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Olive

A handful of greasy fries get tossed at the flatscreen as the referee’s closed fists rotate in front of his chest signaling another penalty for charging.

“Oh, come on! Who the hell hired this asshole, the other team?” Tristian Badger, a senior on Lindon U’s hockey team, bellows from the bar where he’s watching the Rangers cream the Bruins.

He reaches for another fry to throw when the camera pans over to Bodhi Hoffman, the right winger on New York’s team, skating over to the penalty box for a second time.

“Hey,” I warn, eyeing him. “We talked about this. If Judy sees you throwing food again, she said we’d have to ban you for the rest of the year. ”

Badger frowns as he lowers the fry back down to the basket. “I thought Judy loved me.”

“Evidently, she loves not cleaning up after you more,” I remark, grabbing him another Corona from the mini fridge behind the counter. “And I’m inclined to agree. Or do I have to remind you of the moldy tomatoes we found two weeks after you threw them when the Pats lost to the Giants?”

The guys sitting at the other end chuckle when Badger sits straighter in defense. “That game was fucking rigged, and you know it.”

I pat his hand in mock sympathy. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Badger baby. Now give me five dollars for the beer.”

He grumbles under his breath but slaps a five-dollar bill into my open palm. Because he’s annoying me, I put his change into my tip jar. And because he’s smarter than to call me out on it, just sighs and relents.

Smiling to myself as I clean up the plates from the patrons who just left, I tuck them into the bin for Jeff, our dishwasher, to do next.

“You better be nice to me, Olive, or I won’t tell you what I heard through the grapevine,” he teases, taking a sip of his beer.

One of my eyebrows that took me way too long to shape perfectly this morning arches as I toss the rag over my shoulder. “And what could you possibly know that I’d be interested in?”

Half his lips kick up. “A little birdy told me that a certain NHL player is coming home to visit in the off season. Hint, it ain’t your brother.”

My body goes rigid, but my damn, traitorous heart starts drumming wildly in my chest over the news.

Doesn’t it know that we’re supposed to be over the pompous, selfish hockey player by now?

It’s been almost a year and a half. One whole year since Alexander O’Conner left Lindon, and me, for the big league.

Ears ringing, I force myself to swallow and try ignoring the buzz under my skin.

I feign an unphased smile when I finally give Badger another passive look. “I don’t know why that would matter. Alex means nothing to me.”

I just wish my stupid, stupid heart would get on board.

A thoughtful noise rises from Badger’s throat as he sets his drink down on the counter and picks up a fry.

“I never said it was Alex,” he says knowingly, popping it into his mouth.

His eyes go up to the screen where a toothpaste commercial plays.

“I guess you don’t want to know that he was asking about you then. ”

I blink, my nostrils flaring slightly as my heartbeat echoes in my eardrums.

Badger used to play on our college’s hockey team with Alex and my brother before they were drafted a year apart.

Sebastian took him under his wing, making them friends.

Sort of. Even Alex and him seemed to get along.

I’m not surprised they keep in touch. But I am a little irritated, since Alex hasn’t sent me one message since moving.

What did I expect, though? We didn’t part ways on good terms, and he was always above apologies.

Despite those bitter feelings, I tell him the same thing I keep telling myself, no matter how sour the lie tastes in my mouth. “I don’t care.”

Badger’s grin doesn’t waver. “If you insist.”

We make eye contact.

It’s me who breaks it first.

“I do insist.”

But I’m totally lying.

He hums, knowing damn well I am. “All right. Guess I won’t share that he hasn’t been seen with anybody either. But whatever. You don’t care…”

Teeth grinding, I grab the full bin of dirty dishes and take them to the back. When I’m a healthy distance away from Badger, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“You don’t care,” I whisper to myself.

I repeat that two more times.

When I crack open my eyes, our cook is looking at me. “You okay, Olive?” Jim asks.

My smile is immediate, albeit forced. I gesture toward the bin on the counter. “I’m good. Just bringing stuff back to be washed before the dinner rush comes.”

“It’s good to care,” he says as I turn back toward the door leading out to the bar. “It means you’re human. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

I glance at the fifty-something-year-old man I’ve worked with for about a year now. “It’s a problem when you feel too many of the wrong things.”

He offers me a sympathetic smile. “Wish I had some sage advice for you kid, but I don’t.”

“That’s all right. I better get back out there.”

Thankfully, Badger is gone when I get back out there.