Page 21 of Slapshot
The team has a series of away games this weekend, so Friday afternoon I’m packing up all the equipment and trying not to think about spending two days surrounded by hockey players.
As I’m lugging the first bag out to the bus, the guys start to arrive.
“Hey.” Lex falls into step beside me. “Let me get that.”
“I’ve got it.”
His hand closes around the strap next to mine. Warm, calloused fingers that shoot fireworks up my arm.
I pull away but he doesn’t let go.
“What, because I’m a girl I can’t possibly carry the heavy bags all by myself?”
“Can, but why would you?”
“Because it’s my job.”
He chuckles. “It’s your job to make sure the equipment makes it on the bus. Not to carry it. That’s what freshmen are for. Or that’s what Alec did.”
The first thing that Alec did that I agree with. I let go of the bag. “Fine, Freshman. There are three more, just as heavy, when you’re done with that one.”
He grins. The dimple in his chin is more pronounced when he smiles. “Got it.”
“Yo, Forte, Roddy,” he calls to two freshmen as he moves at a pace that is extra annoying since I know exactly how heavy that bag he’s carrying is.
I watch to make sure the guys go back to get the other bags, but they do. Without comment. Huh. Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all. Hockey players aside.
Once everything is loaded and all the players arrive, we’re on our way. I sit up front across from Coach Garfunkle.
He lifts his word search. “Do you play?”
“No. Thanks.”
He goes back to it and I stare out the window.
“Beef jerky?” a deep voice asks just as I’m about to drift off.
Lex moves my purse and sits beside me.
“I was saving that spot in hopes we picked up a cute hitchhiker on the way.”
“Hitchhikers are dangerous, Kait. Good thing I swooped in to save you.” He holds out the bag of jerky.
I shake my head. “Yeah, good thing.”
“Know any road games?”
“The silent game.” I swear this guy brings out my sharp side. I think it’s because in the past when guys were using me, I didn’t see it coming. With Lex, it’s so obvious. He’s hardcore hockey with no apologies. I don’t trust his friendly gestures.
“Never heard of it.” He grins and rests an arm on the seat in front of us. He’s a big guy. Two inches over six feet and just under two hundred pounds. Tall and muscular but not beefy. Still, his presence is a lot to take.
“Ever play slap hands?” He nudges me with an elbow, puts the jerky in the seat pocket, and then angles his body so he can hold out his hands, palms up.
“You’re not serious?”
“Why not?”
“So many reasons.”
