Puck Buddies (22 page)

“Okay, well Merry Christmas. Tell Shelly
over in PR that I’m fine. Not switching teams and becoming a lesbian with the
maid. And the beastly dude was actually the son of a family richer than ours.
So we’re cool. And I posted the lip gloss pic on Instagram, so no need to go
cutting my allowance just yet.” I couldn’t be cheekier.

“Okay, dear. Have a good night.” She
hangs up, chipper from the billionaire’s son I’m possibly bringing home. I
slump, banging my phone against my head once.

“Sorry I called you the maid. That wasn’t
about you,” I mutter to Nadia. I don’t like hurting her feelings.

“I know.” She doesn’t add anything else.
She’s always careful about what she says about my parents.

Players

Matt

“I don’t understand.” I sit in front of
the TV watching
TMZ
as they make
another shitty comment, guessing which member of One Direction Sami was
dragging out of the Garden. It’s almost better they think Nadia is a boy and
not a girl and a maid. Personally, I wouldn’t have cared if it were Harry
Styles who went with her. I just want to know why she was there.

“Did you invite her to the game?”

“No, Jesus. I was texting her all night
and all day after the party, but she said she was busy. I assumed it was my
punishment. She answered some of my texts with lame shit little emojis that I
couldn’t decipher. You have to be a prehistorian or some shit to understand girls’
messages nowadays. They’re coded. I can’t believe this. I just don’t get it.”

“Well, it appears she went to your game
on her own, sir.” Benson sighs, pointing with his long finger. “I don’t want to
assume but the hockey arena is right behind her and Fifth Avenue and—”

“No, I get that. I mean why? Why would
she dress down like that, hide who she is, and drag her maid to a game? I’ve
never even seen her dress down.”

“I suspect the same reason all
celebrities dress down, including you, sir. She didn’t want anyone to know who
she was.”

“I really just don’t get the hockey,
Benson,” I snap.

“I was being obtuse, sir,” he says
flatly.

“Oh good. Joke about the situation,
that’s excellent. The girl driving me crazy is a secret hockey fan. She likes
the game? What the hell is that? Why did she lie? I flat out asked her and she
said no. How long has she liked hockey? Is that why we’re sort of seeing each
other?”

His eyes don’t change from the sardonic
expression of a moment ago.

“You know I don’t like it when girls like
hockey. I don’t want her and the team to have anything in common. Ever. I don’t
want her going to parties or knowing the guys.” I don’t want her to know what
happens at the parties—or what happened at the party I was just at.

Benson stares at me for a moment before
speaking, “Matt, I’m going to explain something to you. I shouldn’t be the one,
but I suspect I might be the only person who ever will.”

He never calls me Matt unless it’s
something important so I don’t say anything else.

“You have some very wrong ideas about
love. You’ve never been shown what a trusting relationship looks like, where
one person gives their heart to another completely, without restrictions or
back doors. You just open your heart and allow the other person to take up
space. I have experienced this type of love, in my younger years. So I can tell
you with some authority, it exists. And I believe you are capable of having it
in your life, but if you don’t wake up and smell the white mocha latte brewing,
you’re going to miss it. That girl loves
you, that
much is clear as day to me. But she is like you, scared of getting hurt or
being made a fool. I understand your apprehension—in your world being
made a fool of happens on an unusually large scale. The whole world is looking
when one of you trips and stumbles. But to live life terrified of that, is to
live a half-life. You will never know the kind of love you are capable of
feeling until you let her hurt you. You must give her all of your heart and
offer it up for slaughter. And if she is worthy of your love, she will protect
it. That is love. Sacrificing your heart for another person’s.” He gets up and
leaves me alone to think on what he said.

I know he’s right but I also know we’re
not there yet. We barely—fuck. No. We’re there. I feel it. She’s under my
skin and in my blood and there’s no getting rid of her.

But how do I face her after what just
happened?

How do I tell her that I’m crazy about
her when my dick was in another chick days before?

I hate the feelings inside me.

Mostly I hate me.

Deciding I need to see her and possibly
just tell her what happened and beg her to forgive me, I throw on my jacket and
head out. I don’t message Charles for a ride but walk to her place instead. I
need the quiet time to sort my thoughts.

Having never been in any sort of
relationship, as I walk I debate whether I man up and tell her what happened or
if I just put it behind me—tell her I want a relationship, and then move
forward from here.

I want a relationship.

I don’t want her to slip through my
fingers or screw this up.

Not sure how to word it so I don’t end up
breaking things off instead, I walk for a long time, passing by her place a
couple of laps before heading for the door. Only as I approach it, ready and
certain of what I need to say, she comes bursting out, laughing and clinging to
Nat. She pauses when she sees me, but her eyes dart to Nat for a moment. She
offers a wave and says something to her friend who glances over at
me and waves
before climbing in the limo.

Sami saunters over, her lips pressed into
a weird grin. It’s not sexual or flirty or any of the normal smiles she has
when she sees me.

“Hi.” My insides are in knots.

Her lips spread wider and she gives me a
much better version of her original greeting, “Hi.” I can smell her in the soft
breeze that’s blowing her hair around her face. The scent makes me ache
everywhere.

“Hi.” I say it again like an idiot and
then stumble through the next part in a rush to avoid looking like an idiot.
“How’s—uh—how’s it go-going?” Obviously not thinking before I speak
is awesome.

“I’m leaving for Europe now. We’re going
to the Lumineers.”

“Right, New Year’s.” I don’t know why
it’s awkward.
We were playing chess and sharing food and
laughs only days ago.
We were naked and touching each other and making
noises I want to relive. I want to relive them now.

“How was the party?” She cocks an
eyebrow. Does she know? Is that where the cool greeting is coming from?
Fuck.

“Why were you at my game?” I never want
to speak of the party. I don’t want to lie to her.

“Oh.” Her cheeks light up with flames.
“I”—she glances down, shaking her head—“I just wanted to see what
the fuss was all about.”

“Do you like hockey?”

“Players.” She answers too fast and
grins, half looking back up at me. “I like hockey players.” She pauses. “I
guess just one player. I don’t know any of the others. So it’s singular.”

My chest starts pounding. “You like me?”
Her words cut but my betrayal of her is worse. I want to confess and clear the
air, but I know that’s not what will happen, especially after she’s just told
me she likes me.

“I have to go.” She points at the limo.
“We have a jet waiting. Talk about this when I get back?” Her smile is gone.

“Yeah.” I step forward to kiss her but
she offers me her cheek, lingering for a moment and letting me press into her.
I want to smell her hair, but I’m terrified of being that guy. The one she
spoke of in the cab, the one who leans in to smell the girl to trick her into
thinking he likes her more than he does. That guy is an asshole who also bangs
other girls at dirty parties. He doesn’t deserve this girl.

I don’t smell her, I just hug and press
the kiss and pull back. “I’ll text you.”

“See ya later!”
She
half smiles and walks away, climbing into the car.
It drives away, and I
feel the exact same as I did the day I walked away from her in the cab.

Stubborn Love

Sami

“The
Musikverein is amazing. And I don’t
know if any of you know this, but the architecture is actual luck. Not enough
was known about acoustics, optimum vibration, and placement of stage at the
time it was built. The science wasn’t there yet. The designers got lucky and
did it right. Needless to say, the band is thrilled to be part of this evening
and this private show. Without further ado, here they are—” The man
introducing them claps, so we all clap but nothing happens. “The Lumineers!”

The room goes dark and we stop
clapping, we sit in silence.

Suspense builds until the lights flick
on, creating a candlelit atmosphere to the space, a warm glow.

The five of them walk out as we clap
louder.

They wave but don’t speak, just stand
in the middle of us, looking at one another. The lead singer, Wes, nods and
they begin the show.
When his guitar starts with the first
song, “Submarine,” the hall beats, vibrating into my body.
I don’t know
the song too well.

The drummer joins in with him, before
the cello or piano or base.

Nat screams, the loudest in the place,
as the lead singer leans into the mic.

The piano hits and I can’t take it. I’m
up off my seat clapping and moving with Nat. It’s hard to focus on them when I
glance at her and watch her reaction to them. The joy on her face is
remarkable. I’ve never seen it before.

She screams and jumps, singing every
single word to the song. She knows them all.

They win back my stare, working so hard
for it with “Flowers in Your Hair.” I’ve never seen a band this perfect in my
life. Even their use of cymbals and tambourines is art.

The love of music flows from them as
raw talent. Every single movement and grunt and word is placed in a harmonious
flow. Their talent is beyond musician or artist, they’re something else.
Something better.

I’ve seen hundreds of concerts and this
is the best. The magic of the hall is as believable as a Christmas tree.

They don’t need anything but a couple of
instruments to be flawless.
There’s no show
,
there’s love
.

We could be around a campfire and I
would be in awe.

Their hipster vibe is even perfect. It
suits them.

When they play “Stubborn Love” I almost
die.

Her cello in the beginning cuts right
through me.

His words bring tears to my eyes.

I want that kind of love.

I want someone who will stand and
scream outside my house and refuse to leave until I come down and see them.

If Matt loved me like this, our
relationship would be this song.

It hurts to face the truth of us in
this song.

It burns in my throat with tears and my
own version of stubborn love.

The attraction I have for the lead
singer is disturbing. I don’t fangirl. I don’t even say hello to singers. I
want to have his babies.
He’s a pied piper
,
I believe that
. I would follow him off a cliff if he would
just keep singing and playing that guitar. He shows us love, true love. He
loves playing and singing and music and possibly his guitar and he lets us see
that. There isn’t an actor in the world
who
could fake
that kind of love.

They finish the show with “Ho Hey,”
Nat’s favorite one. The entire crowd sings along. My skin vibrates with the
feel of his voice and the foot drum and the cello. But I can’t bounce back from
“Stubborn Love.” I love the song. I love them. I love this show. But my heart
is broken.

The countdown hits as they’re done the
last song. We scream the numbers with them and when the hour hits, the ceiling
bursts with confetti. Champagne is passed out and they play us “Auld Lang Syne.”
I push down my pain, like always, as we kiss and toast and hug, all of
us—girls and guys we’ve known since we were kids.

When it ends the band thanks us and
wishes us happy New Year’s.

And although they’ve just made and
ruined my entire life with one song, they’re humble and grateful.

And I can’t even. I just can’t.

Carson is screaming next to me as loud
as Nat.

We cheer until I don’t have a voice
left as they leave us wanting more and yet satiated.

Nat starts to cry. Sobs rip from her as
she flings her arms around my neck and clings to me. I don’t know why she’s
crying but it doesn’t matter. I hold her, letting her release on me.

Carson slaps me on the back, whispering,
“Absolutely amazing gift, Sami. Top-notch. I think I came at one point. You
better be careful or people will start to see you’re not such a vengeful slut.”

“Whatever.” I laugh as Nat sniffles and
giggles.

“Which club next?” He tilts his head toward
the door where everyone is milling about.

“You pick. I haven’t been here in ages.
The clubs I went to before would be different now.”

“I just want to go back to the room.”
Nat wipes her eyes. “I’m done. That was better than anything I’ve ever seen. I
feel a loss from the show ending but the
jet-lag
is
also hurting. I wanna sleep and dream about Wesley and that’s all.” She closes
her makeup-smudged eyes and sighs.

“Okay, bed it is.”

Carson rolls his eyes. “I’m going
dancing, ladies. Peace!” He heads for the crowd, inciting craziness into everyone
as he shouts and takes them away.

“Over a thousand people just flooded
into the streets to go clubbing.” She winces.

“Right, but it’s a holiday. They must
be ready for the party in the clubs.”

“Yikes.” She links her arm into mine
and starts us walking. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.” I scoff. She has no idea
how much I love her. She wouldn’t understand. She has no idea how much I am
capable of loving.

When we get to the room, we crash hard,
both exhausted and a little drunk.

We sleep until my phone wakes us up.

I slap along the bed to find it,
hitting it until it shuts up.

“I hate jet-lag,” Nat moans.

“Me too.”

“Sami!” Carson shouts at me from
somewhere. He sounds funny, like he’s in a hallway.

“Carson?” I lift my head, groaning. “Is
he here?”

“The phone, dollface,” he says,
laughing.

I pick it up, realizing he’s Facetimed me
and I answered. “Hey?”

“You look pretty.”

“Shut up.”

“Breakfast in an hour?”

“Sure,” I grumble.

“Your room or downstairs?”

“Downstairs.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Okay.” I hang up and sigh. “I’m
sleepy.”

“Me too.” Nat rolls over, giving me a
smile. “So are you going to explain the hockey game and the hockey dude and what’s
going on with you two?”

“No. It’s just a thing.” I don’t want
to jinx it.

“Okay,” she says like we’re going to
talk about it more later on. But we aren’t. “Stubborn Love” is clinging to me
and my heart hurts. He doesn’t love me like that. He doesn’t love me. It’s been
years of this bullshit and I’m sort of done.

Linda’s right, she always was. I want
to be loved. I want to be safe.

I’ll never be that with him.

“What day do we fly back again?”

“This afternoon. We’re picking Mom and Dad
up on the way. Mom’s in France and Dad’s in England.”

“As usual.”

“Right. So we’ll have the six hours
across the pond with them both, which I intend to be sleepy or drunk for. I
advise you to do the same.”

“Your parents love me. I’m dating a
Fairfield. That’s huge. I’m in college to be what I want and am starting my new
job this fall, if I can find one. I don’t cost them anything or make
headlines.” She laughs and pokes me. “I’m the daughter they never had.”

I laugh with her, poking her back,
pretending her words don’t hurt. They wouldn’t normally but my mom’s little
spiel about Matt is still picking at me. My whole life is.

I’ve never felt so alone.

In my heart the only people who
understand me are the Lumineers. It’s an intensely desperate feeling.

When we get downstairs my phone
vibrates but I leave it in my purse. Someone’s calling.

They call a second time. But I don’t
answer. Instead, I paste that winning Ford smile on my face and hug Carson.

“Who has a hangover?” He inspects us
both.

“I do.” Nat nods. “A Lumineers
hangover. I knew it was going to be amazing, but I had no idea it would be like
that. It was”—tears fill her eyes—“magic. Real magic.”

“Hands down the best performance I’ve
ever seen. And I saw Prince live in a friend’s backyard. Last night has me
sending my dad’s assistant demands. I want the tour schedule, and I intend to
be backstage at least half of their smaller performances.”

“I’m in.” Nat nods.

“You have school and your mom would
never allow it. Carson barely shows up to class.”

“I still manage good grades.”

“Whatever.” I don’t want to talk about
school or the Lumineers or anything. I don’t want to talk. I want to explode as
we stroll to breakfast.

I stick my bag under the table when I
sit. It’s vibrating again.

Carson’s phone goes off at the same
time. His eyes lift as he checks out the screen and then he winces, putting it
back. He takes a breath and glances back at the menu. “I do love the buffets in
places like this—I just hate getting my own food.” He turns in that
direction. It looks like the sort of spread Cecilia puts out. Fresh homemade
yogurts, stewed fruits and seeds, and fresh handmade breads and jellies.
There’s an entire selection of meats and cheeses and cut-up fruit.
And then another wall of cereal and milks.

I don’t want to eat. Something is
picking at me.

The server pours us coffee and adds
cream for me. I stir and lift it to my lips, sighing. I love European coffee
and cream. It’s just better. I don’t know why.

Nat is on her phone too. She seems distracted.
She sighs. “All their web page says is that they’re in the studio. There’s
literally nothing.”

“Sami said that. There’s no tour for at
least another year or two.” Carson’s voice is funny. I don’t know what kind of
funny, maybe tense. He avoids my eyes.

“Are you ready to order?” the server
comes and asks softly.

“I’ll have a smoothie. Bananas,
berries, fresh yogurt, and coconut milk,” I say as low as she did. It’s not on
the menu but I don’t care. Sometimes being Sami Ford isn’t bad.

“Yes, Miss Ford.”

Carson wrinkles his nose and then nods.
“I’ll have the same. Add chia to mine please. Might as well stay on track.”

“Wow. Divas.” Nat scoffs at us both.
“I’ll have the French toast and can I get some sausage on the side of that?”

“Of course.” She scurries away from us.

“Why do people always do that? Why do
they scurry?”

“Because you can be a heartless skank
and they’re scared of you.” Carson laughs, glancing down at his napkin. “Guess
I’m putting my own napkin on my lap.” He drags it across smoothly.

“I’m not rude to anyone in service. My
dad never tolerated it.” I defend myself, something I don’t usually do either.
But on this one, I do.

“It’s true. He has always said Sami and
I won’t have a single maid or cook if we can’t be nice to them.”

Carson rolls his eyes. “My dad’s
shagging half of them, I think. He hires a type. It’s creepy. They all look the
same.
Young, brunette, busty, curvy, and short.
The opposite of Mom.
I think it burns her but he likes her
feisty. It’s like foreplay I don’t want to think about.” He chuckles.

“Gross.” Nat shakes her head.

“You have to have sport in marriage,
Nat. You can’t get bored because divorce is only for the weak. And we don’t
have the regular battles to endure. Our lives can be extremely dull if we don’t
create drama.”

She looks at Carson like she’s asking
if he’s for real but he shrugs it off.

“You wait. You and Fairfield will have
the same life. He said you guys are thinking about moving in together when he’s
done school. You wait and see.” Carson lifts his coffee and winks at me.

I force myself to snap out of the haze
I’m in, nodding along. “Life for rich people is easy and hard in the exact
opposite way poor people’s are.”

“You people have a screwed way of
thinking.”

“No doubt about that.” Carson sighs and
glances at his phone again.

I just nod. I can’t argue the fact and
I don’t want to discuss it.