“Five paintings—five!” Marcus cradles his head in his hands.
We’re sitting on the bus with the rest of the team, traveling from our San Francisco hotel to the arena for tonight’s game against the Whips.
“I have the money to buy them,” Marcus continues, “but I didn’t think I’d actually win them.”
“That’s what happens when you bid on everything,” I say.
“I don’t even have enough wall space in my apartment for that many paintings!”
“You can sell them, can’t you?”
He looks at me. “Do you want one?”
“No dice, buddy. I already bought one.”
“Do you even have room for a painting? I thought your walls were reserved for trophies.”
“I have space for the Corazon.” Looking down at my phone, I scroll through the sports headlines looking for my name.
“Dude, you’re obsessed.”
“Maybe. But don’t worry, I’m still focusing on the cup too. First, we win the cup, then I win the trophy.”
Marcus gives me a semi-toothy smile, having just lost one in our previous game. “I like that plan.”
“Look.” I show him the headline of an article in this week’s paper: Gala Shows Charitable Side of Seattle Blades.
“Read it,” he says.
“On Saturday, the Blades Organization hosted a charity fundraiser for the new children’s hospital, showing off a more community-oriented side to the team. Politicians, doctors, athletes, and local celebrities rubbed elbows and drank cocktails while raising money for the cause.”
I skip the boring parts.
“A number of celebrities and players bid—and went home—with prizes, including Logan Drake, who also brought in an additional 1.2 million for a stick he donated for the night’s occasion.”
“Good job, buddy.” Marcus nudges me with his massive elbow.
“Spinner told me to donate that stick. Best idea he’s ever had.” I keep reading. “But is this genuine? Or is this a blatant attempt to adjust perceptions of his notorious behavior? Everyone knows about his shameful fight on the ice with Harrison Cooper and the cheating scandal not long before that. Which was fake,” I add. “But now there are rumors that his injuries are affecting his game on the ice—Okay, that’s enough of that.”
I swipe away the story.
“Gee, that guy really has it in for you,” Marcus says.
“Yeah, I don’t know what his problem is. But look.” I hold the phone out so Marcus can see the picture of Riley and me chatting by a painting. She’s smiling, looking just as beautiful as I remember. “We look good together, don’t we?”
“I like her,” Marcus says. He pauses, waiting for me to say something. “Do you?”
“Of course. She’s smart, beautiful, funny…”
“You seem smitten.” Marcus smiles cheekily.
“I seem what?”
“In love.”
“No, no. Well, maybe. I don’t know.” As I’m scrolling through the article, something catches my attention. “Holy shit, listen to this: Harrison Cooper raked in six points in the other night’s 5-2 win over the Atlantic Aces. The Cleveland Crusher’s six points consisted of three goals—one of them a shorthanded breakaway. This is Cooper’s third hat-trick this season. And this isn’t the first time he’s racked up more than five points in regulation this month, either. ‘With this kind of playing, he’s looking at all sorts of records and trophies in his future,’ Coach Brauer said after the game.”
“Wow.” Marcus raises his brow. “He’s incredible.”
“Which means we have to be better.” I swipe the app away and put my phone down. “We’re tied for points right now. I have to do better than him.”
“Better than six points in one night?”
“We can do that. Three goals, three assists. I’ll feed the puck to you, you feed it to me. Easy-peasy.”
Marcus laughs. “Right. Easy. Why don’t we just win every game, every night?”
“Focus on the goal and you can’t miss.”
“Hey.” Marcus nods toward my phone. “Don’t pay too much attention to all that news stuff. And don’t worry about Coop either. You guys are both good players in different ways.”
“If I don’t pay attention to hockey, what else am I supposed to pay attention to?” I ask.
Riley flashes through my mind and I shake her away. If I start thinking about her, I won’t be able to stop.
Marcus shrugs. “I’m listening to a really cool podcast right now about bees.”
“Bees? Like… the birds and the bees?”
Marcus smiles innocently. “Yeah, I guess they talk about birds too sometimes.”
“That’s not what I meant… you know what? Nevermind.” Before I have a chance to bring up hockey again, I’m distracted by a notification for an incoming text. It’s from Riley.
RILEY: Thank you for the painting.
I smile. Just as I’m about to compose a text, another one from her pops up.
RILEY: But gifts are unnecessary.
I type back and send her a response.
LOGAN: For a second there I thought the ice queen melted away.
As I wait for a response, I stare at the screen obsessively. I finally force myself to look out the window at all the boats on the ocean. My phone buzzes in my hand.
RILEY: I thought hockey players liked ice.
I smile. Not knowing what else to send, I put the first thing that comes to mind.
LOGAN: 🙂
There’s no response. I’m sure she’s carefully crafting a long paragraph about how I’m breaking rule two, or three, or whatever. I type back in an attempt to cut her off before I receive a scolding.
LOGAN: will you watch me play tonight?
I wait for a response that doesn’t come. The bus comes to an abrupt halt.
“We’re here.” Marcus wraps his headphones around his phone. Everyone gets out of their seats and files off the bus. I check my phone a few more times but there are no new messages.
No, I can’t do this.
The last time I got involved with a woman, it ended poorly for me. It’s better if I focus on hockey. Just hockey.
“Before today’s practice, we have some things to address.” Coach Murphy looks at us once we’re all in the locker room. “First thing’s first, Barkley’s back with us after a two-week absence. Good to have you back, Barkley.”
“Way to go, Gopher. We’re proud of you for recovering from such a traumatic injury,” Rock says.
The rest of the team laughs. Normally players recover from injuries sustained on the ice, but Barkley strained his lower back picking up his kid’s toy gopher, earning him his new nickname.
“Glad to be back, Coach.”
“Prove all these clowns wrong today, won’t ya, Barkley?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Coach clears his throat. “Now to the important stuff. Two playoff spots have already been taken and it’s a tight race for the rest of them. The Whips are on a five-game winning streak and if they win, they pull way ahead of us in the standings. We need to win this one to keep our playoff dreams alive. Let’s end their streak and start our own.”
“Yeah!”
“Let’s get ‘em!”
“Come on, guys,” Coach says. “Let’s play some hockey!”
During the game, the outside world melts away. Nothing exists but the ice, the teams, and the puck. The energy in the arena is electric as the guys are amped up and ready to play. We have a rocky first period where two dumb plays put us down 2-0. But in the second period, I manage to set Marcus up twice, allowing him to score. Along with a shorthanded goal by Gopher, we go into the third period with a one-goal lead. I manage to score a goal in the third while Edgar scores an empty-net goal to put us up 6-3 as the final score.
Although I managed a goal and two assists, I knew I could have done better and I should have. After showering, I rush to my locker and check my phone. Cleveland played tonight. If Coop played as good as he did the other day, then I’m screwed. I check the stats of the game to see if Coop score any goals or assists. As I’m navigating my sports app, a text message from Riley pops up.
RILEY: Good job tonight, Mr. Drake
Something about seeing her name on my screen makes my heart beat faster. I smile to myself.
LOGAN: Why thank you, Ms. Jamieson
I try to think of something witty to say in relation to her watching me all night but I can’t think fast enough. She texts me first.
RILEY: I’ve been thinking about it and I think we should go on a date.
I stare at my screen.
Am I reading this right?
I read the text a few times, trying to process what I’m seeing.
LOGAN: You want to go on a date… with me? Are you sure? I think this counts as some sort of rule-breaking.
The three dots appear and disappear several times. I envision her texting furiously, writing a dissertation on why we should go on a date. The thought of it makes me chuckle to myself.
RILEY: We need to get to know each other better. We already messed up when telling Balder about our dating history. It’ll be easier if we actually knew a bit about each other.
LOGAN: Oh, those are the reasons? I thought it was because you liked me.
RILEY: Nope.
That response comes so quickly that I can’t help but feel a bit hurt.
RILEY: I’m free Wednesday. I know you don’t have a game that night.
LOGAN: You know my schedule already? Such an attentive girlfriend.
I add that last part, knowing it’ll get under her skin.
RILEY: See you then
LOGAN: 🙂
She doesn’t respond. Smiling to myself and feeling accomplished, I put my phone into my bag, completely forgetting to search for Coop’s stats. Grabbing my stuff, I run out to catch a ride with the guys back to the hotel.
