Page 6 of Big Pucking Deal
I cover Brooke up with my sheets –thankful the maid came just yesterday– and walk over to Jolie. I tug her to me and wrap my arms around her neck. She circles her arms around my back and snuggles her face into the crook of my neck.
“I’m glad you’re home, Bunny,” I whisper into her ear, using the nickname we gave her as a kid.
I feel her smile against my neck and say, “I’m glad too, Bean.”
She started calling me beanpole when I hit a major growth spurt in junior high. Soon after it got shortened to bean, and it just stuck.
I kiss the top of her head, help her slide under the covers, and turn off the bedside lamp. I quietly close the door behind methen rest my forehead on it. I close my eyes imagining her in my bed. With me. Naked.
Bunny and Bean. Maybe one day.
THE FIRSTweek of dance practice was tough. Week two was even worse. But five weeks in and I’m finally feeling I’ve got a handle on the routines. Dancing on the college squad was tough, but we never had to perform on ice. No, we aren’t pulling off figure skater moves, but somehow that seems like it would be easier.
A large mat sits on the ice, a grip on one side and carpet on the other, and we all stand ready and waiting for the music to start. The home opener is this weekend and we will be performing before the first puck drop. The opening bars of the song play and I count in my head before starting the routine.
Our moves are clean and precise and perfectly in sync. It’s dire that we all stay on count. The movements cause the mat to move slightly, so we need to all be on the same beat. It’s even more important when half of us do a jump and the other half is holding their places, and mat, still. The first time we tried the jumps, the mat went flying out from under us, and we all ended up with our butts on the cold ice.
This time around, we complete our routine with everyone’s butts dry and our feet on solid ground.
“Fantastic ladies!” our coach shouts from the seats where she stands watching us. “We are ready. Let’s end there for today. We’ll see you in two days. Be early, not on time.”
We all reply with a yes ma’am, our chests heaving from the exertion, and carefully walk off the ice. Brooke comes sliding up to me from her spot in the front with a big smile on her face.
“I’m so excited for Saturday,” she squeals, popping up on her toes then waving her arms out to the side to stop her from falling on her ass.
“Me too,” I agree, grabbing her arm and steadying her. “I’m also nervous. That rug better not move a damn inch because if I end up on my ass in front of twenty thousand fans, I’m going to get plastic surgery and leave the country.”
We carefully step off the ice and make our way back to our locker room to grab our bags.
“So,” Brooke starts. “That rookie left wing asked what we’re doing after the game on Saturday.”
“I hope you told him sleeping and soaking our feet.” I swing the bag over my shoulder and dig my phone from my purse, checking for messages.
A group text is waiting for me.
Bean:Dinner at Nando and Paola’s tonight. 6 pm.
Bubba:Cool. There better be salsa.
Bean:Always. Don’t be ridiculous. Jo?
Bubba:She's in practice, but she’ll come.
I read the exchange between my brother and Joaquín as it continues and turns into nonsense. I roll my eyes and laugh at their bickering.
“What’s so funny?” Brooke asks.
I flip the phone around and show her the exchange. “My brother and Joaquín.”
“Bunny, Bean and Bubba? You guys gave each other matching nicknames like your real names.” I knit my brow together, questioningly. “Three J’s…three B’s.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I guess I never really paid too much attention to it.”
We push out of the arena doors and into the parking lot where our cars are parked.
“So you guys are seriously close?”
“Yeah. Well, we were. We grew up together, but Joaquín and I lost contact the last few years while I was at college and he was in Germany. He and my brother are the real best friends.” I press the auto start button on my keyfob to allow my car to cool down.
