The whole warmup is spent whispering and pointing at the other end of the ice.
The words “girl” and “Jenny” are uttered over and over, our eyes drawing there like we’d never seen one before.
This is my own personal hell.
“Any of them hot?” Mike Number One asks. He’s one of the few guys who wasn’t at the wedding.
“Yeah, shotty that ginger,” Mike Number Two adds, who also was not at the wedding.
I want them both dead.
“Then what? We get to shotty your wife?” Matt laughs at him, throwing me a bone though I suspect he knows Jenny and I are not a thing. Matt always knows.
“Yah, if I can shotty yours, Brimstone.” Mike laughs.
“Good luck with that, man. If you can make her happy, you can keep her.” Matt scoffs and we all laugh. Sami is a special kind of girl.
“Okay, boys, focus in,” Cap says, his voice thick with disparagement. “They have three girls on the team.” His eyes dart to Brady. “Not the goalie.”
We all laugh, even Brady.
“Try to keep it in your pants. There’s no contact. No hitting.” It’s my turn to earn his cold gaze. “No sexual harassment.”
Matt nudges me.
“We’re running shifts. Everyone gets a chance to play. Don’t play too hard but don’t let those girls beat you; Jenny is good.” Cap knocks one of the Mikes in the head and skates for our bench.
“Fifty bucks to anyone who gets Red’s number,” Mike Number Two says quickly.
“Watching you all get shot down is going to be amusing,” Matt mocks them, his stare darting to me.
Dreading everything, I pull on my helmet and skate to my starting position, trying to catch her eye before the puck drops, but she has her hockey hat on, and I’m pretty sure all she sees is the game.
25 Revenge of the girls
Jenny
My gear is a little tight from not training as much lately, but it’s good to be on the ice. The smell and feel of the cold air around me is soothing. I’ve missed it. It’s therapeutic, even with Lawrence so close by.
Like an asshole, I haven’t crossed him off my to-do list. I don’t know how and the last two weeks flew by with work and adjusting to the new apartment and seeing my girlfriends for the obligatory “fuck Ben” party.
Lawrence and Ben linger there, waiting to be crossed off, akin to baggage I don’t want to unpack.
“You ready to get our asses kicked?” Allan, one of the managers who is suited up, asks as the puck is held and the ref shouts demands for a fun game with no hitting.
“Yup.” It’s a lie. I’m not ready. I hate losing. But what would amount to a beer league team against the Rangers is essentially my own version of hell. And we have hipster Steve in goal. He’s one of those miserable “plays for the love of the sport” people.
I play to win. I snug my glove a little tighter and grip my stick, staring down the Rangers who are coming to the realization of who I am. Lawrence, Brady, and Matt have been watching me nonstop.
The puck drops and immediately New York has it. Matt skates with grace and elegance, sliding the puck along as he looks for a pass. He hands it off to Cap, hitting dead center of his blade with a loud thwack.
Allan is already wheezing but Suz, another girl on the team, is on him. Cap doesn’t expect her there. He’s cocky and confident and she steals it, passing it off to Roger who manages not to lose it and passes it to me. His pass doesn’t hit the blade of my stick, but with a quickening of pace and reach, I catch it and move.
“On her!” someone shouts. But they’re slower than me.
Suz makes her way to the goal. I smack the puck at her but Coldwell intercepts, flashing me a grin as he passes it down the line.
I stop and turn, skating away as some beefcake tries to accidentally run into me, but I dodge him with a spin and skate past.
“That wasn’t very nice,” a huge guy grumbles as he skates up next to me, pretending to check me. “He put his best effort into that meet-cute.” He winks and blows by me, moving like he’s a tiny ballerina on ice, not a two-hundred-and-forty-pound beast.
Lawrence peers over at the guy flirting with me, and I hate life and boys and the look on his face.
The Rangers score their first goal and the crowd goes wild with the horn.
Cap’s name, Belamy, is called out by the announcer and Coach calls for the line change.
They trade and so do we, clearing the bench with the second line.
I sit and suck in a little water.
“Jenny, that was a good pass,” Suz says as she knocks my padded arm with her glove.
“We need to fuck them up,” I mutter back, keeping my eyes on the puck, but it’s hard to stay focused. Lian, the girl who plays the second line, is getting mauled by the guys with everything from nudges and holding, to grabbing her jersey. At one point, one of the beefier guys picks her up and skates around, holding her hostage. The crowd is laughing but I know Lian is seething inside.
Suz and I aren’t laughing with the bench. We’re both glaring.
“We’re scoring a goal on those fuckers. You ready?” I ask her as I stand and get ready to jump back over the boards onto the ice.
“Let’s fuck them up,” she growls and the bench clears again as we swap.
The puck’s in play. Brimley and Coldwell and one the massive Russians skate hard, passing back and forth like this is a joke to them. I slide in behind the Russian and sneak the puck as he’s about to grab it.
I turn and skate, sprinting and watching for someone to pass to. Two large guys move toward me. One
