Page 12 of The Puck Contract

They huddle around the coffee table, arguing about the best way to explain concepts while I watch in a mixture of horror and fascination.

"The blue line is called that because it represents the tears of opposing players," Becker says with complete seriousness as Petrov writes it down.

"Wait, what?" I frown. "That doesn't sound right."

"Trust me," Wall assures me. "I'm a goalie. We know these things."

Ace nods solemnly. "When a goalie makes a glove save, he has to whisper something nice to the puck before releasing it. For good luck."

"Really?" That definitely wasn't in any of the articles I read.

"Oh yeah," Becker confirms. "And a 'face wash' isn't just shoving your glove in someone's face—it's also a traditional post-game skincare routine. The whole team does sheet masks together after wins."

I dutifully take notes, though something seems off about these explanations. Still, they're professional players. They would know, right?

"So when they say someone 'went five-hole,' that means...?" I ask, trying to show I'm picking up the terminology.

The four of them burst into laughter, which doesn't exactly boost my confidence.

"It means they scored through the secret fifth hole on the ice," Wall wheezes, wiping his eyes. "Very rare. Only the elite players can find it."

The door opens again, and this time it's Groover, carrying a bag from a health food store. He stops dead when he sees the gathering in his living room.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asks, taking in the scene—four hockey players sprawled across his living room furniture, notebooks and flashcards everywhere, and me in the middle looking like I've been taken hostage by a very athletic study group.

"Groover!" I say, too brightly. "Your friends were just helping me understand hockey better."

I hold up my notebook proudly. "Did you know goalies whisper sweet nothings to the puck after making a save?"

Groover's expression morphs from confusion to understanding to exasperation in the span of two seconds. He sets down his bag and crosses his arms.

"What have you idiots been teaching him?" he demands.

Becker puts on an innocent face that wouldn't fool a blind referee. "Important hockey culture. He needs to know this stuff."

"Yeah," Wall adds. "Can't have your boyfriend thinking a power play is something that happens in the bedroom." He pauses. "I mean, it can be, but that's different."

I feel my face heat up as I look down at my notes. "Wait, so... none of this is real?"

"No, Mateo," Groover sighs, reading over my shoulder. "Goalies don't whisper to pucks, the blue line doesn't represent tears, and for the love of God, we don't do sheet masks together."

"Oh."

Groover must see something in my expression because his voice softens. "Don't you all have optional training to get to?" he asks his teammates.

"Thiswastraining," Becker protests. "Cultural education!"

"Out," Groover points to the door. "Now."

The guys gather their things, not looking particularly remorseful.

"Sorry about the misinformation," Ace says to me, though his grin suggests he's not sorry at all. "No hard feelings?"

"It's fine," I say, trying to sound like I'm in on the joke and not completely mortified.

After they file out, Groover sits beside me on the couch. "Sorry about that. They're like overgrown children sometimes."

"It's okay," I say, though I'm still feeling pretty stupid. "I should have known better than to believe goalies whisper to pucks."

---