Page 191 of Pucking Around

Before he can respond, Poppy comes breezing across the gym. “Rachel! Rach! Girl, I need to talk to you!” She sings out the last sentence as she darts between the equipment like a blonde squirrel.

“What’s up?”

She’s always so perfectly polished. Her blonde ponytail looks effortless, all her flyway pieces specifically chosen to be let loose. Meanwhile, my hair is up in the same old messy knot. She’s matched the coral on her lips to the coral of her yoga pants, sparkling white Gucci tennis shoes on her feet. She’s finished the look with a Rays t-shirt that she’s artfully cut to be a scoop-necked crop top with just the barest little strip of her tummy showing. Honestly, it’s cute, and I’m stealing the idea.

“What do you need?” I say again, still working my fingers over Langley’s shoulder.

She huffs, glancing at him. “Get lost for a minute, honey.”

His eyes go wide. “But we’re in the middle of—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” she says over him, taking his hand and tugging him off the table. “Tell your story walkin. We’ll let you know when we’re done talkin.”

He huffs, stomping off as Poppy grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from the massage area back towards my office.

“Poppy, what—”

“Not here,” she says, breathless as she all but pushes me into my office and shuts the door. As soon as it closes, she spins around, dropping her purse to the floor. “My phone has been ringing off the hook all morning.”

I glance at the clock on the wall. “Pop, it’s barely 7:30—”

“You don’t think I know that?” she cries. “The calls started coming at 5:00am. It was all I could do to make myself presentable and get in here to find you!” She tugs her phone out of the side pocket of her leggings and taps the screen, showing me her call history. She swipes with her finger, showing me the list of red missed calls.

An ominous feeling of doom sinks into the pit of my stomach. “Just tell me.”

“They’re all about you. Asking about last night.”

I let out a deep breath. I logged out of all my social media apps years ago. And I never really check the news. “Show me.”

Shaking her head, she steps over, showing me her phone. Apparently, I was a trending topic on the hockey sites, the Ferrymen sites, and the celebrity gossip sites. There’s footage from several different angles—the official game footage, personal cell phones. All show the same thing. It’s the moment Jake skates up to the plexiglass, pounding on it, shouting at me and Caleb. Some of the montages are cut to make Caleb and I look much more touchy-feely than we were. Some show me giving him moon eyes. A few have the cheek kiss. The way we lean in so casually. Caleb looks calm. He looks happy. My soft heart hardens, wanting to protect him from the scrutiny.

“And these are just the short video clips that went viral,” Poppy explains. “People have questions, Rachel. They think they know what they’re seeing. I’m tryna stay ahead of it for you, but I need to know if what I know is the thing I think I know.”

I glance at her, trying to piece together what she just said. “The thing you—what?”

She huffs, tossing her phone down on the counter to put both hands on her size 4 hips. “Rachel Price, did you spurn Jake Compton and take Caleb Sanford as your lover?”

“What—no—no spurning,” I say quickly.

“Did you spurn Jake Compton and take Mars Kinnunen as your lover?” she presses.

I shake my head. “I haven’t spurned Jake, Poppy.”

She gasps, her eyes narrowing like a terrier hunting a mouse. “So, youarewith Jake Compton. Why, you sneaky little minx. I didn’t suspect a darn thing! How long?”

“Poppy,” I say with a sigh, shaking my head. I thought we could stave off the unraveling longer than this, but apparently, it’s already started.

“Well, what was this then?” she says in a huff. “You were just teasing him? Wearing Kinnunen’s jersey to get a rise out of him? And what was Caleb doing involved? I thought they were friends.”

“Theyarefriends, Pop. It’s—god, it’s complicated—”

“Oh my good gravy, is it a love triangle?” She gasps again, hand to mouth. “IsCalebthe spurned lover? Are they trying to make you choose? Have you decided—”

I groan, grabbing Poppy by the shoulders, lowering my face to hers. “Girl, pull yourself together. No one, and I meanno oneis getting spurned here. I wouldn’t even know how to spurn something. Last night was an inside joke between friends, okay? We all work together, and it was a joke. That’s the official story, alright? No romance, no spurning, no broken hearts.”

“An inside joke between friends?” she repeats.

“Betweencolleagues,” I correct, slipping into PR crisis manager mode. “We’re all working on the same team, and the three of us had a fun night out in the stands, right? We ate our weight in junk food and we got to watch our friends play. Caleb and I played a little prank on the players where we wore their jerseys. Good clean fun, alright?”