Page 57 of Pucker Up
It wasn’t what I expected. I thought I was going to get a lecture. “Thanks, Coach. Ethan and I practiced that shot all week. I didn’t think, I just did it.”
“I know, kid.” He patted my leg. “That’s what I mean. I want to see more of that.”
I was a grown man, but even still, I didn’t think that there was an age limit on feeling pride and receiving praise from your coach. “You’ve singlehandedly turned this season around. I was so focused on the game, I’d forgotten about camaraderie. Your little ritual set the tone for the game, and if the guys like it, I want you to keep doing it. You first, Gideon last.”
“I can’t take all the credit for that. We discussed superstition at dinner, and my line agreed that we needed…something.”
“You’re a natural-born leader. Lean into it.”
I’d never thought of myself as a leader. “I don’t like telling people what to do.”
“Kid.” Coach stood. “A leader isn’t bossy. A leader does just that, leads by example. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”
He left me alone in the room. For the first time in my life, I was the one my teammates looked up to, not Gideon. I was the one scoring the goals, and it was number eleven on the scoreboard, not number eight. For a guy who thought a woman would make his game turn to shit, I was doing damn good. It might be a coincidence that Goldie could predict the shot needed to win a game, but it wasn’t a coincidence that everything in my life had turned around when she came into it, for the better.
TWENTY-ONE
GOLDIE
“Ugh.”I woke up and peeled the pages of a book from my face. Gray light pored in through my window. It wasn’t dark outside—had I slept in? I ran to the kitchen to check the clock. It read 8:00. Relaxing, I headed to the bathroom to see if the pages of the academic journal had transferred to my cheek.
My mouth was dry and felt disgusting. I had fallen asleep on the sofa reading studies and hadn’t brushed my teeth or washed my face, and I was still wearing the dress shirt and pants I’d worn to work the day before.
While the shower warmed up, I got out of my crinkled clothes and checked my phone. My screen was full of notifications. I’d missed calls from Ace, my dad, and my mom. There were text messages from Ace, Mel, and Dad.
A text from Dad told me they were truly on a streak, and he asked me to light a fire in the fireplace. I’d fallen asleep before the game. I couldn’t believe it. Ace’s text was a GIF of a puck going into a net. Mel’s message was classic Mel.
Your boyfriend is an all-star. He deserves a BJ for that goal.
Even Mel had seen the goal. What kind of hockey girlfriend falls asleep before a game?
After my shower, I turned on the sports channel to watch the replays. My eyes misted over as I watched Ethan and Ace’s perfect execution of the Michigan. It looked exactly the same way I’d envisioned when I wrote him the note. There were several angles of the shot. The tears didn’t fall until they zoomed in on Ace’s face. I could feel the joy in his eyes as his teammates surrounded him in celebration. I plucked a tissue from the box, dabbed at my eyes, and blew my nose. Part of me was so proud of him, while the other part was filled with admiration. It was a risky shot.
As much as the trick shot made me cry, I wasn’t prepared for the tidal wave of emotions that would take over when they played footage of all the Toronto Tigers lining up to kiss Robbie the goalie’s helmet. They’d never done that before, and Ace was first in line.
I listened to the voicemails. Ace had tried to call me after the game and I’d missed it. When he could have been out celebrating on the Miami strip, he’d gone back to the hotel room to call me. A sob escaped my lips. Ace Bailey was an incredible human being. And it wasn’t official, but I hoped I could soon call him my boyfriend.
Morton and I went for a walk on the beach. Dad was going to be home in the afternoon and in his voicemail, he asked me to leave Morty at home so he could take him for a walk. I had sessions with a few of the players in the afternoon, so it worked well for the shedding machine to stay at home. As we headed past the dog beach to the boardwalk, I listened to the lastmessage, the one from my mom. She was in Michigan and would be crossing the border into Canada later that day, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe at the end of the week.
It wasn’t a surprise. I hadn’t expected a travel itinerary from my mom; she had a habit of just showing up. At least this time, I knew I could expect her anytime from tonight to… It was possible that she still might get distracted. I wouldn’t make up the couch until her crappy Toyota covered in alien and tree-of-life stickers was parked in the driveway. The only predictable thing about Fern Lauper was that she was wildly unpredictable.
I left Morton on his special blanket on Dad’s couch and made sure that the fire was crackling and tamped it down properly before I headed to work. My first session of the day was with the most reserved of my subjects: Gideon Bailey.
Gideon was waitingwhen I arrived at the training facility. My heart skipped a beat and I checked my watch. “Don’t worry, I’m early.” Gideon stood and opened the door for me. They may have been yin and yang, but one thing the brothers had in common: they were both gentlemen.
I took my seat and Gideon settled into the plastic chair across from me. Underneath him, the chair looked like it belonged in a kindergarten classroom.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bailey.” I shook his hand and the same electrical zap that had come with all of my other visions tingled my hand, but there wasn’t a visual. It was just darkness, and then bright fluorescent lights. Gideon released my hand and the vision fizzled before I could figure out what I was looking at. Maybe I was tired. I still wanted to find a scientific reason forwhat was happening to me. Maybe I needed to get a glucose monitor; maybe the sparkly vision was low blood sugar.
“Good afternoon, Professor Goldie.” He looked tired. “Don’t you have to be a PhD before you can call yourselfprofessor?” There was no emotion in his voice, and I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious, or if he was calling me out for the inappropriate use ofProfessor. Thanks, Dad.
“That’s correct.” I smiled. “This is my master’s thesis. A lot of my undergraduate students call me professor though.” It came off a bit more defensive that it needed to be. “Your coach threw it out there, and it looks like it stuck.”
Gideon held up his hands. “I was just curious. You don’t need to explain yourself.”
“It was a valid question. If you’re not comfortable with it, you can call me…” I hesitated. “Goldie.”
He smiled. “I like Professor Goldie. It suits you.” He laced his hands together on the table. “Those cat-eye glasses alone give you the right to use the professor moniker.”
