Chapter 6

6

BEN

“You’re gonna have to be better with the media.”

I try not to wince.

I’m in another meeting with Coach and Mr. Miller. I guess they saw my media stuff after the game last night. I’m never good at that and I always hope I’m not one of the ones the media wants to talk to.

“You’ve had the media training we give everyone,” Mr. Miller says.

“Yes.” I’ve also listened to hockey players being interviewed pretty much my whole life. I thought I had it down – the monotonous tone, diverting questions about me individually to comment about the team (“Full credit to my linemates”), giving credit to the opposing team (“They’re well coached and they work hard”) and even props to the venue and fans (“This is a tough barn to play in”). I know it’s better to say nothing than to say something dumb and sound like a shmucknut. The worst thing you want to do is provide motivation for the other team, using your words against you.

Mr. Miller nods thoughtfully. “What about going to Toastmasters?”

My eyes widen. Fuck no! I’d rather eat my hockey socks than do that. Standing up in front of strangers to talk? My worst nightmare.

Of course, that’s what talking to the media is. But at least I’m talking about something I know about. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say quickly. “I can do better.”

“You need to come across more confident,” Coach says. “The captain is the leader.”

“Right.” I swallow a sigh. When it comes to hockey, I am confident. I guess I don’t sound that way.

“You also need to be more than the loner in the dressing room,” Coach says. “You tend to keep to yourself.”

“I know.” I nod. “That’s deliberate. It’s my game-day routine.”

“Yeah.” Coach’s eyes squint a little. “You might have to change that up.”

“I was aware of it yesterday,” I say, hoping to score a point or two here. “But a lot of the other guys are quiet, too.”

“Like I said, the captain is the leader.”

“Right.” Again.

“Look, you don’t have to change your whole personality. We like who you are. We see you lead by example, especially once you’re on the ice. We want to see more of it off the ice. You’re smart about the game. I know you have things to say about it. Go ahead and say them.”

I keep my face neutral. I do have things to say. But as usual, I just… don’t. “Okay. I get it.”

“Good.”

We just had an optional practice, which of course I attended because I always do. I came to the arena myself today since Marek is doing a photo shoot for an endorsement deal he has with New Balance.

When I get home, I’m starving. At first, I think Mabel is out, too, as the apartment is quiet and I don’t see her, but she could be sleeping so I close the door quietly and head straight to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

I find bread, mayo, ham, and a tomato and set to work. As I slice the tomato, I think about overhearing Mabel’s interview yesterday. When she made that joke, I was sure she’d blown the whole thing. Who does that?

Mabel does that. She made the interviewer laugh. And then she showed surprising insight into how she manages emotions and then she told a story about saving a homeless guy’s life. I always thought of Mabel as fun-loving and chatty and, well, persistent, and yeah, her bright presence intrigued me, but I never realized there was more to her. She has a master’s degree. And impressive experience.

I’m focused on slathering mayo on the bread when I hear footsteps and look up. “Aaaaaaah!” My heart literally stops then lurches in a painful arrhythmia as I see the creature approaching me, all white, with a white animal head topped with white fur and small pinkish ears. “What the fuck!”

It lifts its arms and removes the head and of course it’s Mabel.

Laughing.

“Oh my God, that scream. I’m dead.” She staggers to the counter and sets the head down, chortling so hard she apparently can’t stand. “It’s just me.”

“Fuck.” I press hand to my chest. “I didn’t know it was you. I mean I did right away, who else could it be, but… fuck.” My heart is still hammering. And now heat runs from my chest up into my face. “What are you doing?”

“It’s my llama costume. Some of my boxes arrived from Sherrinford. This was a Halloween costume.” She pets the fur head. “Don’t you love it?”

Amusement tugs at my lips. “Sure.”

“My ex hated it.” She frowns. “He wasn’t into Halloween at all.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“She’s my drama llama.”

“Uh huh.” I exhale sharply one more time and resume my meal prep. “Cute.” The face actually is kind of cute, now it’s not coming at me, with a non-threatening snout, pinkish nose, and smiling lips.

I was just thinking about how surprisingly impressed I was with Mabel and her job interview, and she does this.

Well. She’s not boring, I’ll say that. And while it was a little kooky, at least she’s wearing clothes. There’ve been too many times I’ve walked into the kitchen in the morning to see her long, bare legs kicked out from under the blankets, or I’ve come out of my bedroom to see her darting down the hall from the bathroom in her underwear. Living with her is getting hard on my… well, let’s just say it’s getting hard.

“What are you making?” She peers over at my food.

“A sandwich.” I pause. “Want one?”

“Sure!” She climbs onto a stool. “How was your practice?”

“It was… okay.” I slice two more pieces of the hearty wholegrain bread I like, trying to act normal. “It was optional, so we didn’t do much. I helped one of the young guys work on his faceoffs.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Eh…”

“Can’t take a compliment, huh?”

Nailed it. Much as I want to be complimented for my hockey skills, or anything really, when it happens I feel all awkward.

“All you have to do is say, ‘thanks,’” she advises quietly. “It’s easy. Try it.”

I pause, then mumble, “Thanks.”

“Almost there. Say it with a smile. And eye contact.”

“What the fuck?”

She laughs, and it’s an amazing sound… light and bubbly and somehow warm. “Just do it.”

I meet her eyes, which is easy but also hard because I could stare at her forfuckingever and that would make things really awkward. Her attention focused on me makes my dick respond, dammit. Somehow, though, my smile comes involuntarily, in response to hers. “Thanks.”

“Excellent!” She claps. “Great job. I like cheddar cheese.” She nods at the sandwiches I’m making. She’s so matter of fact about it, I don’t feel judged or demeaned. Also, she has no idea I’m turned on just looking at her.

“Okay.” I soon slide a plate toward her. I pour myself a glass of chocolate milk and glance at a stool. Should I sit? Or go into my room? Does she want me around? Probably not.

“Have a seat.” She nudges the stool, apparently sensing my thoughts. “You really don’t like people, do you?”

I sit and pick up my sandwich. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you were going to leave me to eat all alone. Oh, wait – maybe it’s me you don’t like.” She smacks her forehead. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. Look, I understand if that’s the case. Maybe we should talk about?—”

“It’s not you.” Well, not the way she thinks. “I just figured you’d prefer that.”

“What? Why?”

“Because… I always figure people would rather be left alone.”

“Because you would.”

“Yeah. Or because I’m not exactly a, uh, brilliant conversationalist.” I pause. “I wasn’t being rude or antisocial. I just thought that’s what you’d want.”

She nods slowly, chewing her sandwich. “I see.” She appears to ponder that. “Good to know.”

Okay. I guess.

“This is really good.” She holds up her sandwich. “Thanks for making me one. I need to go buy a few more things.”

“Did you run out of Cheez-Its?”

She laughs. “Yeah. I’ve been bingeing on them since I broke up with Julian. I should probably stop drowning my sorrows in junk food and beer.”

She chatters on, and my brain wanders aimlessly for a moment. She’s so goddamn attractive. Apart from her lush mouth, spankable ass, and perky tits, she’s also friendly and outgoing, making her interviewer laugh, then answering the questions with impressive competence. I’d hire her.

I’m struck with an idea.

A crazy idea.

I could hire her – to help me learn how to be more extroverted.

I wrinkle my nose. Hire her… how much would I pay her? I have no clue.

“What’s wrong?”

I blink over at her, brought back to reality. “Wrong?”

“You’re scowling. Did I say something that offended you?”

“I don’t know what you said. I… sorry, I kind of zoned out.”

She purses her lips. “Oh. I was just saying…” She points at the fruit bowl on the counter. “If an orange is the color orange, why isn’t a lemon called a yellow? Or a lime called a green?”

I stare at her. “I have no idea.”

She shrugs. “I’ll have to research that.”

“Do you have crazy ideas going through your head all the time?”

She laughs. “Pretty much, yeah.”

I nod slowly. “So, uh… I also just had a wild idea.”

“Ooookay.” One perfect eyebrow arches. “Tell me.”

I chomp my bottom lip briefly, considering what to say. “We don’t have a captain right now.”

She nods slowly.

“My coach and the GM of the team talked to me. They think I could be captain. They want me to get involved with a charity and represent the Storm. I have a meeting with the director of the organization next week.”

Her head slides up and down again, listening.

“I’m not good at shit like that. I’ll have to do public speaking and interviews. Last night I did the media availability after the game and as usual I was a mumbling idiot.”

She smiles. “I watched. You weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, I was. They mentioned it this morning. They want me to go to Toastmasters, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ohhhh.”

“It’s not that I’m stupid.”

Her smile, still gentle, deepens. “No, you’re not.”

I like that she says that so confidently.

“I’ve never been good at…” I wave my hands. “Expressing myself. Verbally. But that’s part of being captain. It’s communicating with the players. That part’s okay; I can talk to the guys. Talking to the refs. I can do that, too. But communicating with management… and the media. Ugh.”

“Hmmm.”

“So my idea is that maybe you could help me.”

Her chin drops and she looks up at me. “Help you?”

“Yeah. I heard you in that interview yesterday. You’re so confident. Well-spoken. How do you do that?”

“Uh…” For a confident, well-spoken woman, she seems flummoxed. “I just… do it?”

“You must have some tips and tricks.”

She laughs and tucks some hair behind her ear. “Mostly I just fake it.”

“Oh.” I pause. Really? She doesn’t seem like she’s faking it. She’s a little quirky, but she comes across as supremely confident. “Could you think about it? I’ll pay you. I don’t expect you to do it for nothing.”

She blinks a few times. “Pay me.”

“Yeah. Like… you’d be a coach. An extrovert coach.”

She grins. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” My gut tightens. Is she laughing at me?

“I don’t really think you need help,” she says slowly. “Talking’s not that hard.”

I wish that were true. “Maybe for you. It is for me.”

“It’s flattering.” She gives me that warm smile again. She’s charming and flirty and talkative, but I never feel like she’s not sincere. “But I really need to focus on finding a job. And my own place to live.”

I’ve already made myself vulnerable enough. I’m not going to beg. Disappointment and rejection settle in my gut like a bowling ball. “Yeah, I get it. It was a crazy idea. Never mind.” I look down at the last bit of my sandwich. I’m done. I stand and walk over to the sink to toss the remains and rinse my plate and glass. “Well. I have… stuff to do. I know you’re busy, too.”

And I escape to my room.

Smitty and I are at Uncle Ernie’s Café and Pizza, a couple of blocks from the apartment. This neighborhood is hip and vibrant, with lots of little shops and restaurants, and Uncle Ernie’s has loads of character and great pizza. Also, Uncle Ernie is a huge Storm fan and gives us free beer, so we hang out here a lot. Don’t worry; we leave giant tips. Ernie’s granddaughter Ayla usually works here as a bartender. She’s married to one of my teammates, Carson Alford, who we call Alfie, but she’s on maternity leave since they just had a baby a few months ago.

Some of the other guys are meeting us but they’re not here yet and I’m glad because I can talk to Smitty alone.

“So,” I say.

“So.”

“I kind of got shit from Coach this morning about my interview after the game last night.”

He frowns. “What did you say? Did you pull a Serena Williams and tell them you didn’t want to be there?”

I grin. “No, but I could have because that’s true.”

“Did you pull a Torts and tell them to fuck off?”

My grin widens. “No.”

“Did you say you aren’t telling them squat?”

I laugh out loud. “Not in those words. You know I’m not that guy. It was because I didn’t say enough.” My amusement fades. “Didn’t look confident. I need to do that if I wanna be captain.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Yeah.” I pick up my draft beer and take a swig. “So I had this idea. I guess it was bonkers, but I thought it was good at the time. I asked Mabel to teach me how to be more confident and outgoing.”

His jaw falls open wide enough to drive a Zamboni in. “What?”

“And she said no.” I give him a glum smile.

He frowns and snaps his mouth shut. “Whoa.” He sips his beer. “Huh.”

I shrug. “Dumb idea.”

“No. I was surprised at first, but I think it’s good. She’s the perfect one to teach that, right?”

“That’s what I thought. But she’s going through a rough time right now. Breaking up with her boyfriend, moving away. I get the feeling she’s pretty down in the dumps about it.”

He purses his lips. “She seems fine.”

I don’t push it. Yeah, she seems fine. She’s putting on a good act. But she’s not fooling me.

“I think she should help you,” Smitty says. “Why not?”

“She has her own shit to worry about. Job interviews, finding a place.” Getting over a broken heart.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t take every minute of her day. And maybe it would be good to take her mind off things.”

“She said no.”

“Oh.”

Just then, Archie, our goaltender, arrives. Real name, Ford Archibald. He, too, lives not far from here. He’s wearing a cream polo shirt with orange and green stripes that almost look like hockey sticks and an orange and green circle that could be a puck. This fit is relatively tame for him. “Hey, Archie.”

“Hey, what’s shakin’, bacon?” Smitty greets him.

Archie pulls out a chair at our table. “Bacon. Now I want a bacon pizza.”

Ernie comes over to take Archie’s order.

“Large bacon pizza with jalapenos and a Zen Vibe, please, my good man.”

Smitty and I wince at his choice of beer. He likes weird shit. This one’s ale brewed with rice and lemongrass.

Ernie grins. “You got it.”

Goalies are weird. You have to be, to stand in a net and let people shoot pucks at you at a hundred miles an hour. On a scale of one to psycho, Archie is up there.

“How’s the roommate situation going?” he asks us. “Any fights break out?”

“Nah. We’re good. I’m easy to live with.” I grin.

“I hardly see him,” Smitty says with an eye roll. “He hides in his room all the time.”

“I’m trying not to bother you. Plus your sister’s here now, so I don’t want to get in her way.”

“What? Your sister?” Archie looks at Smitty. “Is she hot?”

“Phhht.” Smitty makes a face. “She’s my twin sister. Bleh.”

“I’ll ask you, then.” Archie turns to me with a smirk. “Is she hot?”

Oh, hell, yeah. I can’t say that out loud. But can I deny it? “She’s okay,” I finally mumble.

Archie hoists his eyebrows. “Okay. Does she look like Smitty?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“That’s the problem.” Archie nods. “Poor girl.”

Smitty rolls his eyes. “She does not look like me.”

“But you’re twins,” Archie says.

“Not identical twins.” Smitty shakes his head. “You can’t be identical if one’s a boy and one’s a girl. We came from two eggs, not one.”

“Right. Who’s older?”

“Don’t even ask that question.”

Archie grins. “She is, right? And probably holds it over you.”

Smitty sighs. “Yeah.”

“So she’s staying with you? For how long?”

“Until she finds a place, I guess. She and her boyfriend split up.”

“Ah. Why didn’t you bring her tonight? I should meet her.”

“You’re not meeting her.”

Archie frowns. “Why not?”

“You’re too weird.”

Archie shrugs. “Fair.”

Despite his eccentricities – or maybe because of them? Who knows? – he has no trouble finding women. He’s had a lot of hook-ups, but, like me, never had a steady girlfriend in the time I’ve known him. I don’t know if they realize how odd he is, or he doesn’t want to settle down.

Ernie brings Archie’s Zen beer and another for Smitty and me.

Archie reaches for his beer. “Okay, you guys, I’m worried about my hair.”

We gaze at him, taking in his hair – brown with lighter gold pieces, thick, longish, wavy, kind of a mess.

“What’s wrong with your hair?” I ask.

“I think it’s falling out.”

I snort. “I don’t think so.”

“Why do you say that?” Smitty studies Archie’s shiny locks.

“Because of the creatine. Apparently it makes your hair fall out.” He runs a hand through his curls.

“Ah.” Smitty shakes his head.

A lot of us take creatine for increased strength and better performance on the ice.

“That’s a myth,” I say.

“Is it?” Archie messes with his hair again. “Everyone thinks creatine causes hair loss.”

“There’s been more research. It doesn’t.”

Smitty nods in agreement. “That’s true.”

“It’s all from one study years ago,” I add. “But it was never actually proven that creatine causes hair loss.”

“It’s because guys are paranoid about losing their hair,” Smitty adds.

“Some more than others.” I give Archie a pointed look.

“Shut up,” he says mildly. “My hair is important to me.”

“Because chicks love it when you pour water on it and then fling it back.”

He grins. “I don’t do that for the chicks.”

“You sure as fuck do,” I reply with a grin.

“I have good hair.” He pats his mop. “I try to take care of it.”

He definitely does. We all bug him that his suitcase when we travel is full of hair products. One time we managed to get into his room and added glue to his hair gel. Unfortunately, it ended in a trip to the hospital.

“Hair loss is genetic,” Smitty says. “Blame your parents.”

“I heard it comes from the mom’s side of the family,” I say.

“No, that’s not true either.” Smitty shakes his head. “It can be from both.”

“My dad’s hair is still good,” Archie says.

“Maybe you should start using that stuff… what’s it called… minoxidil.” I stick my tongue in my cheek.

“I might.” He shrugs.

Hey. I’m not going to judge him.

His pizza arrives and Smitty and I help ourselves to a piece even though we already ate at home. The jalapenos with the bacon are surprisingly tasty.

Which is why I don’t judge his weird food choices.