupies several tables. The space is full of laughter. “They don’t even know me.”
“They know enough,” he says, flashing me that lopsided grin that always makes my knees feel like warm Silly Putty. “And Mazzy’s told them you’re the best thing to ever happen to my social media. So, you’ve got that going for you.”
Why is my mouth so dry?
The space is packed. Multiple tables pushed together. Plates of loaded nachos and sliders. Beer bottles and cocktails and the kind of energy that apparently comes from a good win. Players are in jeans and hoodies, their significant others in various states of glam and cozy.
It’s a lot.
Mazzy looks up, sees me, and waves so enthusiastically she nearly knocks over her drink. “Winnie!”
I’m ushered in with hugs and smiles like I’m a regular, not some wide-eyed outsider fumbling her way through a secret club.
“Glad you came,” Tempe says, wrapping me in a squeeze and then shooting Lucky a look over my shoulder. “I assume you brought her just to raise the average attractiveness of the group.”
“Obviously,” Lucky replies, winking at me.
“Guys,” Mazzy says to the group, nudging me toward the table, “this is Winnie. TikTok Winnie. Lucky’s Winnie.”
My cheeks flame at the label, but no one snickers. If anything, the vibe is a mix of welcome and curiosity. And more than one person shoots Lucky a grin like Dude, you actually did it.
Introductions fly.
Foster gives me a nod and a smirk. “Lucky’s talked about you.”
Mazzy slaps his arm. “Which is rare. He usually only talks about his protein macros.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” says King, whose biceps are frankly alarming. His girlfriend Willa beams and offers me a little wave from across the table.
There’s Tempe’s boyfriend, Rafferty, who gives me a once-over like he’s inspecting a new roommate but ultimately grins and says, “Yup. She passes.”
Then there’s North and Farren, both super outgoing and welcoming. Mila and Penn, who seem like the golden couple of the group, greet me like we’ve been friends for years.
Somehow, I end up seated between Tempe and Mazzy while Lucky grabs a seat across from me.
The table erupts in conversation—about the game, about King’s face-off that turned into a brawl, about the fact that Rafferty accidentally spilled a bottle of water on Coach’s pants and nobody’s sure if it was an accident.
I let it wash over me, all while sipping a mojito Mazzy insisted I try.
Lucky’s watching me… I can feel it. He’s relaxed, smiling, his arm slung casually over the back of Penn’s chair, beer in hand. The glow of victory suits him—he’s more handsome than ever because he’s happy.
And the entire time, I’m mentally replaying last night.
Not just the mind-blowing sex, although that’s burned into my bones, but the morning too.
Him barefoot in my kitchen, handing me a mug of coffee while toast popped out of the toaster.
Kissing me slow, then nibbling on my neck, which resulted in him carrying me right back to the bedroom.
And when he finally walked out the door, I grabbed the back of his pants by the waistband and pulled him back to kiss me one more time.
It didn’t feel impetuous, or reckless, or like a heat-of-the-moment decision. It felt like exactly what I was supposed to do.
Like my heart didn’t give me a choice.
“I saw your TikTok from the overlook,” Mila says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “It was sweet. And weirdly poetic for a guy who thinks Flamin’ Hot Cheetos are a food group.”
Lucky shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”
Rafferty snorts. “You contain a tripod and a ring light in your hockey bag.”
“He really does,” North mutters. “We had to move the stick rack to make room for his social media gear.”
Everyone laughs and Lucky just shakes his head, unbothered.
“Fine,” he says, reaching into his back pocket. “Let’s give the people what they want.”
Penn, who’s sitting next to him, leans away. “Wait… right now?”
He’s already pulling out his phone, switching it to selfie video mode, arm outstretched.
“What up, beautiful internet weirdos,” he starts, and the table immediately erupts into catcalls and jeering.
“Jesus,” Penn groans. “I don’t want to be in this one.”
“Too late,” Lucky says. “Say hi, team!”
Everyone waves. Some shout inappropriate things. Someone throws a french fry at the camera.
Lucky spins the phone to get the whole table in the shot, then turns it back in our direction. “In case you’re wondering how date two of four is going…”
He reaches across the table, takes my hand and tugs, forcing me to stand. Then he dramatically pulls me towards him. I squeak as he moves in, just inches from my face. The camera is still rolling.
“It’s going pretty damn well,” he finishes.
And then, right there in the middle of his TikTok, he leans forward and kisses me.
Not just a peck. Not a shy, camera-friendly kiss. But a real, warm, full-mouth kiss that says this is real and I want everyone to know it.
The table erupts in hoots and hollers.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless and grinning, caught somewhere between mortified and elated.
Lucky points at the screen. “Stay tuned, folks. Two dates to go. But I’m not worried.”
He ends the video and slips his phone away like he didn’t just detonate my whole nervous system.
Lucky returns to his seat, the guys fist-bumping him. My hands press to my blazing cheeks as I sit back down.
Mazzy leans close to my ear. “Girl. You better lock that down.”
Everyone’s laughing, Tempe’s already halfway into a story about Rafferty getting a parking ticket in a horse costume, and I feel like I should be laughing too.
But suddenly it hits me—how far this is from my everyday life. From bulletin boards and PB&J fingerprints and Buttermilk’s 7:30 pellet drop.
A wave of uncertainty hits me hard. Do I even belong here?
I excuse myself, claiming I need the restroom, and slip away before anyone can stop me.
After ensuring the door is locked, I take a breath, prop my phone on the edge of the sink, and open TikTok. I don’t rehearse. I just hit record.
“Okay… real talk from the women’s room. Tonight’s been incredible.
I’m surrounded by pro athletes and their drop-dead gorgeous girlfriends.
And they’ve been nothing but kind. You’ve probably already seen Lucky’s video he just posted, and yeah…
that kiss was most definitely welcomed. But there’s still this little voice in my head saying…
you don’t belong here.” I offer a sheepish smile.
“I’m a kindergarten teacher with a nutjob rabbit.
My idea of high-end fashion is clean jeans and ChapStick. ”
I take stock of how I feel after confessing my private feelings. “But I do belong here with him. So, I’m staying. Even if this is hard and feels awkward at times. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. And before I forget… I had a great time tonight, Lucky!”
I watch it once, then hit post before I can talk myself out of it. I even tag Lucky since this is as much about him as it is about me.
I’m not embarrassed at all to share my doubts with him. He’s the one person in this world who understands every bit of it, but I wanted to share it with anyone out there who might be going through some of the same. That’s what I’m known for and I want to stay true to myself.
I refresh the screen and watch the comments roll in.
@pghmomsquad: Girl, you’re doing great. Most of us would’ve fainted just walking into that bar with all those Titans. You’re holding your own and looking fabulous doing it.
@teachertoteacher: Love this vulnerability. You’re reminding so many women that it’s okay to feel out of place and still show up anyway. Rooting for you and Lucky.
@averageisright: You’re literally bragging about being a “normal girl” while dating a celebrity and filming it for clout. Make it make sense.
@notafanofthisarc: Imagine needing a bathroom break because life got too real at a bar with your boyfriend’s coworkers.
@clearlynotaverage: Nice try acting humble, but you tagged him. Again. Almost like you knew exactly what kind of attention this would bring.
My stomach sinks as I read more comments that are unusually negative. I’ve cultivated such a supportive community that this backlash is a shock to my senses. But even I should’ve realized that wouldn’t stay the same. Since Lucky came into my life, I’ve gained a lot of new followers.
And guess what?
They didn’t come for my brand of real talk. They came because they like Lucky’s star power, which is far different from mine.
They are not my demographic.
A feeling washes over me like a cloud of doom darkening the room.
For the first time in my TikTok life, I want to delete the video.
I thought I had a thick skin. I’ve never cared what people thought of me before.
But somewhere deep inside, I’m wondering if these people aren’t on to something.
Maybe Lucky and I shouldn’t be together.
There’s a knock and I jolt out of my thoughts. I grab my phone and unlock the door, only to find Mazzy standing there smiling at me.
I’m not sure what she sees on my face, but her head tilts in question. “Are you okay?”
“What?! I mean… yes, I’m totally fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she says skeptically, pushing me back into the bathroom and locking the door behind us. “Spill the beans.”
I could lie to her, but I’m a truth teller, even if the truth is covered in warts.
Besides, maybe she’ll understand. “It’s overwhelming.”
“The hockey life, right?” She nods sagely. “I get it. I had a hard time adjusting too.”
I look at this woman who is beyond beautiful and who I’ve been told has the voice of an angel.
She seems so poised and confident that I have a hard time believing her, but I choose to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Any words of advice? Because right now, I feel like I want to duck in a hole and hide.”
Mazzy frowns as if she’s considering something. “Is it because you two have sort of made this public on social media?”
I think about that and try to ferret out what’s got me so anxious right now. Sure, I was nervous to meet his friends, but they are beyond lovely.
It’s the negative comments that have tipped me over. “Yeah… I guess I wasn’t expecting such cynicism. My entire brand centers around being real, and… people don’t believe me.”
“Haters gonna hate,” she says, empathy in her eyes. “You have to tune that out. It’s part of being with someone famous.”
“Yeah, I know.” I wave my phone. “I guess I don’t have to look at the comments.”
“Have you and Lucky considered not posting about your relationship?”
It’s a good question, and no… we haven’t talked about it.
I lift a shoulder. “I guess we should. But the thing is… I feel like I have an obligation to my followers. I started this journey in the public eye and if I were to stop, they would be abandoned. It wouldn’t feel authentic.
Besides… we only have two more dates after this, so it’s almost done. ”
Mazzy’s eyes widen. “You’re not going to see him anymore after those two dates?”
My eyes bulge and I hold out my hands. “Of course I’m going to continue to see him! I just mean… I don’t think we have to be public about it after those two dates. At least I don’t have to be.”
“Okay, good,” she says, sounding relieved. “I know we just met the other day, but watching you, watching Lucky, watching you two together, I can tell this isn’t just for show. I don’t want either of you to blow it over outside influences.”
My stomach flips at the thought. I can’t let that happen because I’ve been figuring out, no matter how uncomfortable this experiment is, Lucky isn’t really an experiment at all.