Puck Buddies (20 page)

Boxing Day party, literally

Matt

“Mr. Brady is here, sir. You were aware
he was arriving this evening for the hockey party tonight?”

“Shit! I completely forgot. Is he in
the guestroom?” I smack myself in the forehead. I’m exhausted from having sex
multiple times and I still smell like Sami. I’m not ready for Brady, but
luckily he’s the easiest guest ever.

“He is. He’s taking a nap.”

“Perfect. I’m going to do the same. We have
that party tonight. If he wakes up before me just tell him I said, ‘mi casa es
su casa.’”

“Very good, sir,” Benson mutters drolly
and leaves the room. “And you might consider a shower. The sparkles in your
hair may be a bit much for a hockey party.”

I scowl. “Sparkles?” But Benson is
gone. When I get to my room I sigh, seeing the glitter all through my hair.
“I washed it all off,”
I mock her and
move my hair around to find half of me drag queened in there.

But I’m too tired for a shower and head
for my bed.

It’s massive without her here. It’s
cold and empty. Last night was amazing and filled with chess and checkers and
sex and laughs and snacks. Razzing her about the makeup got me a full makeover.
She drag queened me like RuPaul, even doing my hair, hence the glitter.

It started as her saying she could get
rid of the bruising so I would appear normal. I accepted her challenge and
ended up a woman.
A not-so-attractive woman.
She
laughed and told me I looked like Wesley Snipes in
To Wong Foo.
She offered dresses but I took the high road, knowing
nothing she had would fit and I’d end up a sausage in a casing.

If I was going to be in drag I was
going to be hot.
Wesley Snipes or not.

I close my eyes, grinning and
remembering the entirety of what we squeezed into such a small amount of time.

She isn’t at all what I thought and
everything I had hoped. And in the end I was the bigger disappointment. I
always assumed the Southern influence in my life made me a better person than
the East Siders. But I was wrong. And she was the better person by forgiving me
of that foolishness.

Seeing her face in the limo nearly
killed me. I hadn’t thought about it, even when Charles recommended the
Bentley. I told him no because the tint isn’t dark enough. I’m still kicking
myself for it all. I sigh and realize that if I don’t get any sleep during my
nap it’ll be because of guilt.

But I do sleep, and dream.

When I wake up to the alarm on my
phone, I’m more exhausted than when I started.

“Brimley!” Brady’s voice echoes in the
room, but I don’t see him, making me blink a couple of times to ensure he’s really
calling me. “Brimley!”

“Yeah?” My throat is scratchy and my
voice groggy.

“You alone?”

“Yeah.”

He comes in, flicking on the light like
a dick. “Of course you’re alone. Benson told me about your slumber party. Is it
your turn to wear the Secret Sisterhood pants or did you actually nail that
chick?” He winces. “Dude, your face.”

“You’re the only Secret Sister I have.”
I lift my fists in the air and bump the sides of them at him, like Ross on
Friends.

“The fight didn’t look that serious on
TV. Are you getting more delicate in your old age?”

“Yes. I am.”

He laughs at the admission and heads
back out the door. “I’ll be downstairs with Benson, getting more dirt while you
get the glitter out of your hair, Nancy.”

“Save me some tea,” I shout after him,
swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and stretching my neck and arms.
Brady is about the only person who can hang with Benson and get conversation
out of him. He’s humble and funny and easygoing. He doesn’t have a chip on his
shoulder, and he absolutely refuses to be waited on by Benson. If he makes a mess,
he cleans it up. If he needs a ride he borrows a car and refuses to allow
Charles to drive him anywhere, something Charles isn’t a fan of. Brady’s the
true definition of salt of the earth.
Typical Providence boy.

He loves hockey, but like me, he knows
he needs to finish his degree. When we played at Michigan together, I thought
he’d draft before I did. He’s not rich and he needs the money. But his focus is
more on finishing his schooling. He’s a smart guy.

If Benson knew about the Clinton
though, that would be the end of the friendship. He was a big Clinton supporter
back in the day. And he honestly believed the whole dress thing was a setup.

When I’m dressed, I head downstairs,
sending Sami a quick text to tell her I’m going to just hang with Brady tonight,
and she and I can hang tomorrow. I beg her forgiveness on the matter and
explain that I will miss her all night long.

Brady is mid story when I walk into the
kitchen, his arms are flailing and Benson is laughing, actually laughing. It’s
a quiet, reserved laugh but funny nonetheless.

“So the fish jumps in the boat and my
brother falls in the water,” Brady says half in tears.

I’ve clearly missed something key to the
story but the two of them are dying.

“Oh”—Benson wipes his eyes—“that’s
an amusing story. I would have paid good money to see that.”

“It was one of those moments where if
you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t believe it.” Brady stands up, finishes the
last of his tea and carries his cup to the dishwasher like a good boy. When he
turns around he smiles wide. “Sleeping beauty, you’re awake!”

Benson turns around, greeting me pretty
much the same. “Up from your nap and ready to go to your party, sleepyhead?”

“No. I don’t even want to go. I love
the coach and the team but I’m sacked. I just want to sit around and eat
chocolate and watch movies.”

“Pull your tampon out, man!” Brady
makes a face of disgust. “Let’s go before your ball gown turns back into a
pumpkin.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at me.
“Thanks for tea, Benson.”

“No, thank you. The conversation was
stimulating, as usual.” He stands and nods politely. “Enjoy the evening.”

“Thanks, don’t wait up.”

“I never do.” He lies with a chuckle as
we head to the foyer.

“It’s a team Christmas gathering. We
won’t be late, bro,” I say it as more of a wish than a fact.

“Please.” Brady scoffs. “Clearly, you
don’t remember the parties in Michigan. I slept at Coach’s house for two days
trying to recover. My liver felt bruised. I haven’t even
drank
much since that night.”

“You’re a lightweight and you banged Coach’s
sister. The liver bruising might have been from the punch to the guts you got.”

“She got the Clinton, it’s not the same
thing as banging. And I woke up to her smoking my peace pipe. I had to let her
finish. It’s bad for the ducts to stop part way.”

“You’re an animal, Blow Job.”

“It’s science.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” I shake
my head at him as he gets the door.

We jump, finding Sami behind it with
her hand up to knock. “Oh hey.” She glances back and forth from me to Brady,
like she’s confused. “Hi.”

“Hey.” My cheeks flush so I glance
down, not really sure I’m ready for the Sami thing to be common knowledge and
just a fact of life.
Me and Sami Ford.
The cameramen
who caught us the day before got a shitty shot of me with my head down and a
lot of swelling. My own grandmother wouldn’t have known me in that photo.

But if my friends start seeing this—friends
like Brady or Carson—it will get around fast.

“I’m Sami.” She awkwardly offers her
hand to Brady after a moment of me pondering if I did send the text telling her
I was busy tonight or if she ignored it.

“Shithead here seems to have forgotten
his manners. I’m Brady Coldwell. Nice to meet you, Sami.” He doesn’t make it
weird at all. “You coming to the party with us?”

“Us?” She continues to stare at me. “I
don’t think I am.” She stares at me for a second and then turns to leave. “It
was nice meeting you, Brady.”

“Wait!” I finally spring to life, not
sure how I should be or what we are. I give Brady the look. He nods back at the
door and steps inside, closing it.

“What?” she snaps, pressing her lips
together right after, like she is regretting her reaction.

“Didn’t you get the message I sent,
telling you I was busy tonight?”

Her brow furrows but the blank stare in
her eyes suggests she might not have seen it.

“I sent a text that Brady showed up and
I forgot.” I pull my phone out, cringing when I realize I sent Laramie the text
and not her at all. And his response was that I needed to get my dick back from
her, strap it back on, and get my sexy ass to the party. “Shit! I didn’t send
you that message.”

“Getting girls mixed up?” She doesn’t
sound like she’s joking even though she’s smiling.

“No, I was just waking up and I thought
you were the last person I texted but it was him. And now he thinks I’m not
coming and has sent a couple of messages and a weird picture of the coach’s red
face.” I step toward her, putting my phone away. “Anyway, I’m so sorry. I
invited Brady before you and I agreed to dinner, and I forgot about him completely
because we were having such a great time and then he showed up and now—”

“What are you doing?” She steps back,
cutting me off with her words and her body. Her face is hardened in a way I
don’t think I like. Whatever she’s thinking is bad, for both of us. She has the
self-destruct face on full blast.

“Explaining.” I tread carefully.

“Why?” She scoffs. “We’re just friends,
Matt. That’s all. We aren’t exclusive and we don’t explain ourselves, not to
friends. It’s fine. Have fun.” She turns and walks away.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make it like it
isn’t something more than friends. I don’t want to be friends.”

“So you want to date, like in the real
world?”

“No. I just thought—”

“Well, I wouldn’t call us much more
than fuck buddies.” She laughs bitterly. “Or rather,
puck buddies.”
She shakes her head and steps into the elevator.
“It’s cool. Text me next week some time, and if I have a chance we can hang out
where no one can see either of us.” She says it just as the door closes.

“Shit!” I shout.

Brady opens the door. “She hates you.
And you handled that piss poor, bro. She was testing you when she asked if you
wanted to date. My brother’s girl did that to him. It was a test. You failed.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“Sami?”

“She’s not just Sami. She’s Sami-fucking-Ford.
She’s American royalty. She’s a blue blood, the real kind. Her family is like
my mom’s family but worse.”

“So?” He closes the door and strolls
over to the elevator. “It’s not quite
The
Prince and The Pauper.
You’re not exactly hurting for cash.”

“No. I know that. It’s just—” I
pause, thinking about what exactly it is. “I have to be really sure I want to
ride this train publically before I get on. There’s no going back. Everyone in
the world will care I’m dating her. We will be stalked, constantly. People
probably followed her here tonight. I don’t know how much I want that.”

“Oh, bro.” He laughs, slapping me on
the arm hard. “You don’t have to worry about that, not now. That girl is never
going to date you. Ever. I hope you had extra fun the last time, like played
the back nine and everything, because you are never getting on that train
again. Never,” he says as we step off.

I am the biggest jerk. I wish I’d said
the right thing but I never do. I look at my phone but decide I should wait and
text, I likely won’t get that right either.

When we get in the car out front every
single bit of me wants to tell Charles to go to her house but I don’t. I do the
wrong thing.

Maybe it’s my pride. Maybe it’s my way
of making an easy decision that cleans up the whole mess of what to do. Maybe
I’m a just a coward and I have no idea how to be with a girl.

When Brady and I get to the party, the
house explodes with excitement to see him. He’s like a little brother to us
all.

Coach gives me a swat on the arm and nods.
It’s equivalent to a hug. “Merry Christmas, Brimley. Go somewhere exotic for
your days off?”

“No, sir. Stayed here and slept a lot.”

“Your face looks like you might need a
bit more sleep.” He lifts his drink and moseys off to socialize, if you can
call it that.

His wife hugs me and offers me drinks and
food quickly before scurrying off after another person to ensure they’re
comfortable and being taken care of.

“Opposites attract, eh?” Laramie grins
wide.

“She’s like some kind of saint, I
suspect.” That’s about as far as I’ll ever go into bad-mouthing the coach.