by Brown, Tara
Fuck.
“Is that a girl?” Brady asks Matt. “Is that Red? Lori, why didn’t you tell us she was playing?”
Fuck.
“Where?” Matt asks.
“Right there in front of us,” Brady points a gloved hand in the direction of the silky red hair.
Fuck.
“No way. They don’t let girls play in rec leagues.” Matt’s eyes narrow in on what I’m seeing. “He’s probably one of those metrosexual guys.”
“You’re metrosexual, that’s a girl. That’s Red.”
Fuck.
My heart is racing but sitting in my throat. I haven’t seen her since she told me about her breakup and we said goodbye. I’ve moped like a little teenaged girl for two weeks, barely seeing my friends because of this girl and here she is. In gear. In front of me. I was prepping myself for the possibility I’d see her at the fundraiser, but I don’t know how to act on the ice. It’s mine. My domain. My safe place.
I take a deep breath and tell myself everything will be fine.
It’s just a game of hockey.
She’s just a girl I banged.
None of this is anything to get worked up over.
“Girl player on the team,” one of the other guys in our line mutters.
“Oh shit, that’s Jenny,” another whispers.
“There’s another girl.” Brady points at a blonde with streaks of lighter blonde in a messy bun tucked up inside her helmet.
“The last time I played hockey with girls I was in high school,” the Russian says.
Matt glances at Brady who’s instinctively inspecting them for fuckability. He can’t fight the urge. He wouldn’t cheat on Nat, but the manwhore phase isn’t far enough behind him not to have some of the habits linger. “Keep it in your pants, bro.”
“I haven’t played with girls since I was twelve,” Brady whispers, saving me from overthinking and making me laugh. “You know what I mean, dicks.” He brushes off the laughter.
“Guess that means we’re really not allowed to hit,” Matt adds.
“Oh, I’m gonna hit,” Brady says with a dirty grin. “I’m hitting Red fucking hard. I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I saw her yelling at you at the lake. And she shot me in the face. This is war!” He tries to sound fierce but nods at another player. “And I’d bang the goalie. Look at that ass,” he mumbles toward the goalie I hadn’t noticed to Jenny’s left.
“Uhhh, buddy, that’s not a girl,” Matt adds quietly making me laugh for real and Brady squint harder.
The noise of us draws the goalie’s head. As the announcer is introducing the guy who’s about to sing the anthem, the goalie turns back to us flashing a full beard. Brady’s face makes Matt and I laugh louder.
“Damned man buns,” he grumbles as Coach offers us a deadly glare.
We press our lips into a tight line and put our heads down while some old man sings the national anthem.
The whole warmup is spent whispering and pointing at the other end of the ice.
The words “girl” and “Jenny” are uttered over and over, our eyes drawing there like we’d never seen one before.
This is my own personal hell.
“Any of them hot?” Mike Number One asks. He’s one of the few guys who wasn’t at the wedding.
“Yeah, shotty that ginger,” Mike Number Two adds, who also was not at the wedding.
I want them both dead.
“Then what? We get to shotty your wife?” Matt laughs at him, throwing me a bone though I suspect he knows Jenny and I are not a thing. Matt always knows.
“Yah, if I can shotty yours, Brimstone.” Mike laughs.
“Good luck with that, man. If you can make her happy, you can keep her.” Matt scoffs and we all laugh. Sami is a special kind of girl.
“Okay, boys, focus in,” Cap says, his voice thick with disparagement. “They have three girls on the team.” His eyes dart to Brady. “Not the goalie.”
We all laugh, even Brady.
“Try to keep it in your pants. There’s no contact. No hitting.” It’s my turn to earn his cold gaze. “No sexual harassment.”
Matt nudges me.
“We’re running shifts. Everyone gets a chance to play. Don’t play too hard but don’t let those girls beat you; Jenny is good.” Cap knocks one of the Mikes in the head and skates for our bench.
“Fifty bucks to anyone who gets Red’s number,” Mike Number Two says quickly.
“Watching you all get shot down is going to be amusing,” Matt mocks them, his stare darting to me.
Dreading everything, I pull on my helmet and skate to my starting position, trying to catch her eye before the puck drops, but she has her hockey hat on, and I’m pretty sure all she sees is the game.
25
Revenge of the girls
Jenny
My gear is a little tight from not training as much lately, but it’s good to be on the ice. The smell and feel of the cold air around me is soothing. I’ve missed it. It’s therapeutic, even with Lawrence so close by.
Like an asshole, I haven’t crossed him off my to-do list. I don’t know how and the last two weeks flew by with work and adjusting to the new apartment and seeing my girlfriends for the obligatory “fuck Ben” party.
Lawrence and Ben linger there, waiting to be crossed off, akin to baggage I don’t want to unpack.
“You ready to get our asses kicked?” Allan, one of the managers who is suited up, asks as the puck is held and the ref shouts demands for a fun game with no hitting.
“Yup.” It’s a lie. I’m not ready. I hate losing. But what would amount to a beer league team against the Rangers is essentially my own version of hell. And we have hipster Steve in goal. He’s one of those miserable “plays for the love of the sport” people.
I play to win. I snug my glove a little tighter and grip my stick, staring down the Rangers who are coming to the realization of who I am. Lawrence, Brady, and Matt have been watching me nonstop.
The puck drops and immediately New York has it. Matt skates with grace and elegance, sliding the puck along as he looks for a pass. He hands it off to Cap, hitting dead center of his blade with a loud thwack.
Allan is already wheezing but Suz, another girl on the team, is on him. Cap doesn’t expect her there. He’s cocky and confident and she steals it, passing it off to Roger who manages not to lose it and passes it to me. His pass doesn’t hit the blade of my stick, but with a quickening of pace and reach, I catch it and move.
“On her!” someone shouts. But they’re slower than me.
Suz makes her way to the goal. I smack the puck at her but Coldwell intercepts, flashing me a grin as he passes it down the line.
I stop and turn, skating away as some beefcake tries to accidentally run into me, but I dodge him with a spin and skate past.
“That wasn’t very nice,” a huge guy grumbles as he skates up next to me, pretending to check me. “He put his best effort into that meet-cute.” He winks and blows by me, moving like he’s a tiny ballerina on ice, not a two-hundred-and-forty-pound beast.
Lawrence peers over at the guy flirting with me, and I hate life and boys and the look on his face.
The Rangers score their first goal and the crowd goes wild with the horn.
Cap’s name, Belamy, is called out by the announcer and Coach calls for the line change.
They trade and so do we, clearing the bench with the second line.
I sit and suck in a little water.
“Jenny, that was a good pass,” Suz says as she knocks my padded arm with her glove.
“We need to fuck them up,” I mutter back, keeping my eyes on the puck, but it’s hard to stay focused. Lian, the girl who plays the second line, is getting mauled by the guys with everything from nudges and holding, to grabbing her jersey. At one point, one of the beefier guys picks her up and skates around, holding her hostage. The crowd is laughing but I know Lian is seething inside.
Suz and I aren’t laughing with the
bench. We’re both glaring.
“We’re scoring a goal on those fuckers. You ready?” I ask her as I stand and get ready to jump back over the boards onto the ice.
“Let’s fuck them up,” she growls and the bench clears again as we swap.
The puck’s in play. Brimley and Coldwell and one the massive Russians skate hard, passing back and forth like this is a joke to them. I slide in behind the Russian and sneak the puck as he’s about to grab it.
I turn and skate, sprinting and watching for someone to pass to. Two large guys move toward me. One of them is getting ready to take me into the boards and steal the puck. I fake a pass and skate faster, circling behind the net and flicking like I’m shooting up into the corner. The goalie lifts his hands, but I pass to Suz who is right in front of net. She catches and smacks it into net.
The horn goes and the crowd cheers louder for us.
I nudge Coldwell whose jaw is hanging open on my way back to set up.
“Fuck, Red, nice handling.” He chuckles and says something more, probably dirty, but it’s lost in the crowd and the music and chaos.
Everyone is giving Suz a light shove or a slap, but she is staring at me. I wink and she beams.
“Hey, Red, if you don’t score another goal, you have dinner with me tonight,” one of the guys lifts his helmet and shouts at me.
“She’s already having dinner with you, moron,” Suz says with a laugh, making his smirk fall. “We all are. It’s a fundraiser and we’re being paid to hang out with you, something I’m sure you’re accustomed to.” She whacks the ice with her stick and the puck drops.
Cap has it and moves it forward to Brimley. He skates beautifully for such a large man. It’s something to see so close. They pass back and forth moving around my teammates with ease, scoring with even more ease. At the sound of the horn, I smack the ice and turn to go back, this time running into a wall. He catches me. Every inch of my body wants to shove him but the crowd is watching. My bosses are watching.
“Careful there, Red,” Lawrence says with a grin but it’s hollow. “Unless you’re trying out that meet-cute Mike just tried on you.” His joke is cold. “But as you know, I don’t require that kind of effort. Just show up in my room naked and I’m in.”
Pressing my lips into a tight line, I pull free and skate away, kicking myself. How could I hurt his feelings like that and not mend this before the game? I told myself I was working too much to handle it but now I have to admit it was avoidance and I regret everything.
The puck drops and we move fast. My mind is stuck in the game, and I don’t bother passing to anyone. Instead, I drive toward the goalie, skating through the guys on the other team. I fake out the Russian and pass to Suz who fakes a slap shot but passes to me again, and I flick the puck into the corner of the net.
The Russian cusses me out. I laugh, understanding a lot more than he realizes.
Lori is suddenly there between us, speaking Russian, telling the guy to watch himself.
I’m taken aback, not only because he defended me to his teammate but that he speaks Russian.
We change lines but I’m stuck staring at Lori.
“Nice goal, kid!” Our coach gives me a whack of approval.
I sit down next to Suz and drink some water. As the game starts again, I glance over at their bench next to us. He’s still staring. “Did you know Eckelston spoke Russian?” I ask Suz.
“Yeah, Russian, Japanese, German, French. He’s a typical trust fund kid like Brimley. Proper boarding school, Ivy League, and all that.” She huffs for air. “I didn’t know you Canadians had those too.”
“We do.” I sigh, hating how sexy that is. “How mandatory is this dinner?”
“You organized it and Stan would be personally offended if we didn’t go.” She flashes me a sorrowful stare. “Guess we better be nicer to the cute pucks.”
“Yay us,” I groan and drink more water.
Our next shift is no better. I’m trying to mind my own business, skate, steal, and pass, but they have made it their mission to bump, nudge, trip, and grab at Suz and me. We barely touch the puck for the whole four minutes.
The buzzer rings for end of period and I struggle my way back to the bench. Someone smacks me on the butt, which in hockey isn’t weird but it isn’t one of my teammates. It’s one of the big Mike guys I don’t know on the Rangers team. He wasn’t at the wedding. He flashes a grin but I glare, imagining peeling his skin from his body.
The guys laugh as they leave the ice.
Annoyed but counting down the minutes until this humiliation is over, I follow my team to the locker room.
“It smells like balls in here,” Lian gripes when I sit down next to her.
“It’s pretty bad,” I agree.
“I know you thought of it and it’s a fundraiser and just for fun, and we’re making bank for a good cause, but I’m getting annoyed at how much of a joke we are to them,” Lian whispers as she leans back on the bench, stretching out her legs. “Don’t get me wrong, it was brilliant. And the upper crust of this company loves you for it. But I wish we could turn the tables a little.”
“I know.” I have to agree. “This is painful. I hate losing, even when it’s for a good cause.”
“We should swap jerseys, put all our strongest players on one line and surprise them,” Suz interrupts. “My team did that once, it was awesome.”
“It’s genius.” I glance at Allan and Steve. “Suz, didn’t you play goal on your team?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah,” she says back softly. “League record for shutouts. Steve refused to let me. But I brought my gear in case he accidentally got injured.” She stares past me to the hipster with the man bun and beard. I’m shocked he hasn’t got a toque under his helmet.
“He asked me out a few weeks ago,” Lian confesses quietly, dread thick in her voice. “To mess with those Rangers, I could tell him I’ll go out with him if he lets you have goal.”
“And I could switch jerseys with Marshall. He’s got to be close to my size.” I eye up the smaller forward from the second line.
Suz’s lips curl into an evil grin as Lian and I nod, though I have to admit I am getting the best end of this deal. Marshall always smells nice. Wearing his jersey won’t be as bad as Lian having to go out with Steve.
26
Played
Lori
I’m a ball of nerves between watching the guys who didn’t come to the wedding hit on her and everyone else touch her. I wanna break skulls.
Mike Roscoe and I already had words about him touching her ass.
What is wrong with me?
Why is this girl killing me?
Even worse, why can’t I get over it? It was a couple of quick fucks.
Maybe I should fuck someone else.
That’s what I’ll do. Instead of pouting in my apartment over Jenny and the playoffs, I’ll spend the weekend getting lit with Carson and fuck shit up.
We line up for the second period and I relax a bit, seeing the older guy as their center. This is their second line, who couldn’t beat a team of ten-year-olds, and Jenny isn’t on it. The puck drops and before any of us is ready, the center slides the puck to the forward who jumps to life, skating past Matt and Cap. He weaves in and out of our defense, blowing past Brady.
“Get on him!” Cap shouts but there’s no chance. Before we catch up, the horn is blowing and the goal is counted. The forward skates past me, and for a second I swear the face doesn’t match the lineup or the jersey.
I do a double take, turning around and watching him skate away.
Fixing my stare on the forward, I skate up to the line to watch the puck drop.
Something’s off.
I scan the bench for Red but I can’t tell if she’s there.
The puck drops and again the center passes to the forward but this time Cap’s ready. He steals it from their team and spins, tapping it through the legs of the center who is slow. He smacks the puck and sends it down the line to me. I
carve left, flicking it up into the right corner of the goal, but the goalie snatches it out of the air. It’s the first move from him we’ve seen all game.
He hands the puck to the ref and Cap offers me a look, one suggesting he also has no idea what is happening. The goalie seems different and their line is quiet. No joking or teasing.
The face-off is fast again and this time we win the puck. Matt hands it off to Brady who takes a shot. Goalie snaps it out of the air with almost no effort.
The crowd is going nuts. Music is booming. I’m lost.
We skate down—our four minutes is up—switching lines but they don’t change.
“That goalie got some lessons in the dressing room.” Brady nudges me and steals my water bottle.
“Something’s off. I swear one of them who was a chubby guy is a girl now. But I didn’t see any hair so I couldn’t tell if it was Red or the little blonde who scored.”
“Yeah, that goalie was holding back,” Cap agrees. “Maybe it’s a pro, and they don’t have the real name on the jersey. They’re messing with us.”
“Permission to engage?” Brady asks smugly.
“No contact, no slap shots.” Cap glances out at the ice. “If they wanna mess around, we can bring the game to them.”
The line changes. The boys come in puffing but successful. Their line scored once.
We jump out and skate into the play. Matt and Cap go for the action. I stay in line with the puck, waiting for the pass.
Matt doesn’t pass. He gets a breakaway and skates hard, taking a shot so close to being a slap we all wince, but the goalie snags it like it’s nothing. He tosses it into the air and nods at Matt, cocky.
The moment the puck’s in play again I get it at the boards, bringing it center, weaving and faking, looking for the pass. Cap’s open. I fake and slide it to him. He flicks and the goalie blocks it with his pads. Cap tries for the second shot, but it’s deflected again, this time in the direction of one of the other team’s players. The little fast guy. He snags it, passing down to another guy who skates hard, crossing center and passing back to the little guy. They play well, faster and sharper than anyone else on the team. They have to be pros. We’re being punked.