Page 17 of Three Hockey Hotties

Sure, I’m in.

I don’t tell her why. It feels too new and fresh and…unbelievable to even explain it.

Instead, I spend the short bus ride looking up Kane and Dash on the official Mutts team website and on the team’s social media accounts.

They’re both star players. They’re both twenty-three. They’re both expected to get called up at some point this season if they perform as they have in the past.

I try to look up Benjamin Meyer, but I don’t find anything about him at all.

At my stop, I shove my phone back into my pocket and pull out my keys.

It’s only a block to my building but the rain makes it a miserable walk. I regret not turning the heat on today. I had a battle with myself and my budget over turning the heat on too early in the year. I’m holding out for November first. Working for a non-profit is rewarding but the pay isn’t exactly amazing.

My apartment is a tiny box that has seen better days. It’s also on the third floor and there’s no elevator, so I trudge up the steps, reminding myself this is a great free workout.

My neighbor’s door pops open. It’s Mrs. Litwinski, who has lived here since the early seventies. “Your ceiling leaking?” she asks me, her hair in curlers, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been home.”

“Bet it is. Mine is. Damn cheap-ass corporate motherfuckers. This roof should have been replaced twenty years ago. Twenty-five-year-old shingles done in ‘77. You do the math.”

I don’t do the math. I trust her. I eye the hallway ceiling warily. “Should we call someone?”

“Who the hell are we going to call? Ever since they made us install that maintenance app they can just ignore us. No way to reach any of those motherfuckers in person. It’s bullshit.” Mrs. Litwinski nods to me. “Mark my words. You’re leaking too.”

Then she slams her door shut again.

We are on the top floor. A leaking roof could do a lot of damage to my apartment.

While the apartment itself would be no great loss, everything I own is inside.

When I go in, I turn on the lights and look up.

Oh, no. It’s leaking all right. There’s a big bubble forming in the ceiling plaster.

Warily, I eye it before going to the window and drawing the curtains closed.

When I turn back, the bubble is bigger.

“Okay, that’s going to be a problem,” I say to the empty room. “It looks like it’s going to⁠—”

The ceiling falls down right in front of my eyes.

It just…lets go.

I scream as plaster and water rain down on my sofa and the snake plant that I stole from my parents and I’ve been nurturing back to life.

Yanking open my door I see Mrs. Litwinski opens hers simultaneously.

She eyes me, standing there soaking wet with plaster dust clinging to every inch of me. She glances behind me.

“Motherfuckers.”

I nod, my teeth chattering. “Mother. Fuckers.”

CHAPTER 4

BENJAMIN