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“Yes, it is,” Ander says as he comes to join us. He sits in the remaining open seat next to me and sets a glass of clear liquid down in front of me, then grabs my beer out of my hand like it’s something he does regularly. I look at him, then at the glass which very clearly contains two fingers of vodka.
“What is this?” I ask.
“You don’t know?” He grins and takes a sip of the beer he took from me. “I thought a connoisseur of fine vodka would be able to know what that was immediately.”
“I know what it is,” I say. “I just mean… why did you bring it to me?”
“Oh!” His eyes open a bit wider. “I guess I assumed you’re not much of a beer guy, so I had Nicole pour this for you instead.”
“Why on earth do you think you know Ivanov’s drink order better than we do?” Brandon asks.
“Shit,” Ander says. He holds the beer forward for me again. “Do you want this back?”
“No.” I laugh and grab the glass of vodka. “This is much better,” I say then take a sip. The liquid goes down thick and harsh. It’s missing all the smoothness I love most about a nice, chilled vodka. But it is still better than beer, so I won’t complain. And it was oddly thoughtful of him to order it for me.
It’s always thoughtful when someone brings me a drink. It’s why I never complain when my teammates hand me a bottle of watery American beer. But just because I drink it out of polite gratitude, that doesn’t mean I always enjoy it. Just like I probably wouldn’t order a straight vodka from a place like Mickey’s. It is still nice that Ander did it anyway.
So nice, in fact, that if this was during a playoff series, I’d suspect he’d poisoned it and was trying to throw me off my game. I eye him suspiciously over the rim of the glass.
He smiles at me, looking pleased with himself. “It’s top shelf.”
“You don’t say.” I take another drink and try not to grimace too much as it burns my throat.
Brandon rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna order him dinner next?”
Through the eyelet pattern of the metal patio table, I see Ryan place his hand on Brandon’s thigh and give it a squeeze. His touch is almost as if he’s giving Brandon a silent reminder to be nice.
“I don’t know,” Ander says, looking at his brother with a playful and happy smirk on his face. “Are you going to have Ryan cut your meat for you?”
Ryan bursts out into a laugh as he squeezes Brandon’s thigh again. With his other hand, he clinks Ander’s glass. “Good one.”
Brandon flips them the middle finger, despite the fact that he’s also laughing along.
“He is Baby, after all,” I say. Which makes them each laugh harder. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I liked the sound of it.
Ander
Seeing Nikolai being playful and joking with Brandon and Ryan is quite the opposite of what I was expecting. He’s had a mysterious reputation in the league. A star goalie back in Russia when he was younger, who was never quite able to get his feet under him in the NHL when he came over here. That is, until last season, when he turned out to be one of the integral parts of the Mules’ success. I wonder what the shift was. Because up until last season, and particularly after the trade deadline, Nikolai was always seen as unreliable. But he sure did prove everyone wrong.
“So, did you like the apartment?” I ask him.
He takes another sip of his drink and nods. “I did. As long as my paperwork is accepted, I move in two weeks.”
“While training camp is going on?”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “Will be busy, but I can manage.”
“We can manage,” Ryan says. “You have an entire team that can help you out.”
“Or he can hire movers,” Brandon says, like he thinks we’re all idiots.
“Either way,” I say. “You kind of picked a shitty time to move. Why’d you wait?”
His eyes shift a little, like he’s looking around, and he takes another small sip of his drink. Worry appears in his eyes. “I do not have new contract yet,” he says. “If I get traded again, then what? You know?”
“You’re not getting traded again,” Ryan says.
“Yeah,” I agree. After almost winning the Stanley Cup a few months ago, the Mules would be stupid to get rid of him. And from what I can tell, especially now that Coach Chris has taken over the locker room, that team is not stupid anymore. “There’s no way they won’t re-sign you.”
