Page 37 of Lucky Shot
“Kind of like you.”
He looks at me.
“You’re usually quiet. You watch more than participate in conversation. Yeah?”
Azure nods. “Yes. I wasn’t aware it was that obvious.”
“Very,” I say, laughing. “But not in a bad way.”
He’s quiet for a minute as he studies me. “It takes me a second to process context clues,” he says. “And to determine the appropriate response given what I read in the situation. The tone. The conversation.”
“Oh?”
Azure nods again. “I have a personality disorder. So I don’t necessarily respond appropriately to any given situation. Most of my responses are based on observations of similar situations I’ve observed.”
“That’s… fascinating. And must be really challenging.”
He smirks. “Not as challenging as some other things, I assure you, but it makes for interesting interactions sometimes.”
“Thanks for sharing,” I say, bumping my shoulder into his.
Azure smirks again and returns the gesture. “Teasing. I’m learning your teasing tone and expressions.”
“I’m teasing, yes, but I mean it too. Sentiment within a playful gesture so it doesn’t get too emotional.”
“Ah,” Azure says. “Do it again.”
I laugh and bump into his shoulder, repeating what I said before.
“Okay. I think I’ve committed that to memory.”
I’m still laughing when we pull into the arena and begin piling off the bus. “This is why I like hockey,” Azure says while we head inside. “There’s no guessing. No misinterpreting what I see. My job is crystal clear at all times. I don’t have to read people or situations. I just need to predict plays and focus on the puck. My expectations are clear.”
“I get that,” I say. “I can appreciate it too. There’s less pressure on the ice, which is funny because we always have a lot of pressure on us.”
“To win. To play well. But those are different kinds of pressure than being human,” Azure says.
I grin. “You couldn’t have said that any better.”
This time, he bumps his shoulder into mine. “See you on the ice.”
We go our separate ways and start poking through gear to borrow. There’s something disturbing about putting my feet into someone else’s skates; I know how sweaty hockey players’ feet get. But I try to put it out of my mind and remind myself that this is just for fun.
Only the two goalies go all out in their gear. Felton and Azure are securely hidden behind their abundance of pads by the time we head for the ice. This isn’t a real game. We don’t even have enough players to pull that off.
“Okay,” Max says. “Buffalo trio needs to split up. I’m thinking Ethan on the opposite team as Creed and Jakub.”
Ethan shrugs and changes jerseys with Larson, the two centers switching sides. Most of the non-hockey players are sitting on the side, including Roux. But two football players were brave enough to get dressed in skates and are holding sticks awkwardly.
“For the record,” Oddny says. “I’m stable enough on skates, but don’t make me break a bone. Coach will kill me if I’m taken out while playing a different fucking sport.”
I laugh and we get into our positions. Instead of a ref dropping the puck, Gabe counts down from the bench. On one, the two centers make for the puck.
Larson gets it and it’s thrust my way. As soon as it hits my stick, I’m suddenly slammed into the wall with an oomph and then we fall to the ice in a heap. Elixon laughs as he rolls off me and onto his back.
“Apparently, I forgot how to control myself,” he says as he stares over.
I look at him with a grin. “Yeah? Is that what you’re going with?”
