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I laugh. “It takes me telling you I’m late for my period before you swear? That’s cute.”
“Does Leo know?”
“No! I haven’t even talked to him, and I just realized this morning after throwing up all night over one beer that I’m late.”
“How late?”
“Two weeks.”
Ami glances over at me and then starts her car. “Is it his?”
“It has to beifI’m pregnant. I might not be.” I keep my eyes on my fidgeting hands, running my fingers over my newly painted nails. “I’ve only been with Leo in the last year.”
“Areyou going to tell him?”
“I don’t know how to or even what to do. And we leave for Cabo in the morning.” My eyes go wide. “I can’t tell him before we leave or while we’re there.”
“Have you taken a test?”
“No.” Believe me, all day I’ve thought about sneaking away to get one, but I don’t want to. Scared probably.
Ami pulls out of the parking lot. “Let’s go get a test and then get ready for the game. You can take it, and then we’ll head to the game.”
“Why? So I can spend the whole game depressed? I don’t want to take one. I’m probably just late from stress.”
That does nothing to deter Ami, because guess where she heads first? CVS. When Ami has something on her mind, you’re not going to convince her otherwise. She’s a lot like Leo in that way. Evan and I like to joke that they could be brother and sister, and it shows.
I refuse to take the test when we get back to their condo. I hold the test in my hand. “Bitch, you tell Mase I’m late, and I will murder you.”
Ami raises an eyebrow, sets her phone on the counter, and then reaches inside her purse for a hair tie to hold back her blonde hair. “Don’t threaten me with that. Someone tried to murder me once, remember?” One side of her lips twitches into a smile. “And I didn’t say anything to Mase. They’re playing a joke on Remy, and it backfired on them, so I was telling him I’d nurse his wounds. And that I ordered us a new bed.”
“What wounds?” I stare at the test in my hand. Look at me. I’m shaking.
“Apparently, Remy punched him in the face.”
“That’s not surprising.” I flip the test over and read the directions on it. “Remy’s punched everyone on the team at one time or another.”
“Can you please just go take the test?”
“Are you excited about this or something?”
“No. I just like to know things.” When I say nothing, she frowns. “Oh, come on. You have to admit a little Leo baby would be the cutest thing ever.”
She’s right. It would be. Damn it. “Then you have his baby.”
“No. I’m dating his best friend.”
Babies excited Ami. Not that she and Evan are in any place to have kids right now, but she loves them. Coos over them and frequently talks about when she gets pregnant what she’s going to do, what they will name the baby, and on and on and on.
“I’ll take it later. If we don’t go now, we’re going to be late to the game.”
I get her on a technicality because, with traffic, we’re going to be late at this point.
* * *
When we arriveat the game and sit in our usual seats, to the left of the penalty box in row three, I scan the ice for Leo. Doesn’t matter that I’m ignoring him or whatever is happening; I want to watch him play.
He’s there, center ice, standing with Evan and three other players, each one of them taking turns shooting the puck at the goal. They’re dressed in their home game uniforms, red, black, and white. I catch a flash of number eight shooting across the ice with the puck on his stick, chopping at the ice in a skilled pattern, keeping the puck in front of him. Leo is absolutely impressive on the ice. He isn’t an overly large player, but he has speed and accuracy. He’s the guy they always send in when they’re looking for something fancy and flashy. The kind of shit they replay on ESPN over and over again.