“Nope, no, not discussing my sex life with you.” I waved at the door again. With more gusto, Rottie sighed with added drama, then sprang to his yellow hiking boots. “I’ll keep an eye out for your camel. Now if you would, please take your mountain-climbing gear and go back home.”
“Fine, but if you keep all that emotional baggage locked up inside, your skull will explode from the sheer power of love and guts.” His green eyes flared. “Damn that’s a good line. If you see Sherry, just offer her some apple wafer cookies, and lead her home, will you? Thanks, you’re a peachy man.”
He kissed me on the mouth, then left, tossing a leg over the railing, exposing his junk once more, before disappearing down the rope. I waited, then stepped out, glanced down, and saw him staring up at me.
“Toss down my hook!” he bellowed.
I did. He jumped out of the way, saluted me, then dove into a dune buggy the color of a flamingo and raced off, kicking up dust and stones in his wake.
“Note to self. Add barbed wire to the top of the security fence.”
I rushed through a fast breakfast and workout, then hustled my way to my garage, choosing to take my Jeep, instead of the Mercedes. I wanted to feel the wind in my hair. Maybe that would blow Finn Kerrigan out of my head. God knows the workout, shower, and food hadn’t shifted his tasty ass from my thoughts.
Clocking that I was already running late, I sighed in exasperation when I got to the end of my driveway and there stood a camel eating the rhododendron that grew beside the gate. Scheherazade stared at me with disdain after I called to her to move. She refused. I cussed my neighbor out as I dialed Rottie. Then, I cussed him out over the phone.
He arrived twenty minutes later on the back of a zebra with some dude with tattoos on his face—a skinny white dude with a large green afro wearing a beaded skirt and rainbow Crocs—and led his camel home after gifting me with a pink snapback cap with the band name on the front.
Moving to a new Rottie-less neighborhood was looking better and better, although the pink cap was pretty tight. I wore it to the rink where it got all kinds of comments from the kids, and the adults as well. Prez and Charlie were here, which was always a big thrill. Any time one of the Storm showed up, let alone two—aside from me because I was old hat to the kids—they were super excited.
We had about forty kids in the club now. I’d been sponsoring it for about three years, and at first, it had been tough to lure the kids in—hockey is still considered to be a white man’s sport, so lots of POC kids were hesitant—but after seeing how much fun skating was, our numbers began to grow. Of course, we had other sponsors now, including the Storm, a national health insurance company, Cali Natural Gas, and local credit unions, as well as several youth hockey organizations. I still bought all the gear for the kids and did my best to be here as often as possible.
“Nice hat,” Prez called as we herded kids into their age groups while parents settled in the stands for the first practice of the summer session. “I didn’t think you were into metal. I thought you were a big Manilow-head.”
Charlie sniggered, and I threw him a death stare. You get caught humming “Copacabana” one time and never live it down.
“Go rock on a pony,” I said, the comeback not at all the one I wanted to use. I flipped him off mentally. “Rottie is my neighbor, and I helped him find his camel so—”
“‘Camel’?” Prez asked while volunteers tried to harness the energy in the rink. We had a long-term contract with this older, but still solidly built ice palace. Back in the day Hollywood starlets would come here to skate. There were pictures on the walls of famous starlets and leading men all glamorous as they cut figure eights into the ice.
“Yeah, long story.”
Prez got dragged away. and then, it was just me and Charlie waiting to start. He seemed distracted, and I was right that something was on his mind when he leaned in and spoke to me in a quiet voice.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Little Mikey is off grid; you haven’t heard from him have you?”
“You lost your brother?”
“Not lost him. I mean, I see the lights on in his place, but he’s not being social and shit.”
“That’s probably because you call him Little Mikey. Why can’t you call him Zeetoo like the rest of us?”
Charlie winced and muttered something under his breath that I had no way of hearing in the chaos. Then, he shrugged. “I’m sure it’s all good.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he grabbed his stick. “Let’s do this thing.”
I smiled at one of the volunteers, Miles, a tall guy with lots of gold curls. He gave me a glance that simmered, but I merely nodded at one of the kids right beside him with an untied lace. Sure. Miles was cute, but his eyes weren’t blue enough, and his face was too long. Also, and I know this is a total Seinfeld schtick, but the guy was a sentence-finisher. Finn always let me complete my sentences. When I turned back to speak to Prez, he didn’t hide that he was assessing me. “What? Did I miss a patch of whiskers when I shaved?”
I patted at my cheeks. I had been rushed thanks to mountaineer Blade showing up at the ass crack of my day.
“No, you just got this dorky look on your face like you saw a unicorn or found free Manilow tickets on the ice.”
“Don’t you have kids that need your expertise on something over by the net?” I asked as I waved a gloved hand at one end of the ice.
“What’s her or his name?” Prez pushed, his stick resting on his thick neck as his hands draped over opposite ends.
“Why is everyone asking me that today?!” My teammate shrugged. “There is no he or she, I don’t do that kind of sh… shiny newts.” Two little girls with pigtails wobbled past, cheeks plumped from their ear to ear grins. “So, Viking chic?”
Prez chuckled. “Coward, changing the subject. We’ll find out eventually.” No, they—and by “they” I meant the team—would not because Finn was firmly closeted, and I was firmly averse to commitment. “I have no idea what that even means. You know Charlie and his theme parties. For his birthday, it was Great Gatsby. The time before that, he threw that adult prom party. Oh, and then there was the camping party where he wore a sleeping bag all night. But this one is all his brother’s fault, apparently.”
“I have no clue what a chic Viking wears. Skinny jeans to match his horned helmet?” I was clueless. Charlie was a great guy, a fantastic player, and one of our Storm rainbow brethren, but his party ideas were ridiculous, and with Zeetoo getting in on them as well, this was shit.
“Yeah, maybe. Hey, I bet the person you got dopey-looking over might have an idea. Are you bringing them?”
Honest to Gretzky, the guy was like a dog with a fucking femur. I shook my head, then, thank goodness, was saved from further interrogation by twenty or so kids of about ten gathering around me. I gave Prez a smug little smirk, then led my ducklings—all in bright purple sweaters with their CC’s Club team logos on the front—to a corner of the rink. Many of them were veterans of the organization, but a few were new faces. They were bright and attentive, eager to learn the basics of the game that, until this inner-city league, they’d been unable to afford. Hockey was not a cheap game to play, especially for kids who outgrew equipment every year or two. My parents could attest to that. Also, traveling from game to game was hard on working parents, which was why we also provided transportation to away games. I’d been happy to sign the check for a few vans. The dealer we’d bought them from offered me a contract to do commercials on the spot, which I was pleased to sign after my agent read it over. I then bought my Mercedes from him, made four spots, and got trolled for my acting ability.