O’Doul, the team captain, gives him a look so terrifying that it practically stops my heart. But then the big man does it anyway. He lies down on the hotel gym’s black rubber matting, stomach to the floor. “All right, bring it,” he barks.
With a gleeful chuckle, Wilson kicks a barbell that’s been set up with a pair of forty pound plates. It rolls—like two wheels on an axle—over O’Doul’s prone body, past his feet, which he’s tucked against the mat, past his calves, and his thighs…until it meets the shapely bump of his muscular hockey butt. And stops.
“YEAH!” Wilson hoots, rolling the barbell off his teammate. “Good job, boss.”
O’Doul leaps to his feet and pumps his fist. “All right, who’s next?”
Neil Drake rubs his hands together and lies down on the mat, tucking his feet down. He waits.
Now, Drake is a gorgeous man with a body that dreams are made of. But he’s a little more lithe than some of his teammates. And the barbell rolls past his butt and stalls near his shoulder blades.
“AWWWWWW,” the team yells.
Wilson doubles over, laughing. “That’s the breaks. Better luck next time.”
My gaze finds Wilson, and he gives me a huge smile. I smile right back, too. Because I’m finally having fun at training camp.
I’m admiring hockey players’ asses like it’s my job.
Because it is.
What is this life?
* * *
The moment we’re done filming our “cake check”, I spend several hours hunched over the video editing software. But this time I know I have a winner. I splice together the clips of the barbell either sticking on or rolling past various hockey butts. I add the players’ names, and a silly graphic saying “Cake Check!” at the top of the shot.
There’s even a clip of Wilson’s cackle when the barbell can’t even make it part-way up his sculpted hiney. I add a graphic that reads “Cake for days!” to that one.
I’m so pleased with myself that I skip all the way to the hotel bar, where I know Georgia will be camped out refereeing a bunch of player interviews with journalists.
“Wow,” she says when I show her the video. “Did my husband pass this test?”
“Yes!” I tell her.
“Well, good. Because it’s a great video. We’ll definitely pick up a bunch of followers with this. And the hubby won’t be grumpy about it, either. Well done!”
“It was Wilson’s idea,” I say quickly. “He should get the credit.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll post it to the account right now, okay?”
“Awesome.”
“But now you have to think up something else. Social media is like a beast that always needs to be fed, so you can’t rest on your laurels.”
“Oh God. I have to do this again?”
Georgia cackles. “Yeah, but now you have more experience. What made this video so fun?”
Well, butts. But I don’t say that out loud. “Competition,” I say instead.
“Right! People love competition. So go to the scrimmage tomorrow and see what shenanigans you can get on video.”
“All right,” I say, strangely energized. “Good idea.” And I stride off, only to discover that half the team is crowded around a few pool tables at the back of the lobby.
“Hey, intern!” Wilson says, waving me over. “There’s a hundred bucks riding on this game. Where’s your camera?”
I draw it out faster than a Wild West cowboy in a duel. But it’s surprisingly hard to film a game of pool. “I think I need to be up high,” I mutter. “This would be so much more interesting from above.”
“Hop up,” Wilson says.
“Sorry?”
“Climb onto my shoulders.” He kneels down in front of me, his back turned. “Quick, before Castro lines up his shot.”
Sometimes a girl doesn’t need to be told twice. I sling a leg over Wilson’s shoulder, but it’s so high off the ground that he has to fold himself into a ball so I can clamber on.
I manage, though, and a half second later I’m rising into the air at a speed so frightening that I wrap a forearm right around his big head.
He laughs, and the mountain shakes beneath me. But I grab my phone with my free hand and aim it down at the table, just in time for Castro to pop the cue ball up over the eight ball. Then it rolls forward, tapping another ball into a corner pocket.
The bar erupts with cheers. And on his next shot, he sinks another ball with a glancing shot into a side pocket. It’s pretty tricky stuff. But he misses an impossible combination after that.
“Show’s over!” Tankiewicz says. “Watch how the grownups do this.” He makes a show of chalking up his stick.
“How’s your angle?” Wilson asks from beneath me.
“It’s great!” I chirp from my roost near the ceiling. “Sorry I ate those cookies after dinner.”
He laughs, and squeezes my shins gently. “I won’t drop ya.”
“I know you won’t,” I say. “Thanks for the lift. You’re a fun time, Wilson. I told Georgia that the cake check video was all your doing.”
He twists his head around to look up at me. “Thanks, girly. That was nice of you. But I don’t need to get credit. I’m just in it for the fun.”
A day ago I wouldn’t have thought this stuff could ever be fun. But I guess he showed me.
“All right, Tank!” Castro jeers. “Show us young kids how this is done.”
“Oh, we’re going with age jokes now?” the veteran says, leaning over the table. “Watch and learn, sonny boy.”
The shot he’s set up is so complicated that until the balls begin to move, I’m not exactly sure what he’s aiming at. But then he knocks a stripe into another stripe, which heads left for the corner pocket. But not before it taps another ball into the side pocket.
Hockey players surround the table, hooting their approval.
“Damn!” Wilson says beneath me. “Both your games are goin’ places lately!”
“Tell ‘em why, honey,” Heidi Jo says, poking her husband in the hip. “How is your game improving?” She bats her eyelashes.
Castro actually looks a little sheepish as he chalks up his cue. “Heidi Jo has been giving me lessons.” Everyone in the bar roars. And then Castro looks up at me. “That’s off the record, intern.”
“Your secret is safe with me, sir,” I squeak.
They all laugh louder.
“All right, babe, you can clear this in three shots,” Heidi Jo says to her husband. “Take the number two and the number four on this turn. “Corner and side.”
He manages that shot and misses the next. So Tank sets up another doozy.
It’s a really fun game, and it’s over too soon. Castro wins, but only with Heidi Jo’s coaching. Wilson sets me down carefully on the floor. “Did you get some good footage?”
“Yes, thanks to you. It’s going to make a pretty good video.” But not a great video, if I’m honest. Everyone plays pool, right? Many of the fans are probably better than the hockey players are. Unless… “Hey, Wilson? What would happen if you tried to play pool at the rink? If there were pucks numbered like pool balls?”