Page 58 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
The crowd groans.
The opposing players around me curse and I earn another hard shove for my trouble.
I can’t care less.
I turn to Aiden. “Fuck yeah!” I throw up my hands, knowing that his shot is going to hit the social media highlight reels.
Picking that corner…whew, it was dirty in the best possible way.
“Fuck that was nice!” I exclaim as we hug.
I pound him on the back, shove at his shoulder, Leo doing much of the same as we make our way to the bench and fist bump our way down the line.
Then we’re through the open door, dropping down onto the metal bench. Smitty reaches over me to pat Aiden on the helmet it. “Nice fucking shot, man.”
Aiden grins but nods toward me. “Eh, Gray’s the one who did all the work and set it up for me.”
“You mean I got an assist along with an Ass Point.”
Smitty chuckles. Aiden grins. Leo shoves in beside me.
Because Ass Point is our newest inside joke—it can be from the puck literally (and this was where the term originated from) hitting someone’s ass and then going in the goal. Or it can be from like what just happened—a screen.
As in, my big ass in front of the net, blocking the goalie’s view.
In this case, it was my ass and others.
But I’ll take it.
And the assist.
Mostly because if that goal—and the rest of the game before it—doesn’t impress Faye then I don’t know what will.
We’re on another level tonight.
Passes are connecting. Shots are going in—even ones that aren’t nearly as impressive as what Aiden just did.
Hits are brutal, happening along the boards and at mid-ice.
Our goalie is killing it, making incredible, gravity-defying saves.
It’s like the entire team knows that Faye is at home, watching.
Judging.
And they’re ready to kick some ass to show her how good we are.
For the first time in several seasons, I grin as the camera on the Jumbotron cuts to me, winking, hoping that Faye is watching, that she hasn’t slipped out as the broadcast cuts to commercial, that my dumb face makes the feed.
I want her cheeks going pink.
Want her to wonder what the wink means.
Want her to be thinking about me as constantly as I’m thinking about her.
The whistle trills and I jerk my thoughts into focus.
Because I have a woman at home to impress.
