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“Alexander?”
“Do you find it interesting that Stefan here was upset aboutthatcall, and not the one when Box Girl…”
“Francine,” I growl.
“Francine.” When Gabriel says her name, rich with his Quebecois accent, I want to slug him.
“Francine,” Alex corrects with a smug grin that I’d punch off his face if we were on the ice, “cross checked her opponent and it was missed.”
“Francine didn’t cross check,” I argue, “she encouraged her opponent to move out of the way.”
“With a stick to the back.”
“It wasn’t a cross check.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Morrow. Hey, by the way, what’s the name of the official scorekeeper?”
“I don’t know. Why?” I ask, annoyed with my friend and linemate.
“No reason. What about the guy who sounds the siren when we score a goal? Do you know his name?”
“Why do you assume it’s a guy?” I don’t know if it is or isn’t, but I’m bothered that he defaults to assuming it must be a man.
“Okay fine, do you know their name?”
“No, Alex, I don’t know their name. I know Francine’s name because I spend a lot of time sitting in the penalty box and it would be rude of me not to introduce myself.”
“You really think she didn’t know…”
“Shut. Up.”
Alex shuts up but his face speaks volumes as he turns to the ice with a self-satisfied smile. For the rest of the game Alex is, blessedly, silent, which means I can watch Francine skate in relative peace. And the thing about it is she’sgood.She doesn’t just know how to skate, she knows how to play hockey. She knows where her wingers are on the ice, she spots her defenders and knows when to put on the breaks. When she passes backhand to her left wing, without even looking, my jaw drops and Alex’s does too. We’ve seen plays like this in our league, but we’re pros.
“I’m glad I don’t have to face her,” Gabriel says, whistling low, “she’s a great shot.”
“I want her on our line,” Alex’s voice is filled with awe as he elbows me in the ribs, “think we can trade you for her?”
“Sure,” I nudge him with my foot, “but I don’t think you can handle her.”
After the game, Francine’s linemate removes her helmet and skates toward the benches, calling everyone to attention and making a few announcements before reminding them of their next game and practice. Francine stands nearby, seemingly only half listening, her eyes locking with mine. The women on the ice hug and shake hands and make their way toward the exit, and Alex – bane of my existence today – makes a beeline for the ice.
“Let’s go say hi!”
I’d rather die. But Alex pushes me ahead of him all but shoving me right into Francine. She stumbles and I reach for her, steadying her so she doesn’t fall back onto the ice. She’s taller than me in her skates and I wish I didn’t like that as much as I do.
“Hey Francine.” I lift my hand in awkward greeting. “You skated good out there.”
Alex rounds on me with a bemused grin, mouthing the wordsmooth.
Yeah. I bungled that one.
“I mean, you know, it was a good game.” I was once concussed and had an easier time stringing words together.
“Stop being weird,” Gabriel gives me a once over, “And that’s coming from a goalie.”
This would be so much easier if I didn’t have these two goons with me. Francine watches the three of us, not sure what to do, and to be honest I’m not sure what I should be doing either. I know what Iwantto do. I want to get Francine out of here and spend time with her, but as has been established, we shouldn’t.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Gabriel holds out a hand to Francine, “I’m Gabriel Bouchard.”
