Page 10 of SlapShot Sweetheart

“I need you to leave ‘er a message on ‘er voicemail,” Theo began again, whispering quietly to his friend. “My accent is too thick, and I don’t wan’ ‘er to know it was me.”

“We’re both Canadian.”

“You’re a Newfie – we sound very different.”

“I sound cultured… and you sound like a drowning animal?”

“Cultured like a rotten egg?”

“Hey, you came to me for the favor… remember?”

“Forget it – I’ll ask Giroux.”

“So you want some hick with a Texas accent warming up your girlfriend?”

“Better than some Newfie who crawled off the…”

“What are you two fighting about now?” Lafrenière snapped. “You are on the same team, remember?”

“Je me souviens… allors, il son…”

“No! No, ‘buts’,” Lafreniere interrupted. “Same team, same colors. You’re brothers, and we’re a family.”

“Ask him,” Coeur grinned, slapping him on the chest. “Lafrenière, Boucher, Thierry… your brother Batiste wants you to sweet talk his girlfriend.”

“I ‘ate you sometimes,” Theo muttered, embarrassed and feeling totally humiliated. Coeur was always so cool and collected with the ladies. The man could sneeze and pick up three chicks.

“What is going on?”

“I need someone without an accent to leave a voicemail for my friend.”

“Hisgirlfriend,” Coeur clarified.

“Is it gonna be dumb, sappy, or emotional?” Boucher interrupted. And before Theo could answer the man, Lafrenière spoke.

“Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to mess around with a bunch of stupid mind games that women play. I’m never dating, never getting married, because women are a bunch of drama.”

“Amen, brother,” Coeur agreed emphatically. “Not gonna happen!”

“It’ll take a miracle, and I’m not even putting myself in danger of that happening.”

“What’s wrong with you two?” Theo snarled angrily. “It’s just a voicemail.”

“People love a French accent, just use what you’ve got, and if she guesses it’s you…”

“Then she’ll bash my brains in!” Theo interrupted, pointing at his head. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Lafrenière asked, laughing as Coeur joined in. The two of them were having a grand ol’ time at his expense, and he could feel his temper surging deep down inside.

“I DON’T KNOW!” he screamed angrily, flinging his hands into the air and stomping off and leaving the men standing there. He pushed past Giroux’s stunned face, heading toward the gym to exert himself and work off some frustrations. He didn’t say a word, instead marching over to the stationary slider. He slipped on the boots and started slamming his body into the lateral lunges.

Twenty minutes later, he was sweating buckets. His legs were on fire and aching as the guys walked in, looking at him. Their faces looked concerned, which immediately made him feel like the biggest fool. “What?”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“Batiste, what do you need?”

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