Page 4 of The New Guy
Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen.
I tuck into my food, and the game picks up speed. Castro has possession of the puck, and my guys try to make some magic.
But the offense falls apart again a few minutes later, and I watch the puck get carried into our defensive zone.
My guys are struggling tonight. The schedule has been brutal. And I’m not there to help.
Then, just as the scoreless first period is winding down, a Boston player trips Castro, who goes down while trying to catch a pass. The puck goes right into the waiting stick of a competitor.
Even worse—the ref doesn’t call the foul.
“Fuck that!” I shout. “Come on, Crikey. Time for payback. Can’t let them get away with it.”
Sure enough, the younger of our two enforcers looks for the first opportunity to pick a fight. The gloves are off before you can saylet’s do this.
The bar is quiet tonight. But every pair of eyes turns toward the TV screen.
Gavin shakes his head, though. “I just don’t get the fighting.”
“Yeah? It’s an honor code thing,” I explain. Although I realize this hottie has no idea who I am. “Not a fan of violence?”
“Well, no. But it’s more than that. Here you’ve got twenty-three pampered thoroughbreds. They’ve got the best training money can buy, right?” He’s gesturing at the TV screen, and his big eyes light up as he talks. “They get optimized fitness training. And specialists for every boo-boo. But then it’s like,go ahead and beat the crap out of each other. We'll just get out the gold-plated bandages and stitch you back together again.”
I laugh so hard that I almost choke on my salad. He just called me apampered thoroughbred, and he looked good doing it.
But I can’t let him get away with it. “You think football is any better?”
“Hell no,” he scoffs. “Football should be illegal. They’re all going to have brain damage at fifty.”
I give up watching the screen and just stare at him instead. “All right. So what sport makes more sense to you?”
“Oh, lots of them. I watch a lot of soccer—their fitness is amazing. Tennis is another favorite. I like endurance sports, too. And ski racing is fun to follow. I’m just a big fan of athletic bodies in motion.” His eyes dip like he’s a little unsure of himself all of a sudden. “Aren’t you?”
“Definitely a fan of that,” I agree. Holy crap, I’m flirting with him. I need to stop, but I don't really want to.
I glance up at the screen instead. And, fuck, I look right in time to see my guys fail to connect a pass. And then it just gets worse as I finish my dinner. We’re down by two at the end of the second period.
Pete comes by to clear away my plate. “Are we having more than one beer tonight?”
“Absolutely,” I surprise myself by saying. “Just a light beer, though. And one of whatever he’s drinking.” I gesture to my neighbor, who’s polishing off his nachos.
“That’s very kind,” Gavin says in a low voice after Pete moves away.
“You’ve had to put up with my cursing. We’re down two goals already.”
“The way I see it, we’re up by two goals.”
I turn on my stool. “A Boston fan? Really? You know you’re in Brooklyn, right?”
The guy shrugs his shoulders. “I’m from New England. And Boston is the better team this year. It’s just the truth.”
Lord. I bite back a laugh. I should probably let him know that he’s spouting hockey wisdom to a professional hockey player. But I think I won’t. It’s more fun this way. And I’m not really in the mood to talk about myself.
Fuck it. Tonight I’m just a frustrated hockey fan. I really need Brooklyn to make it to the playoffs. I just need it a little more desperately than everyone else in this bar.
My guys make a beautiful attempt on goal, thwarted only by excellent goalkeeping from Boston. “Come on guys, let's do it again.”
“They look tired,” he says.
