Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
brUCE
The D.C. Eagles #1 Fan Page On Hockeyisbetterthanfootball.com
Craig Nottingham : This goalie has more holes than my underwear!
Todd Ferguson: Oh, leave McBride alone! I doubt you could do any better CRAIG. By your profile pic it looks like you haven’t exercised in a minute.
Craig Nottingham : I have GERD! And when I played in college, I was a FORCE. I could’ve gone pro…but my passion was in accounting. Jerk.
Todd Ferguson : *gif of Judge Judy rolling her eyes*
Laura Miller: Would you two shut up? I’m just trying to figure out how the defense allowed sixty shots on goal. Any goal tender would’ve struggled. #mcbrideismyfuturehusband #bestgoalieinthenhl
Harry Johnson : I’m with Laura here (minus the wanting to marry McBride thing) when one team is outshooting another by that much, shots are gonna get through. I still think McBride is a damn good goalie. And the Eagles secured their spot in the playoffs tonight as number 1 in the Eastern conference, so let’s give them a break.
Laura Miller: Yeah! And handsome to boot. SO HANDSOME.
Harry Johnson : Agreed. Super handsome.
I log off my hockeyisbetterthanfootball.com profile and groan. Tonight’s game was brutal, and it was against our rivals, the Raleigh Renegades.
We barely came away with a win. But that’s not the only thing that has me on edge. Right now, Farrah and freaking Harrison are on their date.
I glance at the time on my phone…okay, it’s past eleven. So, she’s probably home by now.
My stomach drops. What if she didn’t go home…what if the date went well and she went back to his hotel? Is he staying in a hotel, or with West and Mel? I can’t remember. I drag a hand through my hair, pulling at the strands. My heart is racing, and my thoughts begin to spiral, first imagining them kissing, then getting married, then having a brood of kids.
I open up my text thread with Farrah….the one she never responds to. I type out a text, knowing she won’t reply, but texting her is oddly cathartic. For all I know she has my number blocked.
Bruce
So, how was the date with Harrison?
Bruce
He’s a good guy. Totally wrong for you…but a good guy.
I snort a humorless laugh and throw my phone to the other side of my grey, tweed couch. It’s one of those rectangular, modern, bachelor couches. The kind that looks cool but isn’t comfortable at all. It feels like an Ikea couch even though it was ten grand. I remind myself to find a new designer.
Pushing myself up, I pad barefoot across the cold tile in my penthouse. It’s all glossy and pristine and clean from my housekeeper, but it doesn’t feel like home. Nowhere does.
Instead of texting a woman who’s forbidden, I should’ve called my parents. But they seem awfully busy with my older sister. She and her husband live close to them in Quebec and just had a baby.
I adore my sister, but it’s hard when I also feel like she has outperformed me in every way. I didn’t inherit the McBride smarts, which isn’t that weird considering we don’t have the same genetics. But hopefully I’ve made up for it with my athleticism.
Once I’m in my stupid, shiny kitchen that I never use, I pull a cupcake from the fridge. I snuck this one from the event last weekend, and I’ve been saving it for a rainy day. It’s cold and starting to get dried out, but still better than any cupcake I could purchase in a store.
I could go buy the fanciest cupcake in the city, but nothing compares to Farrah Remington’s baking. And I’m not just saying that because she’s gorgeous, and nice, and funny, and smells great…wait, where was I going with that?
My phone pings from the sofa across the penthouse right as I’m about to take a bite out of the confectionary masterpiece. I drop the cake back on the countertop and sprint across the room.
My heart leaps like a long jumper at the Olympics when I see Farrah’s name on my screen. She hasn’t responded to a text since that day after our kiss. I’ve lost track of how long ago that even was.
Farrah
Why’s he all wrong for me?
A grin slowly spreads across my face.
She. Texted. Back.
I knew she still liked me.
Bruce
1. He’s not blond. Amber and Remy told me once you’re obsessed with Frozen because of Kristoff.
Bruce
2. He’s too serious. You need a man who can make you laugh.
Bruce
And 3. He doesn’t live in D.C. And long-distance relationships never work.
Farrah
Hmmm interesting points. But I’m obsessed with Frozen because of the music.
Bruce
Right. Like women are obsessed with hockey because of the sport.
Farrah
Umm. Some of them are. Not everyone is there to ogle you, Bruce.
Bruce
So, you admit to ogling me?
Farrah
You’re putting words in my mouth.
Bruce
Why are you texting me when you’re on a date?
Farrah
It’s 11pm. The date is over.
Bruce
ahhh, so it didn’t go well?
There’s a pause for what feels like several minutes and then finally the typing bubble pops up.
Farrah
It went fine. But there was no chemistry.
Bruce
It’s because he’s not blond…isn’t it?
Farrah
Farrah
Goodnight, Bruce.
Bruce
Sweet dream, Yeux bleus.
With a grin on my face, I waltz back into the kitchen and devour my cupcake. I think about our conversation and wonder if she’s lying about Frozen. I mean, the music is amazing. But come on…Kristoff is a stud.
The following afternoon we’re all suited up and on the ice for practice. I feel energized and ready to work, my pads in place, the cool air hitting my face, and in my home away from home—my net.
West skates toward me, grinning. I spread my legs as far apart as they’ll go and yell, “free five hole!”
West laughs and shoots a puck right between my skates and into the net. Remy, Colby and Mitch follow suit, everyone taking their free shot before we start taking things seriously.
“Hey, McBride!” Coach Young yells from center ice. “You’re supposed to block the shots.”
I face palm my goalie helmet with my padded hand. “What?! No one told me. I’ve been doing this all wrong for years!”
He rolls his eyes and skates off to the other end of the ice to talk to our power play coach.
The guys snicker—even Mitch, the serious one in our group.
West turns his attention to Remy. “Hey, Harrison came home all smiles last night. He said he and Farrah had a great time.”
Remy’s eyebrows scrunch together so slightly it’s barely noticeable. “Oh yeah?” he looks away, focusing on the plexiglass behind my net. “Farrah went straight to bed, so I didn’t get a chance to hear about it.” His eye twitches.
Wow. Remy—our honest-to-a-fault team captain—just blatantly lied. Never, to my knowledge has he lied. And he’s terrible at it to boot. West doesn’t seem to notice and skates off smiling.
“Why’d you lie?” Mitch asks, his head tilted in curiosity.
“What? I didn’t.” Remy lies again, not making eye contact with any of us.
Colby snorts a laugh. “You’re full of it, Cap’n. She wasn’t into Harrison, was she?”
Remy blows out a breath, knowing he’s caught. He looks over his shoulder where West is talking to Coach Young. “She said they had nothing to talk about, and he wasn’t her type.”
Mitch’s eyebrows raise. “Really? I don’t pretend to understand women—not even the one I’m married to—but it seems like Harrison would be every girl’s type. Decent looking, successful, respectable.”
Colby leans in. “Harrison is great, but the way you just described him sounds a little boring. Sometimes women want to be dis respected.” He winks. “If you know what I mean.”
Remy’s jaw drops. “That’s my sister.”
Colby grimaces. “Right. Sorry.”
“Was her ex the serious and responsible type?” Mitch asks.
Remy considers this. “Actually, yes. The guy had firstborn son syndrome like nobody’s business.” He scoffs. “And being a firstborn son myself, I’m allowed to say that. He had a five-year plan, and a ten-year plan…and Farrah didn’t comply with all those concrete plans.”
Mitch nods. “So, maybe she’s looking for someone the opposite of that. Someone more flexible.”
I’m flexible. Really flexible. Not just my body, but in every way. I prefer to fly by the seat of my pants. Why stress about things you have no control over?
I would make sure my plans shaped around Farrah, and not the other way around. Not for the first time, I’m overwhelmed with hatred for her ex-husband and how poorly he treated her. I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but it’s enough for me to understand the guy was a complete idiot.
No one in their right mind would let go of Farrah Remington once they were lucky enough to have her.