Page 26 of Must Love Hockey
And, yup, that’s payback enough. I want Emily. But more than that, I want to make her happy. And yet here I stand in the dressing room before a game, wondering whether tonight could be the night she meets me for drinks.
It’s January, and the season is going well. Last night’s minor disaster against New Jersey was the only game we lost out of our last six.
Every man in this locker room wants a victory against Carolina, so there’s a pleasant hum of energy as I check my toolkit. It’s almost game time, and this is my last chance to add to my emergency stash of tape and sticks before heading out to the bench.
Emily is probably in her seat already.
Will tonight’s post-game scenario play out any differently for me? Probably not. Everyone in professional sports knows that you can’t win ’em all.
“Let’s go, men!” O’Doul calls. “Let’s make Carolina cry.”
There’s a deafening shout in surround sound, and then the team files past me, heading for the chute.
“Good game, Jimbo,” someone says as he passes by.
“Good game,” I reply. I always get back-pats, butt-pats, and noogies at times like this. Like I’m some kind of mascot. It comes with the paycheck and the free drinks I’ll get if we win.
Heidi Jo hurries up to me just as I’m ready to follow the last guy out. “The Eagle has landed!” she chirps. “I moved Emily’s seat to Row D, and she arrived before warmups. So—it’s go-time?”
“Yeah, buddy. Thanks for all you do.” Heidi Jo is my self-appointed wingman.
“Don’t mention it. Are we delivering anything to her seat tonight?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “I’m out of ideas.”
“Aw, don’t lose faith,” she says. “You already made your point. She’ll come around. I put her next to Delilah again tonight. Do you want me to text Delilah? Is there anything you want to say?”
I think about it for a second, and then shake my head again. “I’ve said all I can say. I told the girl how I feel. If she wants to stay with her banker, that’s her choice.”
“You’re a great guy, Jimbo. She must be blind and crazy.” She pats me on the head as I lean over to pick up my toolbox and then dashes off.
Emily is neither blind nor crazy, though. She’s just not my girl.
I leave the dressing room behind, heading down the chute and onto the ice. It’s a good crowd tonight. The stands are already filling up at a fast pace.
Players whiz by me as I walk carefully across the slick surface. I glance up just before I reach the door to the bench and train my eyes on Row D.
And there she is. My heart gives an embarrassing little lurch as I find Emily’s pretty face in the crowd. She smiles at me. And—wait—she’s holding up a small, hand-lettered sign.
BEHIND EVERY GREAT PLAYER THERE’S A GREAT BUTT PAD*
I snort before I even notice the footnote.
*AND A GREAT EQUIPMENT MANAGER
“Aw, look who’s got his own fans!” Henry, the trainer, chirps. “Isn’t that special?” He stands up on the bench and snaps a photo of Emily’s sign.
Naturally, that prompts a few players to turn and look.
“Omigod, Jimbo!” Drake hoots. “You’re so gettin’ in there later.”
“Shush,” I grunt. “Or I’ll replace your red glucose juice with the purple flavor again.” One of my many jobs is to keep our resident Type 1 diabetic supplied with sugar boosts on the bench.
“Harsh,” he complains.
“Then shut it.” But the truth is that I’m secretly charmed by Emily’s sign. It’s totally worth catching a little hell.
It’s got to mean something, right? Maybe tonight is the night she’ll agree to date me. “Guys, please win this thing. I need to impress a girl.”
