Page 68 of Rookie Move
Leo:Not funny. We’ll talk later. I miss you.
Georgia:What ever happened to your lucky jock strap? Please tell me you finally washed that thing.
Leo:Nope! I don’t wear it anymore tho.
Georgia:Thank god
Leo:It’s in a zipper bag at the bottom of my gear duffel. It was ten feet from the bed where we...
Georgia:Ew!
Leo::)
TWENTY
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11
18 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
DALLAS, TEXAS
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
“Dallas Has a 7-1 Record vs. Brooklyn in Recent Match-ups. Let’s Make it Eight?”
—The Dallas Tribune
Leo caught himself humming in the showers after the morning warm-up. Everything had gone right for a change. He didn’t know whether his attitude had been buoyed by last game’s goal or yesterday morning’s perfect reunion with Georgia. Maybe both. But whatever the cause, he’d killed it at practice yesterday and this morning. Even during the three-on-twos at the bitter end, he’d sliced past O’Doul and made the puck his own.
After the morning skate he’d stayed behind a few minutes because the associate coach wanted to talk to him about Dallas’s defensive habits. Leo was the last man off the ice, and he thought he caught even Coach Worthington wearing a look of grudging approval.
Finally. A little momentum.
He shut off the tap and reached outside the stall for thetowel he’d hung there. But his hand met only a hook and cool air. So Leo stuck his head past the discolored shower curtain and checked the hooks on either side of his stall. They were both empty.
Fuck.
He stepped out anyway, dripping wet, wearing nothing but his shower shoes. Someone had decided he needed a little middle-school-grade hazing. The stack of clean towels he’d seen on the counter ten minutes earlier was missing, too.
Whatever.
Leo walked into the dressing room, where several guys snickered. As he passed O’Doul he made sure to shake himself like a dog, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.
The snickers turned to full-out laughter, except from O’Doul, who swore. “It wasn’t me, asshole. Castro loves to pull that shit.”
“Good to know.” He crossed to his locker and looked for something—anything—to dry himself off. Yesterday’s T-shirt? Good enough. He swatted at the drops of water on his chest and neck.
“Hey, naked boy.” O’Doul stood beside him, frowning.
“Yeah?” He dug his underwear out of his duffel.
“We gonna win this thing tonight?”
Leo chuckled. “That’s the plan, right?” Though Dallas was a tough team, and the Bruisers’ record against them wasn’t the best.
“Sure. But there’s a defenseman on this crew who has it in for me. One of their guys was injured in our game last season. Career-ending. You remember Burkowski?”
“Yeah. Broken femur?”
