“Then Viktor came and got with Scarlett and now they have a baby,” Dale continues chattering. “Next, the new guy, Boris comes in and, bam, he’s in love and settled down, too. Meanwhile, holy shit, Tyler? Have you met that guy? Most obnoxious dude I’ve ever met. Total hound dog behavior with the females. And who does he end up with? Friggin’ Kolochev’s little sister. And I mean little. She’s barely an adult, seriously. But he’s all moony and on the straight and narrow. It’s like the old men’s club around here now. Hey, you got a girl?”
I finish the reps on these squats and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt. I’ve tolerated the team gossip, as it’s pointed me away from thoughts of Emily and my situation with Billie. I mean, I guess there isn’t a situation with Billie, per se. We agreed it was a one-time thing and we wouldn’t make it weird. Still, I feel weird, because even though Emily said we’re no longer together—even though I know in my heart she’s probably cheating with her study partner Nick—I still feel like it was me who did the bad thing.
Now, though, here is the question. Do I have a girl?
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s a Facebook answer if I’ve ever heard one. What do you mean, it’s complicated?”
“I thought I had a girl, but she’s been distant since I moved here. She’s doing her master’s degree in Montreal, so she claims it’s just because she’s busy, but I’m sure it’s more than that. It’s been strained between us. She lacks her usual…tolerance. And she’s talking about this other guy—”
“Wait, she’s talking about another guy? To you?”
“Some guy in her program. He was DM’ing her while she was here to visit recently.”
“Did you read through the DMs?”
“No.” I shake my head. Dale has me do a series of sit-ups where he throws me a medicine ball and I throw it back each time I sit up.
“What the hell? Why not?”
“I guess I didn’t really want to know. I just want things to get back to normal. I’m a routine-oriented guy. I like things where they belong and nothing feels like it’s where it belongs right now, including me.”
“Well, moving to a new place and a new team can’t be easy. And as for your girl? If you really want her, maybe you should do some big, grand gesture to reignite the romance or whatever. Those seem to be popular around here, too. Georg’s lady came out in a playboy bunny outfit to propose to him, so…”
I cringe at the thought. I’d be so uncomfortable doing some big thing in front of a bunch of people. I’m fine just being the guy at the net, no eyes on me until a puck comes my way. Still, I find myself lost in thought about the idea of romance as Dale continues to talk his way through my workout. He says he keeps waiting for lightning to strike him, too, but that he has bad luck with women. The ones he likes are always taken.
I only half hear him as I contemplate the idea of romance. Have Emily and I ever really had what would be considered a romance? Certainly, during the best times, there was comfort and companionship. But romance? Not really.
Even the sex…I shake it from my head. Billie and I have real chemistry, that much is obvious. I’ve never felt freer in the bedroom or more confident. Billie Hirsch and I fit together in that way. The sex with Emily was always sort of prescriptive and lukewarm.
My thoughts are a jumble. Maybe this break with Emily is a good thing. Maybe we should just end it, and maybe I should put more effort into making a new life here in Las Vegas?
As I’m finishing up the workout, other players start to arrive. Many of them give a nod or short hello, better than the cold reception I received when I first arrived. At the end of the day, I know the team will protect and support me—which is how good sports franchises work. The team works together, and this one definitely does.
At least there is that. The possibility of feeling like I am part of this team after all.
If nothing else, I am still a damn good goalie.
14
mr. great goalie
Billie
I’m just finishing our first drumming lesson, and the kids want me to do a solo to close things out. I start by giving them a simple quarter note beat to follow, and we play together for about sixty seconds before I take off with a solo from one of my band’s songs. It’s one of my favorites, mainly because it features some broken beats that aren’t common in a lot of songs today.
I finish with a big fill and the crash of cymbals, to which the kids all clap and cheer. Scrambling to talk over each other, they excitedly tell me they can’t wait to learn more licks.
Cal has come in at some point, I realize as I have the kids help pull the kits along the wall and clean up random sticks and drum keys laying about. He’s leaning against the closed door, arms folded over his broad chest, looking far too distractingly handsome for me to ignore. Cal doesn’t smile a lot, I’ve realized, but his expression isn’t cold, either. It’s more along the lines of amused, like he thinks what I just did was cute.
I push back the thoughts of the night we shared, the way our bodies fit together, the way he made me feel. I’ve been pushing those thoughts back since I woke up at dawn, naked in the bed next to him as he slept. He looked so young, boyish, free of whatever wicked thing controlled him during the sex we had the night before. His lips were slightly parted, his arm thrown up over his head on the pillow. I wanted to kiss him awake, to have him inside me again, but instead, I left. I found my clothing, put it on, and left, ready to make good on the promise it was a one-time thing, something to be put behind us.
Our eyes meet and I blush. Clearly, I’ve got some work to do on the “putting-it-behind-us” part.
As my drummers leave, thanking me for a fun lesson, the group of guitarists come in. I have them all sit on the carpet for a minute.
“Kids, this is Calum Lefleur—”
“Cal,” he corrects.
“Cal,” I say with a nod. “He’s the new goalie for the Vegas Crush hockey team. Any hockey fans among us?”
A couple of hands go up. One kid says, “He’s supposed to be the best goalie in the game.”
“I am the best goalie in the game.” His French-Canadian accent comes out stronger than I’ve noticed before today. Probably because he doesn’t talk all that much. Still, it’s incredibly sexy and makes my lady parts tingle in a way that’s far from appropriate for a community center music lesson with a bunch of bright-eyed kiddos in the room watching everything.
Hello? Supposed to be working here. Damn Calum Lefleur and his hotness.
I try to shake off the weird changeling effect he seems to have on me, clearing my throat for impact. “Well, being a great goalie has absolutely bupkus to do with teaching the guitar. And that’s what Cal is here to do. Thanks to the Crush Foundation, we have all these awesome new instruments, and we have Mr. Great Goalie here to teach you guitar. Have at it.”
I head for the door but hang out as Cal peruses the row of guitars and chooses one. He straps it on and plucks out a few notes before announcing everyone needs to learn how to properly tune a guitar before anything else. He has them all choose a guitar, and then they all work on tuning. He talks about the frets and the notes each string makes. He has a clip-on tuner with him, and he talks about the different types of tuners guitarists can use, especially when they are just learning.