Page 24 of Must Love Hockey
James: Good luck with your exams! I’m available for pizza refueling should the need arise.
Emily: Thanks again!
That’s it. That’s all she writes.
I groan aloud.
“Got a problem, Jimbo?” O’Doul—the Bruisers’ captain—walks into the sharpening room and squints at me.
“Not sure,” I grumble, lifting his skate off the sharpener and checking the edge. “You’re all set. Here.” I pass both skates over to him.
“Is it woman trouble? I heard your girl came to the game alone.”
Lord, the gossip in this place. “She was alone. But she’s not my girl. There’s still a boyfriend. I think? What do you suppose this means?” I hold up my phone for his inspection. “But don’t you dare reply, or I’ll order you the wrong stick for the game against Toronto.”
“Easy, killer.” He reads my texts with Emily. “She doesn’t say why her boyfriend wasn’t there.”
“I noticed that.”
“That means the puck is in play.”
“Does it, though? She’s dating some banker—the kind of guy who wears a nice suit and pays for expensive dinners.”
“You can rock a suit as well as the next guy.” He punches me in the shoulder. “Don’t do that, Jimbo. Don’t assume the other guy can outskate you. That just makes you a loser before you ever step out onto the ice.”
“Stretchin’ this hockey metaphor a little far, captain.”
“Nah,” he says. “No such thing as too much hockey. You gotta size up your opponent. Get low and hit him with your weight, yeah? Beat him at his own game. You think I got this far assuming the other guy could win the faceoff?”
“No sir,” I admit.
“What does this girl want in a man?” He shrugs. “Just figure that out and be that guy. It will all work out for you.”
At that, the man takes his skates and goes, leaving me plenty to think about.
* * *
After thinking it through, I realize O’Doul is right. I’m not done here. I’ve got more fight left in me. So I start making plans.
“Hey, Ari?” I stop O’Doul’s fiancée in the hallway on the way to the massage-therapy treatment room. “You like to eat vegetarian, right?”
“Yeah, I try,” she says. “Why?”
“What’s a great Brooklyn restaurant for a meatless meal? Bonus points if it’s near downtown, and if they deliver.”
“Oh, step into my parlor,” she says. “I’ll make you a list of the best ones.”
“You’re a goddess, Ari.”
“Just invite me to your wedding, kid.”
* * *
That afternoon I walk into the weight room when it’s crowded. “Hey guys, I’m here to shamelessly ask for favors.”
“Sexual favors?” asks Drake from the weight bench. “Will you talk dirty to me in your New York accent?”
“Fugghedaboutit,” I say, and the whole room laughs.
