Off Sides (Off #1)(12)

***

I'm sitting in the locker room, getting ready for practice. I've got my Under Armour, jock shorts and shin pads on. As I'm pulling on my hockey socks and securing them to the Velcro tabs on my shorts, Mike walks over and sits down on the bench beside me.

"Alright...I can't stand it. Spill."

I don't look at him. "Spill what?"

"Don't be an ass. Just tell me how the date went. Usually you’re willing to tell me everything but you are keeping this one close to the vest. I figure that means it went really, really well or really, really bad." He stands up and moves in front of me. He pounds his fist into his chest. "I'm here for ya, man. Whichever way it went."

I chuckle at him. "Okay...fine. If you must know, it went really, really well."

Mike sits down again, crossing one leg over the other in feminine fashion. He puts his hands on his knees, gazing intently at me. "Do tell."

I snicker and throw a roll of tape at him. I stand up and pull my pants on. "I don't really know what to say. She's amazing."

"Whose amazing?" This from Carter who walks up behind me.

"No one," I say at the same time Mike says, "His date from last night."

I groan. I so don't need Carter in on this conversation. I love the guy but he has a big mouth.

"What date? Where have I been?"

Mike pipes up. "He went out with that smokin' hot waitress from Sally's."

I sit down to put my skates on, pulling the laces tight.

"Dude," Carter says. "You said you didn't want to hit that." His voice sounds accusatory and I remember back to that night. Carter acted like he might try to ask her out.

"I'm not 'hitting that', Carter. We went out on a date."

"But you said she was amazing. If you didn't bang her, what was so amazing?"

I grab the tape off the floor and start wrapping my shin pads. "Carter, you are such a Neanderthal. Not everything is about screwing."

"Yes, it is," Carter replies matter-of-factly. "I mean, what could have been more amazing last night than screwing?"

Carter is genuinely curious I can tell and it's sort of endearing. He may be a player right now but I bet one day, Carter is going to fall hard.

"You guys are like pit bulls. If you must know, I went with her to a homeless shelter and we did some volunteer work in the kitchen. Then we went and grabbed a couple of beers."

Carter is looking at me as if I just sprouted antlers out of my head. "No, seriously...what did you really do?"

I just shook my head and picked up my shoulder pads, strapping them into place. "Forget it, Carter. I just don't think you'd understand."

He is literally scratching his head in consternation as he walks away. I turn to look at Mike. "Was my date last night really that weird?"

Mike stands up and slaps me on the shoulder. "Yup. It was weird. But it was also amazing, and that's all that matters. I'm happy for you, man."

I punch him lightly in the chest. "Thanks, bro."

***

Practice is almost over and we are doing a light scrimmage right now. I'm the center on the first line and I've been playing f*cking fantastic today. I'm on a breakaway right now, having just received the puck from a brilliant pass by Mike. I'm streaking down the right side, and Mike is mirroring me on the left. There's only one defenseman between us and the goalie. I make a quick pass over to Mike. Just as the defensemen commits to Mike, he flips the puck back to me and I wind up for a slap shot, aiming for the five-hole. Just as I'm bringing my stick down toward the ice, I see the blade of another stick poke between my legs and hook over the front of my left skate. It's jerked backward, along with my foot and I go crashing face first into the ice. I'm moving so fast the momentum slides me head first into the boards. Thankfully, I'm able to tuck my head and catch the boards with my shoulder instead.

The coach blows the whistle and I hear Mike bellow, "What the f*ck, Malone?"

I didn't need to hear Mike yell that to know it was Reece Malone who had pulled me down. He is a loser and I don't understand why Coach keeps him on the team. He’s bitter that his talent will never get him higher than our fourth line and he begrudges success to anyone else. Even if that means our team takes a loss. He is poison to our morale.

I jump up from the ice and take off toward Malone. I'm going to kick his ass. I hear the coach frantically blowing the whistle and my teammates rush in to separate us before we can even connect.

"You try that shit again, Reece and I will tear your f*cking head off, you hear me?"

I am pissed and if I didn't have three of my teammates holding me back, I probably would have killed him. Reece just smirks at me. He shakes off the hands holding him and skates off the ice.

Coach wisely calls an end to practice and we all head to the locker room. As I walk in, I move past Malone who is standing in front of his locker and try to ignore him.

"Hey, Burnham. I heard you went slumming last night and banged some grease whore from Sally's."

I vaguely hear Mike say, "Oh f*ck" but then all I hear after is the sound of my fist hitting Malone's face. I get in at least four good hits, all to the left side of his temple and jaw, before Carter and Mike are pulling me off. No one needed to hold Malone back because my hits were vicious and fueled by an inferno of rage. He is on the floor, blood running down his face from an open cut, and he won't be getting up anytime soon.