Page 125 of Playing the Pucking Game
This past week has been awful. The only relief I’ve had from regretting what I did in my bedroom that night has been when I’m on the ice and focused on the task at hand. The second I’ve stepped off, it all comes flooding back.
Parker is ignoring me, and in turn, I’ve been giving her as much space as possible.
I was the one who fucked up.
She was just trying to help me.
I was the one who took it a step too far.
I wish she’d at least give me a chance to apologize, but other than spending time together at work, where we can’t talk about it, she hasn’t given me the opportunity.
She’s either out or hiding in her bedroom.
“This was the best idea ever,” Killer announces a beat before he holds his hand out for me so he can haul me up.
“Handsy and Brit, you’re next.”
“Fuck off. I’m not doing that,” Handsy barks as Brit gets to his feet and pulls his socks off.
He rolls his shoulders back and does a couple of hamstring curls to loosen up his muscles.
“Oh, but you are,” Killer muses.
The two of them glare at each other until Handsy finally relents and gets to his feet to a round of applause from us.
“I’m requesting a transfer. This is fucking bullshit,” he sulks as he takes the center spot on the mat.
“Ready?” Monroe asks.
“No.”
“Shame, because we’re going in…three…two…one…”
Brit is fucking awful. If it’s possible, I think he might be worse than me. But the biggest surprise of the duel is that Handsy can move.
Obviously, we all know his hand-eye coordination is insane, but apparently it extends to dancing.
“How the fuck are you doing that?” Brit shouts as he glances at Handsy's score and balks.
He’s getting slaughtered by our grumpy goalie.
This could be the best thing I’ve ever seen.
“Come on, Handsy. Move those hips,” Killer shouts, cheering him on. “Oh yeah, left, right. Left, left, right. And two feet.”
“Man, I fucking love you guys,” Monroe says. When I glance over, he’s got a soft smile playing on his lips and I swear a little moisture in his eyes. “I’m so fucking glad I ended up here with you. You’re the brothers I never had.”
“Aw, we love you too, Rookie,” Fletch says, roughing up his hair like he’s a little kid.
Handsy is easily declared the winner, but seeing as Fletch and I both crashed out, they insist we go again so the winners from each round can dance off against each other.
“Okay,” I say, shaking out my body as I take my position.
“We’ve got this, man,” Fletch says, holding his fist out for me to bump.
“May the best man win,” I say, flashing him a grin before the timer runs out and we jump into action.
Now I’ve got a feel for it, it comes a little easier, and I smile when I see my score slowly increasing.
