Chapter 9
IZZY
After playing for team USA in the World Juniors for a couple of years, I got accustomed to being able to step onto the ice with damn near anyone in front of me and play my ass off.
Although, I do have an absolutely delectable ass that I hope never goes away or sags for the rest of my life.
I refuse to have a wrinkly old man butt when I get older.
I will squat forever if I have to – robotic squats if necessary.
“Head in the game, Charming!” Coach calls out to me when the post saves my ass for the third time tonight.
I thought it would be louder, more energetic, than it was in Baltimore, but the crowd here is practically snoozing.
The sound techs in the arena can’t seem to figure out an acceptable volume for the music because they damn well might as well be playing it in an empty space.
Still, I could live with the eerie silence and echoes.
What I can’t stand is the fact that the douchebag from my Junior years is here.
For the entire first period, I played like I was on fire.
Nothing could stop me. Logic told me that if Tim is here, that means Mr. Kinsey is here for me, too.
But when I found the asswipe in the stands during an official break, it wasn’t my sexy secret crush next to him.
It was some puck bunny that I know Royce and a handful of the other guys slept with before she even turned eighteen. Brenda… Bitsy… Bitchy…
*CLANG!*
The puck soars up into the netting to my right, and the whistle is blown for an official timeout.
I make my way over to the bench to get my ass chewed out.
I’m playing like absolute shit since I discovered that dickwad Tim is cheating on Mr. Kinsey.
Ugh, whatever or whoever has blessed me with luck in the crease tonight, I owe them a bacon double cheeseburger and chocolate shake.
Coach isn’t going to let this slide if I can’t pull my head out of my ass.
“Shake it off Prince!” Tim’s voice reverberates through the near silent arena, and I can hear the snickers from the other bench. The way I’m feeling is painfully obvious by the way I slam the water bottle down on the rail in front of Walt Walendziewicz – the other goaltender for the Pickaxes.
“That the family?” Wally asks, tilting his head across the ice towards the loudmouth prick. I scoff in response before dropping my mask down and skating back to my crease to get these last two minutes off the clock so that I can go hit something in the back before the third starts.
Thankfully, our D-men saved my ass by blocking a few shots to close out the second. We’re tied 2-2, but at least we aren’t losing.
“What’s going on, Isaiah?” Mr. Talbot pulls me aside. “Is it the pants? I can see if they’d clear you wearing another color, but I don’t have the right size yet because Swifty didn’t tell me about your growth spurt last month.”
I feel the corners of my mouth turn up despite the anger inside me. Tight pants have never been an issue for me. In fact, they have been a plus in many ways – especially when the one wearing them prefers leather or latex.
Shit. I forgot how much it sucks playing with a hard-on.
I need to cool my thoughts off even though I’ve been having trouble going back down to PG 13 since meeting one Samwise Talbot: equipment manager and freaking sex on a stick, could be a model.
I think he might be fae… Okay brain, you need to chill.
There’s still another twenty minutes of play left to go.
“Pants are fine,” I manage to squeak out before waddling over to my cubby to hide my now blazing face. At least I can claim the blush is from exertion, right?
I’m still yo-yo-ing back and forth between aroused and enraged when Coach tells us to get ready to head back out.
I heard nothing of his speech. Wally, pulls me away from the other guys and gives me a fatherly look.
I find it funny because he’s not even a decade older than me.
Then, I think about it… most of the professional hockey players have their careers end by the time they reach ten years playing pro.
Wally is still at the top of his game. I should learn as much as I can from him.
“The guy in the stands. Do you want him tossed?” he asks me seriously. “We don’t mess around with hecklers and shit here that they might let slide down in Baltimore.”
My shoulder slump as I lean back against the brick wall of the hallway. I guess I should start trusting these guys since I am supposed to be here for a while, right?
“He’s not a heckler… well, not to me or any of the other guys that played Juniors for the team where he lives. He’s a bit of a super-fan and a grade A creeper.”
“Yuck,” Wally grimaces and I nod. Tim is most definitely the definition of yuck.
“At first I was happy when I heard him,” I try to explain without giving away too much. “I probably would have given up hockey after my first year in Juniors if it wasn’t for the fact that he and his husband were the billet family for my best friend on the team.”
Wally holds his hand up to interrupt me, and we hear the warning buzzer to signal our need to return to the ice. I continue with the bare basics while we head out of the tunnel.
“I’ll tell you the full story after the game, but short version is this: Tim is here with a puck bunny from back home and his husband is nowhere in sight.”
Wally gives me a thumbs up and turns to talk to the security guard standing just inside the tunnel.
On my way to the crease, my teammates give me taps to my pads for encouragement, and I try to zone in as the captain manages to win the faceoff to start the period.
It’s not until the first official timeout that I realize I haven’t heard anything from the asshole.
Glancing over to my right, I see the seats he formerly occupied are now empty. And Bitchy is gone, too.
Suddenly, victory seems much more attainable than it was ten minutes ago.
Sure enough, the buzzer sounds twenty-ish minutes later, and I give all three pipes an appreciative rubdown before getting swarmed by my teammates. This is a feeling that never gets old. The guys all herd me off the ice and down the tunnel to the locker room while I revel in the glory.
I had glanced briefly at the stats for the Pickaxes back when I was drafted years ago – still dreaming of being that starting goalie for the NAPH DC Gladiators at the age of eighteen.
But the Glads have Schuster who has at least another two or three good years left in the tank.
Two years ago, they were… not good, but they were at least competitive for the majority of the season.
According to what Jones told me on the drive up here, it was pretty much a guaranteed loss when Wally wasn’t in the net for the last season and a half.
After getting my jersey off, my brain starts plotting.
One of the things that we did in Juniors that I have always tried to do since then is meet with the fans after the games.
In Juniors, we did it in the arena concourse.
In college, we’d meet at the snack bar or on the quad or sometimes even at the coffee shop around the corner.
Back in Baltimore, I would hang out at the guard shack where security was posted to keep the fans away from our parking area.
I haven’t figured out where to go to meet with the fans here, though, and I really want to figure that out before it’s time to go back to Mr. Talbot’s house.
“… played one hell of a game, Kid.”
I zoned out the entire way through the walk to the locker room and most of the speech from Coach. I probably would still be stuck in my own head if Wally hadn’t slapped my back just now.
“Thanks, Coach,” I mumble and accept the rubber pickaxe from the man while the room roars with cheers from my teammates. My mind drifts back to wondering how the fuck I’m going to connect with the fans when the captain speaks up.
“I know a lot of you just want to get home and get working on those leftovers, but we need some volunteers for fan service tonight. You already know I’m in. Wally? You down for it tonight?”
The man next to me grunts with a nod before chucking his pads across the room towards Sam and his apprentice.
The kid is wearing a name tag, but he didn’t introduce himself, so I have no clue what it is.
The apprentice fumbles a bit catching the giant leg pads but manages not to drop them.
Of course, everyone chuckles when he raises his fists in victory after setting them in the equipment cart.
“Anyone else?” The captain’s voice snaps me out of the spiral of embarrassment I feel for not being able to read the damn name tag.
“I’ll do it,” I call out softly, raising my hand. “I want to meet as many fans as I can while I’m still relevant.”
A few of the guys try to hide their smirks, but most just flat out laugh while Mr. Talbot wheels in an empty cart for our dirty uniforms.
“Kid, you’re gonna be relevant for a damn long time if you keep playing like you did tonight,” he says while knocking a flying jock out of the air with someone’s stick. “Keep it up and you’ll be moving up to the Bigs in no time.”
After some congratulations and the quickest shower in existence, I’m back in my suit to head to the box where the fans get together with the players.
While I was rushing to get cleaned up, the captain – who introduced himself as Jason thankfully – explained that on Friday night home games, the fans can enter a raffle for a local charity for the opportunity to meet with some players after the game. Sounds like a good idea to me.
Unfortunately, that good idea puts me into an enclosed area with Bitchy and Tim until Wally has them escorted out – again. I really hope that I won’t have to deal with them showing up regularly because Tim without Mr. Kinsey is a curse I do not need in my life.
“You were amazing!”
I look down at the most adorable little girl on the planet as she runs up to me.
Between the jersey turned dress and the pigtails, I think I might have found my new favorite fan.
I immediately kneel down to be able to speak to her on her own level and am absolutely entranced by her energetic recreations of my best saves of the night.
“Daddy says you’re gonna be staying with Mister Sammy. Does that mean you’ll be coming over for Christmas dinner, too?”
I know I must have that deer in the headlights look when her adorable giggle echoes through the space.
Before I can answer, she runs over to the captain to talk to him.
He picks her up like this is a normal occurrence and I can’t help but smile at their enthusiastic conversation while he carries her around the room to the other guys that decided to come out to greet the fans.
“Allie can be a bit much until you get used to her,” Mr. Talbot’s voice comes from behind me while I’m still kneeling. Thankfully, I only flinch a little bit and don’t have a complete jump scare flop around. Tilting my head back, I look up at my new temporary roommate and have to swallow hard.
Thank God for jock straps and loose fitting trousers because this view is something I will be thinking about when I am alone in the shower.