Page 38 of Rookie Season
“Seriously?” I demand.
Harry ignores me like the asshole he is.
“Let’s go!” Penn demands, and I spring into action. Rushing toward my closet, I throw on my game day suit. Thankfully I had my navy one freshly dry cleaned, and it was already laid out and ready to go. I get dressed in record speed, picking up my gym bag off the ground and checking its contents. “Where the hell’s my lucky jersey?”
I rummage around my bedroom, throwing the covers off my bed as I look for my Arlington University jersey. The one I wore during both Frozen Four championships that we won. I probably don’t need to bring my lucky jersey to every game, but it brought me luck in college, and I hope it will bring me luck in the NHL.
Am I just as superstitious as all the other hockey players out there? Probably. But at least I don’t refuse to wash my game day socks or anything gross.
Through my still slightly-sleepy haze, it dawns on me that I washed the jersey this morning and hung it to drybecause Harry made himself at home on top of it, and the thing was covered in cat hair.
I run to the bathroom to brush my teeth, add a swipe of deodorant, and check my hair in the mirror. It’s not sticking up, so it’s good enough. I’m out of breath as I sprint across the main area of the loft toward Fisher and Penn’s rooms where there’s a laundry room nestled beside their bathroom. The gym bag on my shoulder thwacks the door as I rush inside and then immediately stop in my tracks.
The loud sound from the door startles Ally, and she glances over her shoulder with a small gasp, her lips parted in surprise.
I try to swallow, but my throat won’t work. Because Ally is standing in front of the washer and dryer. Wearing black spandex workout shorts and my burgundy and gold Arlington U jersey. Her hair is up in a claw clip, displaying my last name across her shoulders.Downsby.
Mylast name.
“You okay, Noah?” She asks, breaking my trance.
I clear my throat. “Uh, you’re wearing my jersey.”
“Oh, sorry!” She glances down, laughing to herself. “Didn’t realize this was yours. I just grabbed whatever was hanging there.” She points to the hanging rack loaded with an array of jerseys, hoodies, and sweatshirts belonging to us guys. She studies me for a moment before adding, “You guys keep it freezing cold in this loft. I finished with my workout and came in here to fold my laundry, and I threw it on so I wouldn’t get frostbite.”
I blink. “Right. Well, I need it.”
My phone pings, then pings again, then again. Probably Penn or Fisher urging me to hurry. But I can’t force my brain to function when this girl is wearing my damn jersey.
“But it’s not a Lions jersey?” She folds a shirt and placesit neatly on top of a stack of other articles of clothing she’s folded, before shrugging out of the sleeves that are much too long for her arms. She grabs the hem of my jersey and pulls it over her head—which does little to help my current state of mental confusion because underneath she’s wearing a cropped tank top that matches her shorts, showing off the body straight out of my dreams.
She holds it out to me, and I reach for it, the cloth warm from her body heat. “I know, but it’s my lucky jersey.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Ahhh. Sorry if I messed with the lucky juju or whatever.” Ally smirks and goes back to folding laundry like she didn’t just alter my entire universe by wearing my name.
“I’m sure it’s fine; see you later,” I manage to say before getting the hell out of there. She didn’t mess with the juju of my lucky jersey, but she definitely messed with my head.
I already know my dreams tonight will feature her wearing the jersey clutched in my hand and not the bikini.
This game was the first one where I genuinely felt unfit to be on the first line.
I was distracted by arriving late with my two very annoyed roommates at my side. I was distracted by Sandine still refusing to pass me the puck. I was distracted by Mitch—Coach Anderson, whatever—gritting his teeth as he told me to get my head in the game. Hell, even Coach Slater looked uncharacteristically serious as he watched me fall apart out there. And most of all, I was distracted by the vision of my jersey draped over Ally’s feminine curves, the fabric so loose it exposed one of her shoulders.
Did I mention I was distracted?
And to think my only goal for this season was to stay focused.For shit’s sake.
We managed to win tonight’s game. Barely, with a three to two win in overtime.Weis a strong term, seeing as I was basically sludging around on the ice all night like a four-year-old during their first skating lesson.
The thought makes the vivid memory of my first skating lesson pop into my mind as I step into one of the showers in the locker room.
I remember it like it was yesterday… My dad and I at the rink, him crouching behind me, his hands steady beneath my arms as he skated both of us in a full circle around the iceplex. Afterward, we went home and watched a D.C. Eagles game. That day solidified my love of the ice and my desire to play hockey. We had a few more skating lessons together before I took off on my own and he enrolled me in the in-house hockey league at our local iceplex.
What would Dad have thought if he could’ve watched me tonight? Would he be disappointed?
No, he would just encourage me to do better next time. After a particularly rough game the year before he died, my dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked to our car and told me,Wayne Gretzky once said that you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. And your dear old dad once said that even if you miss those shots, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.
It made me smile that day, and it has me smiling again now as I try to ease up on mentally beating myself up. I rinse the shampoo from my hair and turn the water off, grabbing my towel and running it over my head before tying it at my waist.
