Page 6 of Four Letter Feelings

Chapter 3

Practice had gone better than he’d expected considering it was his first time out on the ice since the season ended in Germany in March. Despite having kept up his fitness at the gym over the summer months it could sometimes take some time to find his ice legs. He was glad to discover that this was not one of those times.

Not bad going, Jer, he praised himself as he rinsed the lather off his chest and rolled his neck one last time under the water before turning off the faucet. He grabbed his towel from the door and stepped out of the shower while drying his hair. After a quick dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out of the steamy bathroom, flopping onto his back on the bed and putting his hands behind his head.

I really need to find student accommodation at some point; can’t spend my college years right here in this hotel… Well, I could... It’s tempting… I can afford it, and there’s certainly something to be said for having someone make your bed and clean the bathroom every day. Utilities are paid for … they even have a laundry service. But I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t like it, they want me to have a true college experience even if it’s an international college experience and not the University of Toronto. Not to mention, taking chicks back to a hotel kinda screams money, and you don’t want them comin’ atcha for your cash. Nope, definitely need to find somewhere to crash that isn’t costing a couple hundred bucks a night!

He jolted awake to the sound of his phone ringing. Dazed and bleary eyed he sat up on the bed and looked around the room trying to get his bearings.

“I’m coming,” he muttered gruffly, as he tried to remember where he’d put his phone before taking an unplanned nap. Running his hands over his face and into his hair he huffed as the phone stopped ringing. “Fuckin’ jetlag,” he grumbled. As he stood up from the bed the towel fell to the floor. Ignoring it he ambled towards the desk in search of the phone.

Who even has my number here? He wondered as his jeans started ringing at the same moment he picked them up. Ah ha! I found you, you annoying piece of crap.

Jeremy was probably the only person left on the face of the earth who refused to give up his flip phone. He hated adapting to new technologies, he didn’t see the draw of social media and he was slightly paranoid about ‘Big Brother’ and their ability to eavesdrop or collect information on people. He wasn’t on Facebook; he had a profile page, but he never posted and rarely read anything from anyone else. His Tinder profile was about as ‘out there’ as he got, and his email was set up through an encrypted site that he could only access from his laptop. His phone was for calling and texting people only, few apps, no games, not even Snake – the game from the Nokia days of old – though he often kind of wished he still had his old Nokia for precisely that reason.

He answered when he saw Blake’s name on the screen.

“S’up?” he managed through a yawn, as he ran his palm over his jaw and around his hairline, squeezing the muscles in his neck, making a mental note that he needed a shave.

“Did I wake you, peaches?” Blake’s thick southern drawl was often difficult for Jeremy to understand. They’d played together during high school in Iowa, they even roomed together with the same host family for a time, but Blake’s roots in Alabama had beckoned him home for good shortly after the hockey season had ended. Generally speaking, aspiring hockey players have to go where there is opportunity, as they don’t always have a hockey team or league near home at the level they need to develop. These junior hockey teams feed into the college team system. This means that for many kids to play at a higher level and improve on their skills they have to go to another state to play. The goal is to go somewhere with a well-established organization that plays in scouted tournaments to increase your chances of being seen and move into the various levels of professional teams. Players serious about their hockey future can start playing away from their home around fourteen years old, though players who ‘billet’, or stay with a host family, tend to be between sixteen and twenty years old. They move in with a family, sharing meals and chores, going to school and playing hockey.

Playing sports in general can be pretty expensive; lessening the cost of living expenses away from their parents and financial support network can really help a player pursue their hockey career without the added complication of having to find a job and pay their own way. Players and hosts often become part of each other’s extended families and keep in touch for years beyond the time spent together during their stay.

Blake and Jeremy knew each other from playing hockey together in high school in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. They’d kept in touch sporadically, but hadn’t seen each other since long before Jeremy had left for Europe. He was glad he knew someone at UAH and even if he couldn’t understand him all of the time, it was nice to have someone familiar around.

“Yeah.” Jeremy yawned again. “Jetlag, man. I got out of the shower and… bam. I don’t even know what time it is. What time is it?”

“Chow time. You wanna come drinking?”

“I could definitely drink. Who’s in?”

“Just a few of the guys. You wanna have steak and beer before we meet them at the bar?”

“As long as you don’t want a blowjob after the steak I’ll be there.”

“Dude. Ew. You know you’re not my type; I prefer blondes.”

Jeremy smiled. “If I swung your way, man. I’d buy a box dye right now and propose.”

“Sure you would, but you also know I’m not that easy. For right now, though, you’ll just have to settle for beer and beef.”

Jeremy snorted. “Keep it in your pants, B.”

“You couldn’t handle my beef, bro. See you at Longhorn in thirty.”

Jeremy chuckled to himself as the line went dead. He crossed the room to his half-open suitcase, pulled out a clean shirt to pair with his jeans and got dressed. He arrived a few minutes early at the steakhouse. The host led Jeremy to their booth and a server took his drink order while placing a basket of fresh hot bread on the table in front of him.

I’ve missed American hospitality, he thought, with a small smile as he picked up a bread roll, sliced it and slathered it in butter. He took a bite of the warm buttery bread and sighed. It’s good to be back in North America.

Dining out in Europe just wasn’t the same as in the US, and as far as Jeremy was concerned, nothing beat the food service industry here in America. He’d be the first to admit though, from having worked as a server for a time in his teens, that the pay scale most certainly sucked as did the treatment from some of the patrons. The service in the US, however, was second to none. His European friends often criticized the American staff for being overly fake, friendly and verging on annoying, but Jeremy always appreciated the warmth and attentiveness of good service staff. He thanked the server for his bottle of Below the Radar beer from a local micro-brewery. They had an impressive list of hometown brews that Jeremy had never tried before, so he picked one from the top of the menu and figured he’d make his way down the list.

“Looks like I got here just in time.” Blake’s familiar voice pulled Jeremy out of a daze. “Dude, you look totally spaced out. You good?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy yawned in response. “Just exhausted.”

“Oh, I bet. All that nappin’ must be terribly hard work.” Blake ignored Jeremy’s glare and spluttering protests about jet lag, hockey practice and his ten-mile run before breakfast and ordered a bottle of Innerspace from the local brewery list.

“Since when is Huntsvegas the center of the micro-brewery universe, man?”

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