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No. Have you been hitting the smelling salts pregame again? ~ B
That made me snicker. I placed my foot on the cart and gave it a soft push, just enough to allow me to stretch out my legs.
Big time salts fan. Huge. You ready to play some hockey? ~ M
Fuck yeah. You ready to lose some hockey? ~ B
Loser buys dinner. ~ M
Why I typed that out and then sent it only the gods knew. Once it was gone, I felt a tsunami of panic wash over me, like full-blown cold sweats of fear. What had I just done? Why had I done it? What the hell was wrong with my—
Hope you brought lots of cash. I plan to order surf and turf. ~ B
My exhale was so large it was a wonder the cart didn’t blow across the hallway.
I sent him a cow and a lobster emoji simply because I had no words forming in my stunned brain.
I know a great place in Hornell. Expensive. Bring your Black Am Ex. ~ B
Unable to find any wit, I told him to bite me and then turned off my phone to spend some time analyzing why I had just asked my arch nemesis out to dinner.
Chapter Seven
Baskoro
“Embellishment?!” I glided back into my crease while the ref and Greck had a small discussion in front of me. “Please explain to me how that mook,” Greck jerked his head in the direction of Timmy Dram, one of the Comets defenseman who was yelling at the ref at the same time, “pokes his stick into my skate making me fall down due to the centrifugal force of mass and space revolving about a body in motion, but I get called for embellishment for falling on my face. How does that work? Am I not supposed to fall down when this rhino-faced moron trips me? What am I supposed to do? Just hover in the air like a hummingbird?”
“If you would shut your mouth for five seconds, Greco, I’d explain the call.” Oliver Layne one of the best and most experienced zebras in the AHL sighed. “And as for you, Tim, get to the box before I add another two minutes for talking to an official in a tone unbecoming of an officer.”
Timmy blinked. “What the hell does that even mean?” the towering D-man asked, then, after a dark look from Oliver, skated to the sin bin mouthing off to himself.
I loved when this kind of shit went down where I could listen in. Most of the time I was at the other end of the ice trying to guess what was being said. Anytime Greck was conversating with the officials, it was worth the price of admission.
“Now, for you,” the ref said, turning his attention to Greck. Bean was standing behind Greck, his captain face on, listening to the explanation that was forthcoming. I gave DJ and Fossie a wink as they lingered nearby as well. “The call was not for tripping, it was interference.”
“I felt his stick in my skate. That was why I fell down,” Greck argued, his face soaked with sweat, his dark eyes glistening with enjoyment. If there was one thing that Phil Greco lived for, it was talking. To anyone. About anything. “I know you guys are sometimes looking at things from a difficult angle which may lead to missed calls or penalties that are assigned incorrectly, so being a nice guy who understands that mistakes are made, I suggest you ask for the replay to be shown on the scoreboard so that you can recalculate the call. My cousin Angus the fourth had to make a public retraction once about some guy he bought a used car from. Seems the Impala had a bucket of ball bearings and a shovel in the trunk that was linked by some gross misconstruction to the disappearance of Big Jimmy Lambino, who ran the whole dry cleaning establishment organization from Broadway-Flushing down to—”
“Two minutes for embellishment. If you don’t get in the box now, I will add another two minutes for trying to talk my damn ear off.” Oliver cut into the dialog that flowed from Greck like water over a dam.
“Okay, he’s going.” Bean skated around Greck, gave him the look, and then watched as Greck made his way to the penalty box, his mouth going steadily just as Timmy’s had.
I relished the chance for some four-on-four hockey. It would only add to the enjoyment of our trouncing of the Comets. If the team from Pennsylvania had thought that their little video was going to throw me off my game, they were sadly mistaken. Sure, it had been cute and poppy and yeah Marcus had looked fucking sexy as shit singing and dancing to the K-Pop band’s song “Fighting” in funky modern street clothes. Credit to Marcus, Crispy, and Ooni for learning the Korean version and all those dance moves. And double credit to the likes the video had gotten in less than an hour. Clever, sure, and I knew our PR department was already scoping out something for us to retaliate with. Honestly, the best payback was the fact that we had four minutes left in the game and were up by five goals. Marcus had been total shit tonight. He’d taken a seat on the bench during the first period to be replaced by Ooni, who had done his best but the five goal lead had held throughout the rest of the game. It was hard to dig your way out of a hole like that. So yeah, I was feeling pretty damn good. And man was I hungry.
Glancing at the Comets’ bench, I spied Marcus hunched up in the corner, with his Comets ball cap down over his brow, and his plump lips tight and curved downward at the corners. I had no idea what had thrown him so badly tonight. It wasn’t like him at all to be so sloppy. Two of the goals that had gotten past him were soft, and I knew he would be chewing on those for some time.
I exited the game after the final buzzer, high on my win and ready to eat myself into a coma. An hour later, after the usual pressers and a shower, I pulled on a hoodie, hair still wet, and went out the players’ entrance to find the dude buying my dinner. Several groups of fans had waited for us, so I took some time to sign programs and hats and take some selfies. The rest of the Gladiators were moving to their rides. Liam paused halfway across the parking lot, his breath fogging in front of him, and turned to look at me.
“You coming?” I shook my head and got the most bizarre look from my roommate. “Oh.” He shuffled his duffel higher on his shoulder. “The team is meeting up for some ramen at that new place that opened over in Ithaca. Are you feeling okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, just tired. I think I might be coming down with a cold or something.” Ugh, lying to my fellow tendie and bestie was not cool, but how could I possibly say I was meeting Marcus for a meal? I mean, we hated each other, right? Or had. The world still thought we did though, which meant we had to keep up the charade even though we’d become friends. “I’m going to go home and chill.”
“Oh that sucks. Sure, go get some rest. I can bring something home for you.” He walked over and thumped me softly on the shoulder. “Or do you want me to come home with you?”
“No, nope, you go. I know you love your ramen.” Liam chuckled. The man did eat a lot of noodles. “I’m going to take a few Advil and make some coffee, you know, the Mama Huda recipe for an incoming cold.”
“Mama Huda would tell you off for stepping outside in the cold with wet hair,” he pointed out with a warm smile. Yeah, she would. “I’ll send you a pic of the menu when we get there so you can let me know what you want. I’ll leave you the keys to my car.” He tossed them over. I nodded and thanked him. “No prob. We’ll take your car when the inspection is done.”
“Great! Awesome. Thanks.” I glanced this way and that. Liam had to have noted my shifty mood but said nothing. My phone pinged in the pocket of my hoodie. “Probably my mother texting to ask me why I’m outside with wet hair.”
