The Husband Game

I bite my tongue so hard I swear I’m in danger of drawing blood. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. Even though I should be agreeing with her. After all, we’re planning on getting fake-engaged soon. I should probably be lapping up these compliments. Feeling glad that Charlie doesn’t have any complicated exes in his past, or happy that he’s not the type of guy to lead a bunch of girls on.

Instead, this new information only serves to make feel more conflicted. If he’s never dated anyone seriously before, will this affect him more than I thought? To pretend to get engaged to a girl only to have it fall apart?

I guess I just figured, what with him being a hockey star and looking the way he does, that Charlie was a player on campus. Or if not a player, the kind of guy who could get any girl he wanted and went after them.

Okay, I guess that is a player. And I’m glad he’s not. But…

I push my lingering doubts to the back of my mind as we reach the arena once more. We took long enough arriving—the team is already back on the ice, circling to warm up, while the refs finish resetting the nets after the ice cleaning.

We settle back into our places, this time with beers in hand—Anna insisted on buying me one. We sip as the game starts up again. But the beers quickly prove to be a mistake, because about five minutes into the second period, Charlie scores again, which makes me forget all about the beverage in my hand and leap to my feet, promptly spilling half the drink on my own jeans.

“Shit,” I bark, and Anna bursts into laughter behind me, before she throws a few napkins at my head. I wipe myself off as best I can and chug the beer to prevent any further spillage. It definitely makes the next period interesting, or at least more entertaining.

Charlie doesn’t score again, but he passes to one teammate who does. Then the other team roars back with a vengeance, scoring once and then twice in quick succession, all while Charlie is on the bench and another line of players are on. I can see his frustration in the way his shoulders tense and his hands fist around his stick. But he never yells at his teammates or makes them feel bad. I’m close enough to hear what he’s shouting, and it’s all encouragements, cheering them on, telling them it’s okay, they’re still ahead by one.

As the second period pulls to a close, within the last minute, the other team scores one last goal, though, tying it up. This time, when the team skates off the ice for the second period break, there aren’t any cheerful waves or shouts.

I bounce my leg against the stand, nervous, until Anna brings a hand to rest on my shoulder. “Hey, this happens all the time. Don’t worry. They’ll come back next period.” She grins at me, then glances down at my still-damp thigh. “Another beer?”

But I remember what happened to the last one and wisely shake my head. “Think I’ll stick to bottled water. Less spill risk.” Still, I trail out after her into the main bar area this time, just for something to do.

The period break lasts twenty minutes, which means twenty minutes of curious college kids peering at me, trying to guess my deal. A few of the girls I saw at the lockers earlier, including Sammy, sidle up to Anna and start chatting. But to her credit, Anna sticks by my side, and any time one of them asks about me, she waves me over to I can answer the question myself.

I tell them I met Charlie on campus. Not a lie. I tell them he’s a great guy, really sweet and funny.

“You’re a lucky girl,” says one of the girls, who I saw kissing the goalie earlier. “Charlie’s a total catch. We’ve all been wondering when he’d finally set his sights on someone.”

When she thinks I’m not looking, I notice Sammy kick that girl’s shin lightly, and the two of them exchange glares, until the girl shrugs, as if to say, What?

Good to know not everyone in this crowd immediately distrusts me, at least.

Though they’d be right to, I can’t help adding in the back of my head. After all, everything they think they know about me, about Charlie, is based on a lie.

But still, it feels good to be included. Good to chat with them, as we wait for the third and final period to begin, I feel for a little while like I’m just here on a normal date with a normal guy I like, getting to know his friends and teammates’ girlfriends.

Anna cracks a few jokes about the beer—which, to be honest, tastes a lot better than I remember any beer I used to buy in college tasting, but still not great—and pretty soon we’re all laughing, even Sammy. I force myself to smile at her, and hope that she can let this tension between us go. But she avoids my eye, so I just focus on getting to know the other girls instead. They seem nice, friendly enough, and genuinely happy for Charlie and me.