Page 52 of Love at Teamsgiving
“How so?” he calls over the barrier between us.
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I expected Coach Badaszek to call me into his office, lay down the ground rules, and discuss expectations.”
Arsenault’s water turns off. “If you’re in his office, then you have a problem.”
I finish rinsing off, cut the water, and wrap the towel around my waist at the same time he emerges from his stall, also wrapped in a towel.
I say, “I take it you’ve been there.”
He shakes his head slowly, sending water droplets over his shoulders. “More times than I’d like to admit. The thing you need to know about Badaszek is?—”
Before he has a chance to reveal this big secret, someone whistles.
“Ice Maidens incoming. Clothes on. Mouths clean. Look your best, boys.”
A flurry of female voices and giggles filters from the main part of the locker room.
“Nothing to see here, ladies,” Redd calls. “Except my wife. You can look all you want at me.”
I hear the sound of a towel slapping skin and gather that one of the other guys whipped our new team captain for making the comment.
The Ice Maidens are the on-ice hype team during the intermission. They also handle the social media, led by Heidi, Grady’s wife.
That’s another thing, most of the dudes on the team are married, which is quite different than the bachelor party boys from the other organizations. Back when Junie and I were engaged, I was the attached oddball.
“And we’re out,” a female voice calls, meaning they must’ve finished passing through.
“All clear,” Brandt hollers and then claps his hands, indicating we gather around.
“This is the season that we’re going to bring home the hardware. You’re not playing for yourself but for each other. For the fans. For them to look upon their team with pride when we hoist the Stanley above the ice, giving them the chance to all feel like winners.”
Hayden Savage, Beau Hammer, James Reddford, Grady Federer, and a few others salute him like we’re soldiers, so I follow suit.
When he leaves, Grimaldi, third-string wing and smarmy, asks, “Did the chick with the salon we did the demo for in town just walk through here?”
Now I understand why Junie didn’t like it when her brother referred to girls as chicks.
“No.” My tone reverberates like a neutron bomb.
“Seemed like you knew her,” he says.
My jaw ticks. “She’s my former fiancée and call her ‘chick’ again and find out what happens.”
He chuckles. “Is the newb threatening me?”
“Junie can take care of you herself.” But if she’s a hurricane watch, I’m the one who will make landfall.
His lip curls. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
A growl comes from my throat. “I advise against saying another word or looking, breathing, or thinking in her direction.”
The rest of the front line takes formation around me.
Grimaldi lifts his hands. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, boys.”
“Then act like a man,” Savage says low.
Grimaldi’s expression wavers like he can’t decide whether to fire back or hold off, so he slinks away.
