Page 43 of Hockey 101

Oh, thanks, I huff.

What? Is it a surprise to find out you’re short? he teases.

I huff. I am 5’3”, which is almost the average height for women. You’re the one who’s freakishly tall. Everyone on the team is big. Jack is even taller on skates, and he looms over me.

Size matters in hockey. Then he winks at me. In other things too.

That would be the only part of you I haven’t seen. Again, the lower half of my body takes control of my mouth. I can’t flirt, but apparently I can ask for dick pics—while turning bright pink. It’s a miracle I’ve ever dated at all.

But Jack rolls with my awkwardness. He grins and replies, That can be arranged, Andy. Anytime.

Why is easy-going Jack acting so confident and in-charge at the rink? And why am I getting turned on by it? Not having any answers, I concentrate on trying to hold the stick properly. Or at all.

He motions towards the net. Okay, skate that way and back. As fast as you can.

The skating is easy, but the stick feels awkward in my hands. Jack, of course, moves even more smoothly with a hockey stick.

He skates towards the net with a puck, finishing up by shooting it into the net. He spins and passes another puck to me. Your turn.

This is even harder. The puck, which clung magnetically to Jack’s stick, seems to have a mind of its own. My skating strides turn into more of a duck walk as I nudge the puck down the ice. When I whack the puck into the net, the momentum causes me to pitch forward, falling on my knees. Could I be any worse at this?

At least Jack doesn’t laugh at me. I scramble up and brush snow off myself. Fine, I get your point. It’s a lot harder than it looks.

Oh, we are not done. Not by a long shot. He grins at me. Come back here. He’s waiting in the middle of the rink, and I skate back.

Look, I understand. You’re showing me step by step how hard hockey actually is. Can we just skip to the end? I don’t really mind the lesson, but being alone with Jack is starting to feel too intimate, especially now that he’s lost all his awkward goofiness.

Despite Dawn’s urging, I can’t change the way I talk to Jack. We banter and insult, and I can’t flip a switch to be more flirtatious and feminine. Unlike Jack, whose flirtatiousness meter is set to max.

He ignores my protests, gently taking me by the shoulder and pointing me at the net. Imagine this. The arena is full of people. They’re cheering, and they really want you to score a goal. Or you’re at an away game, and the crowd hates you and wants you to mess up.

Got it, I say.

No, close your eyes and really imagine it.

Ugh, you’re so bossy.

But I do it. I close my eyes and pull on the memories of all the games I’ve been to lately. The noise, the excitement, the tension. It would be easier without the warm touch of Jack’s hands on my shoulders.

He continues, Now, pretend you’re skating towards the goal with the puck. But someone’s chasing you, so you have to go your fastest. You’re going to try to score…

My eyes are still closed as I visualize. Then he’s so close I can feel his hot breath on my ear. And I’m going to stop you.

When I open my eyes, Jack is already halfway down the ice. He turns sharply and faces me. Even in the misty half-light, I can see his overconfident grin. My competitive side kicks in.

I skate towards him, but keep having to glance down to make sure I have the puck.

Faster, Robson. Hustle, he yells.

I speed up, driven by my urge to shove the puck down his throat. It’s hard to keep track of everything at once. I’m still focused on the puck when I register a swish of movement beside me. Jack has taken the puck from me and is headed towards the other net, narrating his own play-by-play.

Sinclair steals the puck from Robson. He’s off on a breakaway. Scores! The crowd goes wild. Then he does his usual fist-pumping celebration while mimicking the roar of the crowd.

I skate back to centre ice and call out to him, Are you proud of yourself? Taking the puck away from an absolute beginner?

He laughs. Like candy from a baby. And yeah, I did it because you took your eyes off me. You have to keep watching your opponents. He passes the puck back to me, and even though I have a head start, he easily catches up and steals the puck again. On my next attempt, he takes it again. And again. And again. Apparently, there’s no limit on the number of times I can humiliate myself.

The only time I come close is when I accidentally get my hockey stick caught in Jack’s skate and knock him down. Even then, he recovers in time to stop me from pushing the puck into the net with my hand.

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