Want You to Want Me

by Lorelei James

  Our younger cousin Annika was a PR wiz, so I didn’t doubt she had it all mapped out. “What’s the dress code for the barcade?”

  Jax groaned. “Of course that’s the first question you asked. It’s on the official invite; they went out today. All I’ve been told . . . it’s supersecret, super VIP. No kids. No cameras.”

  Mimi skated up and leaned on the railing. “Uncle Nolan! Didja come to see me practice?”

  “Yes, I did. You’re looking good out there, short stuff.”

  “Didja see I won my race?”

  The whistle blew and Coach Welk skated behind Mimi. “Lund. This is not a social hour. Get back with your group.”

  “Yes, Coach Welk.” Mimi skated off.

  Gabi looked at Jax. “Was there something specific you needed, boss?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then with all due respect, sir, you and Mr. Fancy Pants are welcome to take your gossip session elsewhere. You’re distracting my class.”

  My eyebrows rose. So I was back to being Mr. Fancy Pants.

  “We were just leaving, Coach Welk,” Jax assured her.

  I followed him out of the arena.

  Once we were out of earshot, he whirled around. “What did you do to Gabi to piss her off?”

  “Nothing! In fact, last week we even went out for drinks.”

  Jax’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Nolan. Did you hit on her?”

  “No. I wasn’t drinking.”

  A loud harrumph sounded and then Margene, the rink GM, sauntered out from behind the front desk. “Of course a man like you would have to be drunk to hit on a woman like her, isn’t that right?”

  I looked at Jax, who stared back at me with the same puzzled expression.

  “What did I miss?”

  “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t.” Margene shrugged. “I kinda hope you don’t. Be fun to see how it plays out. I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.”

  We watched Margene storm down the hallway to the bathroom and slam the door.

  Jax said, “I’m confused.”

  “Join the club.”

  “You really didn’t hit on Gabi? Because if you did, she’d tell Margene since they’re tight.”

  “I swear I didn’t. We played pool. That was it. I didn’t even drive her home, although I was there as her DD.”

  “Then how’d she get home?”

  “No idea. She disappeared for twenty minutes and when I went looking for her, the cocktail waitress said someone else had picked her up.” At the time I’d figured she’d barfed in the bathroom from too much tequila and had bailed on me to save face. Which was why I hadn’t contacted her.

  But what if I’d been wrong? What if there’d been another reason she’d left?

  Jax poked me in the chest to get my attention. “Whatever you did, you’d better fix it.”

  “Even if I don’t know what it is?”

  “Yep. Come on. Let’s finalize the dates for the youth bowlathon.”

  Five

  GABI

  And go!”

  I skated backward as I watched my 14U girls team work on rebounding. So far, I’d barely convinced them that knowing how to rebound was just as important in hockey as it was in basketball. The puck was already by the net. Move in, move out, constant movement on the puck forced the opposing team into defensive mode. If they came forward with the intention to steal, that’s when high shots were magic. A wrister BOOM. Nothing but net.

  The arena is a noisy place, so I usually found myself yelling over the din. At times I wondered if I’d forgotten what a normal tone of voice sounds like.

  “Keena! Don’t hug the wall. Move in.” I’d finally gotten these girls to listen without having to look at me and that had improved their playing by two hundred percent.

  I blew the whistle to signal a line change after Parker whizzed the puck past Kari, who hadn’t been paying attention, resulting in icing for Team A.

  Anna, my co-coach, used a different-pitched whistle to signal her players to switch lines. In truth, I’d gotten hired as Anna’s assistant coach, but I stepped into her position during her maternity leave. She’d struggled after her C-section and I’d agreed to finish out the season as the head coach.

  “Jacie,” Anna shouted, “watch your line, you’re offsides.”

  I sent Anna a thumbs-up; somehow I’d missed that. This team would progress even more if I had a ref on the ice during practice skirmishes. Being rec—recreational hockey—rather than club hockey, meant many of these girls were only playing for fun, so not all the rules and subsequent protocol and penalties were firmly cemented in their heads. Unlike club players, like I’d been, who memorized hockey rules and regulations as catechism at a very early age.

  “Face off, ladies.”

  Just as they got into position and I crouched down to drop the puck, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of class. Rather than skating off to the dressing room, all the players, including those on the bench, skated to me.

  “All right. I saw excellent hustle out here today from everyone. Be proud. You’re more than ready to face the Raptors on Sunday. We’ll meet here, ninety minutes before the game. That’ll give us time to drive to Rosewood Arena, get suited up and warm up. If something changes in your schedule, and you’re not able to make the game, text me or Anna as soon as you’re aware of the conflict. Anna will pass out family game passes in the dressing room after you fill out the transportation sheet for game day.” I paused. “Any questions?”

  “Gotcha, Coach Welk.”

  “Have a good weekend, ladies. Rest up, stay out of trouble and—”

  “Wash your gear!” they shouted in unison.

  I laughed. I’d at least drilled that much into their heads. “Dismissed.”

  While Anna dealt with the paperwork, I moved the nets off the ice, picked up the pucks and checked the players’ benches for any trash. Usually the girls helped clear the ice since their class was the last one on Friday nights. But I’d worked them hard and I would’ve been anxious to get away from me too at their age. Besides, there was something cleansing about ending my workweek the same way I’d started it—alone on the ice.

  “Gabi.”

  I looked up into the face of my sister. I’d zoned out so much I hadn’t noticed her standing in the front row of the spectator seats.

  A week and a half had passed since Tyson had broken up with me. During that time I’d avoided talking to Dani. Not because I was mad at her, but because I really didn’t know how to respond to her without coming across as A) insincere, B) nosy or C) bitter. And really, did she want to deal with the questions foremost on my mind?

  Am I supposed to congratulate you?

  Have you slept with him yet?

  Do I have to beg you not to ask me to be in the wedding?

  What did Mom and Dad say?

  Awkward situations freaked me out, which is why I avoided them. Case in point, when Nolan showed up for Mimi’s practice on Wednesday, smiling at me as if he hadn’t insulted me on the one day my female ego needed bolstering . . . I oh-so-maturely had flipped him off instead of talking to him.

  Seeing Dani’s miserable face, I knew I couldn’t retreat to that brusque demeanor. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since their team practice started. I stayed in the top level so I wouldn’t distract you. I love watching you coach. You’re amazing.”

  Being this close to Dani just reminded me that we looked nothing alike. She had flaxen blond hair, whereas mine was basic light brown. Her eyes were a golden amber, mine were boring blue. Her lanky appearance of delicacy belied her athletic strength, while I was shorter and sturdier with more obvious muscle mass. On the ice, she was grace with instant adaptability. Whereas I embodied a freight train; scarily fast, my focus on one track.

  “Why are you s
taring at me without saying anything? Figuring out where to punch me first?”

  I gave her another purposeful once-over. “You know I only hit you when we’re on the ice. So if you wanna suit up . . .”

  She laughed. Then covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I just—”

  “Tell me one thing, okay? Are you happy with Tyson? The I-found-my-other-half, giddy-over-the-moon, crazily-in-love-with-him type of happiness?”

  “Yes. He’s . . . everything.” She sighed.

  She motherfucking sighed. Dreamily, no less.

  Jesus. Had I ever sighed like that over any man, say nothing of sighing like that over Tyson?

  Nope.

  In that moment I finally understood what I’d been struggling with. I wasn’t jealous that Dani had found that kind of sigh-worthy love with Tyson. I was envious that my little sister had found it first.

  I smiled at her—a genuine smile. “I’m relieved to hear it. And I am happy you’re here.”

  “You don’t hate me?”

  “Sis. I could never hate you. But I’ve gotta be honest. It’d be better for you, me and Tyson if we didn’t hang out for a while. So don’t feel guilty for throwing yourself into couplehood.”

  Her brows furrowed. “You don’t want to see me at all?”

  “If it’s just you? Sure. But it’d be weird if the three of us sat around and watched movies like we used to.”

  “I get it.” Those honey-flecked eyes searched my face. “Will you be okay, Gabs?”

  What she was really asking? If I’d be okay alone. What she didn’t understand, what I’d only started to grasp myself, was I’d felt alone even when I’d dated Tyson. When I’d dated anyone, actually. “I’ll be fine. Lots of irons in the fire.”

  Dani leaned in. “Have you heard anything else about the new team?”

  “How’d you hear about it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Remember that hockey players are the worst gossips. Natt and Viv wouldn’t shut up about it until JR snapped that not everyone had gotten the call.”

  “Meaning JR didn’t get a call?”

  “I don’t think so. Amylin didn’t chime in either.”

  Shit. Two of my former teammates on the national team, same age as me, had been bypassed.

  Or maybe they just passed on this so-called opportunity because they’re ready to have real lives and real jobs and are done chasing pucks.

  I zeroed in on my sister. “Did you get a call?”

  “Yes. Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  She squealed. “We might be playing on the same team? That would be the tits.”

  “This is your big sister warning you not to get your hopes up. Many people have tried to expand the league. No one has succeeded. It’s always just talk.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Loud voices echoed from the locker room.

  “I know you’ve got stuff to do, but can I get a hug before I go?” Dani asked.

  “C’mere.” I squeezed her tightly. “Thanks for showing up.”

  “I couldn’t let it go on another day.” She whispered, “I love you, Gabs.”

  “Love you too, Dani. We’ll talk soon.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Saturday morning had been busy with hockey classes, but I’d left the rink by two. By three I’d showered, eaten and retreated to my home office to check my email.

  Monday morning I’d gotten an email from Wolf Sports North indicating they’d received my résumé. The remainder of the email was the standard “don’t contact us, we’ll contact you” and their disclaimer about misdirected emails. I’d figured I wouldn’t have a response from them either way for two weeks.

  So it shocked the hell out of me to see an email from an assistant to the production manager. I clicked on it.

  Personal and Confidential

  Gabriella Welk:

  Congratulations! After reviewing your application, you’ve passed to the next round.

  You are invited to complete Step 2 in the interview process, which is to submit an audio and video recording that showcases your game calling expertise. The details were sent in a separate document as an attachment.

  We’re also including the following weblinks as reference points to clarify our submission expectations.

  Also attached is a more in-depth questionnaire, which should be filled out in its entirety and returned with your AV file. Both are due 5 (five) days from receipt of this notification.

  Best of luck. We look forward to your submission.

  Sincerely,

  Dahlia Switch

  Wolf Sports North

  I must’ve reread the email ten times before I actually believed I’d made the first cut.

  Holy shit.

  This was definitely worth celebrating.

  Six

  NOLAN

  The Lund family members—aka the Lund Collective—were tasked to arrive at Full Tilt Barcade an hour before the official pre-party started.

  I wandered into the first room. Jax and his wife, Lucy, were in deep in conversation with some guy I didn’t recognize, so I scanned the area for other familiar faces.

  When my cousin Dallas saw me, she squealed and bounded over for a hug. “Nolan! You’re here.” She made a show of looking around me. “Where’s your plus-one?”

  “I’m flying solo tonight.”

  I checked out her attire, first noticing the neon-green headband and her high ponytail dangling to the left side of her head. My gaze moved to the bright orange and vivid blue geometric earrings that brushed her bare shoulders and matched the six chunky strands of necklaces circling her neck. She’d donned a Flashdance–style oversized black T-shirt dress with FULL TILT spelled out across her chest in sparkly purple letters. Below that on the T-shirt was a blocky, stylized version of the Minneapolis skyline in vibrant primary colors. She’d wrapped a wide fluorescent pink leather belt low on her hips, probably to hold up the purple mesh skirt that resembled a tutu. She’d finished the ensemble with white high-top sneakers laced with lime-green, Day-Glo-orange and pink laces. She’d layered so many bracelets up both of her arms she actually jingled.

  “Somebody raided her mother’s closet for that straight-from-the-’80s garb,” I said with a grin.

  Dallas beamed. “The T-shirt dress is new, but my mom lent me everything else. Isn’t it gnarly?”

  “Totally gnarly. But I wasn’t aware this was a costume party.”

  “If it was, you’d lose, dude. Where are your Vans? Your pastel T-shirt paired with a sports jacket? Your T&C board shorts? Your fanny pack?”

  “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?”

  She assessed my outfit; from the hip-length sleek-cut gray wool jacket, worn over a mustard-yellow mock turtleneck sweater, to the oxblood-colored belt that held up my gray, yellow and maroon plaid slacks, and ending with the burgundy leather sneakers that tied the look together. Her gaze met mine and she grinned. “Nothing. Your ensemble is one hundred percent on point, as usual.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I dressed this way to have some fun with the pre-opening par-taygoers since I’ve been super stressed. Plus my horoscope said to indulge my whimsy tonight.”

  “Well, from what I’ve seen, you’ve certainly outdone yourself.”

  “Would you like a tour of Full Tilt?”

  “Only if you’re not too busy.”

  Hooking her arm through mine, she said, “I’ll always make time for you, cuz.”

  I’d seen the layout for the space, but I’d been skeptical that a barcade—an ’80s arcade gone upscale bar—could be realized. Pinball machines and tabletop games were scattered throughout. While technically this was one enormous room, the alcoves with the half walls separating the space and the low ceilings relayed a more intimate feel. Ad
d in the seating arrangements, from high-top tables and chairs to couches to groupings of lounge chairs, no two areas were alike. There were three small bars spread out, rather than just one large bar, which would keep the place from feeling crowded. One thing I’d noticed too was the extra room between each pinball machine. If a customer arrived with friends, they could stand around the machine and egg on the player.

  Arcades weren’t a thing in my younger years. We didn’t need a specific place to meet and hang out; instead we played Xbox, Wii, PlayStation at friends’ houses. But seeing the arcade wars shown on TV and movies from that time period had made me nostalgic for the loss of something I’d never had.

  “So this is the rock ’n’ roll section,” Dallas said. Then she pointed to the corner. “That Metallica machine is rare, so it’ll be popular.”

  I ran my hand over the Kiss pinball machine—one of five, all different.

  We passed a half wall and Dallas said, “These are our classic arcade games. There are several here I’ve been practicing on in my downtime.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Tempest. Space Invaders. Asteroids. Ms. Pac-Man. Tetris. Centipede. Donkey Kong.”

  “Got it going on like—”

  Dallas placed her hand over my mouth. “Do not get that song stuck in my head tonight, Nolan.” She whirled around, taking several long strides, and turned a corner.

  This area resembled a home theater with four big-screen TVs arranged in a rectangle. “This room is our crown jewel, with the exception of the Medieval Madness pinball machine we bought that cost as much as a new car.”

  “What’s so special about this area?”

  She literally bounced on her toes with excitement. “It’s our cell phone games area. If you’re used to playing Angry Birds on your phone, you can log in to our server and play it on the big screen. And you don’t have to switch to a handheld controller, which is usually why some players can’t level up on a gaming system, when they’re used to playing in app format.”