Page 55 of Pucker Up
Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. “It’s Aubrey. I’ve got to take this.”
We were at the corner where we’d have to part ways. I gestured west with my thumb. “I’ll see you later.” She nodded while she was talking, waved, and then turned to walk the other way.
After picking up Morton’s number two, we headed back to the office. I hung my coat on the hook on my office door. A hint of white caught my eye. The hat was peeking out the pocket. “Shoot.” I’d forgotten to give it back to Mel. I tucked it back into the pocket with a plan to give it to her the next time we got together.
Mel was right. I was going to have to tell Ace. I promised myself I would do it as soon as he got back from Miami.
TWENTY
ACE
The ginormous temperaturedifference between inside and outside didn’t bother the other guys on the team, but I’d grown up in a northern rink. There was something about walking into the arena sweating my balls off that didn’t feel right. I checked my phone one last time before practice. Goldie and I had been texting back and forth since she stayed over. She was funny and awesome, but texting someone smart made me nervous. Yesterday, I’d had to ask Harrison for a quickie lesson on the difference betweenyourandyou’re. It turns out, it’s not that hard.
Out of all my teammates, the only one I could get to practice the “Michigan” with me was Ethan. In Toronto, we’d practiced varying versions, and Ethan was surprisingly good at it. Essentially, the puck is held on the blade of the stick, kind of like a pint glass on a serving tray, and then flicked into the net. It is gimmicky and probably shouldn’t be allowed in games. It is tricky as hell, and kind of a show-off move, so it isn’t done in important games; but on the rare occasion it is done, it’s a real crowd pleaser.
The night before the game, we went out for dinner in downtown Miami. I wasn’t a fan of the city, but the seafood was definitely better than what we had in Toronto. As I ate, I wondered what Goldie was doing. I wondered what she’d order if she was at the restaurant with me.
Banksy snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Acer.”
The restaurant came back into view. “What were you thinking about? The mystery girl from theTattler?”
When I’d heard that there was a photo of me kissing a woman on the street, I thought that the gig was up. Luckily, it was impossible to tell who I was kissing from the back. I took a bite of my mahi mahi and washed it down with sparkling water. “I was thinking about the game. It’s not too late to save this season.”
Banksy raised his eyebrows. “It would take a record-breaking streak to get us to the playoffs. That’s what, a less than one percent chance?”
I never passed up the chance to quote one of my favorite movies. “So you’re saying there’s a chance.” I grinned like Jim Carrey fromDumb and Dumber.
This got a laugh from Banksy and Holmes. “Crazier things have happened.” Holmes smiled. “We have been pretty dialed in at practice. You and Ethan are wasting a lot of your time with trick shots though.”
“It’s fun.” I couldn’t tell them that I planned to do it in the game. They’d have me committed. “Do you guys remember when the game was still fun?” I glanced to the end of the table where Gideon was having a conversation with Evgeny, who couldn’t really carry a conversation in English.
“I still love it.” Banksy was one of the few guys who had beer the night before a game. He sipped his drink and finished his seafood pasta.
“Me too,” Holmes chimed in. “It was feeling heavy for a while, like a job though. I think it’s going to get better now.”
I wasn’t sure if Coach was going to play Gideon tomorrow. We had come together to win the last game, but our track record together on the ice was super shitty. “I think it’s going to be better too.” I wasn’t going to let my brother bring me down anymore. I had good friends on the team, and a brilliant secret girlfriend, who would hopefully be not-so-secret, soon. Life was good.
Holmes finished his beer and set down his glass. “I think we need a ritual. As a team. Something we do together.”
“Yeah.” Ethan nodded. “When I played for the Bobcats, we all smacked the goalie’s pads with our sticks in the warm-up.”
“We would tap the doorframe of the dressing room door back in Denver,” Banksy said.
They were right. The Toronto Tigers didn’t have anything similar. Usually, there was a player, most of the time it was the captain, who got on the ice last. We filed out willy-nilly. “I’ve got an idea.” I smiled. “I want it to be a surprise though. If I start a ritual, will you all follow along tomorrow?”
The guys closest to me shrugged and then nodded. “As long as it isn’t anything super weird, like wearing thong underwear.”
“I wonder if it would be comfortable.” I pretended to think about it.
Banksy laughed. “Can you imagine Gideon out there, picking a wedgie?”
At the mention of his name, Gideon’s dark gaze turned to the end of the table. “Well, he’s got a stick up his ass already; what’s a thong on top of it?” As soon as I made the joke, I regretted it. Gideon was a serious player, and an asshole, but shit-talking him like we were thirteen years old didn’t feel very good.
“What are you going to do, Acer?” Mikey asked.
“Just follow along, Holmes.” I smiled. “We need something to bring this team together, and I think this is going to do the trick.” Taking a page out of Goldie’s playbook, I held up my fingers. “Scout’s honor, it will be good.”
They all returned the hand signal. It was amazing how many kids had been in the Boy Scouts. My plan was a little ridiculous, but I was going to do it. The million-dollar question was whether or not Gideon would follow along. He was a buzzkill, but he was still a player, and we were all a little superstitious. He wouldn’t be able to resist a team ritual.
