CHAPTER 5
LUCY
What did you do, give him a blow job on the ice?”
“Excuse me?” My eyes bugged out of my head at my sister's words.
Sarah threw an envelope on a newly distressed farmers table I was falling in love with every time I ran my fingers on the creamy round edges.
“Oh, you heard me.” A smirk plastered her face.
“What are you talking about Sarah? I'm too busy to read your mind.” I took a moment to pick dry paint from my elbow.
She picked up the large envelope and poured the contents on the table. Pucks stickers, tickets to the next home game and a letter spread out like confetti. She read the letter in a mocking tone.
“Dear Paulie, it was great to meet you and your aunt a few weeks ago. She told me about your melted ice. I thought I could help make up for some of your birthday mishaps. Hope to see you and your family and friends and that Aunt of yours soon. –The Sarge.”
“That Aunt of yours? What did you do?” She laughed and covered her face with the envelope.
My lips were frozen together. My body was so hot I'm sure Sarah could see the steam from my scalp.
“I– I didn't do anything. Maybe stole a glance, hell, we just talked.”
Fuck.
“Was it a feisty talk? We are getting picked up in a limo to boot and Robbie will be home from China by then.”
“Well good for you. I hope you have fun.” I swept the never-ending dust off the counter and avoided her gaze.
“Oh, you're going with us. I'm not taking five 10-year-olds into the city without an additional chaperon.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip to one side.
“I'm busy with work.” I started to inventory wood, even though I knew the ins and outs of my supply.
Sarah blocked my cleaning with every turn, forcing me to look at her. “What's going on? Don't want to see the hot hockey guy again?”
“I'm not really a hockey person anymore.” I maneuvered around her, completely trying to avoid the subject.
It brought up so many feelings I was trying to swallow.
More than I wanted to wrap my head around.
Plus, Sarah's suggestive words made me feel like she thought Sasha and I were a possibility when we were clearly not.
We had different lives, our own lives.
“You loved to watch hockey with Dad, Luce.”
I exhaled and slumped against my milling machine.
There was no way I was talking about my father right now.
I couldn't express how much I wanted to avoid the thoughts of him as well.
Couldn't she just let me be in my own little perfectly built world with my business and my vibrator? Because it was good, it really was.
“Yeah, and it kind of died with him. I'm not sure I want a constant reminder of it.”
“Aha.” She grabbed my shoulders and brought them into her as my head flopped in her directions. “Just because Dad's heart stopped, it doesn't mean yours has to.”
I rolled my eyes in her direction. “You sound like Mom.” I pushed the tickets back in the envelope. Then cleaned off my table I had stained before she messed it up.
“She is usually right. Just don't tell her I said so. Oh, come on Lucy, flirt with some hot hockey guy.”
“A brute.” I interrupted her, trying to stop the thought of hooking me up with the Sarge from her mind.
“Even better. Maybe you won't scare this one off.” She pointed an accusatory finger in my face.
“Hey! That's not fair. I only scared off one, maybe two.”
“Three. At least three men had something to say about your temper, your sailors mouth and who knows what else.” She counted off on her fingers like they were facts at a trial.
I let it go only because I knew she was right.
My mouth was wild. I hated being told what to do and how to act and traditional roles made me feel claustrophobic when they were expected of me.
So, I bite and I thrashed against my previous boyfriend's expectations, and well, it didn't work out so great. Obviously.
“We shouldn't even be talking about this. He probably has a girlfriend in every city and illegitimate children in half.” I remembered the beautiful blonde that he took to premieres and the beach.
Her thighs didn't touch and she looked so happy even if her expression was a little vacant and her fingers latched onto Sasha's arm like talons.
“Well, now he'll have one more.” Sarah took a quarter from her pocket and spun the metal knob of the candy machine. Colored peanut butter rounds spilled into her hand. Her eyes rolled back as she popped one after another in her mouth. “Heaven.”
Damn straight he is. Sasha half naked. Sasha holding a puppy. Sasha washing the truck in tight Levi's and a white wet T-shirt distracted me. I'd seen every picture and every interview, every juniors hockey game the man has ever been in.
“You see, you can't stop smiling. You're going to the game.”
And with my sisters word it was done.
◆◆◆
It was game night so without fail my stomach churned like a Slurpee machine.
I ran to the bathroom multiple times before the limo arrived.
Screaming prepubescents pulled at the frayed nerves that I hid under red, white and blue paint that decorated my cheeks.
My braided hair was too tight, but I couldn't say no to Paulie's little girlfriend when she wanted to test out a fishtail braid on my long hair.
“Why did you let those kids do that to you and what the hell are you wearing?” Sarah hissed.
“A Pucks jersey?”
“How are you going to flirt with that paint on your face?” Sarah criticized my every asset like the sole purpose of the hockey game was to bag a player and not for my nephew. She pushed the frustrated auburn strands from her face.
“Easy, I'm not going to. I doubt we'll even see him anyway.” I pulled at the tight braid the little girl insisted I drape over my right shoulder.
“This is why you're single. You know that right?” She turned too quickly for me to give her a response. But yes, I knew it. It was painfully obvious why I was single.
I pulled at my dad's old jersey, still in excellent condition from being folded safely in my drawer for fifteen years. A small fray at the bottom was the only evidence he had worn it. My fingers rubbed the fabric in his memory.
“It's here! It's here!” The group of rascals shouted at such a decibel I practically convulsed with fear.
They piled in one by one, scrambled over each other.
Jerseys and muddy sneakers flung haphazardly in every direction.
I sat in last, clinging to the door as a lifeline.
If it got to be too much I could always just jump into the traffic.
Sarah and I locked eyes when the Kids Bop rendition of the latest pop song was murdered to the point of ear bleeding.
“Kill me.” She mouthed from the opposite seat as her husband found the minibar. They raided it lightly, avoiding the gaze and questioning of all the children now playing a game of who can hold their breath the longest.
Bless that game. Bless that game for the two minutes of semi quiet that I needed not to go into a full on freak out.
The velvet seats in the limo tickled my fingertips as I shoved them under my thighs for warmth. The night was cool and crisp and no matter how fast my heartbeat when thinking of even the possibility of seeing Sasha. I couldn't warm my body by thought, by hope.
The city welcomed us with a magnificent show of lights and I knew why it was called the city of dreams. With so many stars to wish upon the chances were endless.
Once we reached the stadium we were escorted directly inside by a PR manager waiting for us to open the limo doors.
His suit jacket and button-down shirt felt stuffy in the hot dog eating, beer drinking, name-calling atmosphere.
“I'm Alan. I'll be escorting you.” We circled the cavernous halls, blindly following the guy in the suit pass all the narrow out-shoots to the ice.
The stadium roared with chatter. Blue and red weaved majestic patterns through people.
You could feel the fandom sizzle through the halls.
The endless feet searching for seats in anticipation of their beloved team skating to victory.
Tears welled in my eyes as the spirit of my father buzzed around me in the close proximity of his team.
His team. He called them that. He wasn't an owner, hell he couldn't even afford season tickets, but as a die hard fan he bled The Pucks. To him they were only team worth his tears. They were his.
“Where are we going?” I asked my brother-in-law.
“How the hell should I know? I'm a Yankees fan. Hey bub, I thought our tickets were near the ice.”
“No sir, there's been a change of plans.” We finally stopped at a door marked private. Alan opened it wide and pushed us in.
I had never been in one of those fancy glass boxes up at the top of the rink before.
They were saved for important people like owners and their mistresses.
Celebrities getting unfairly treated for showing their support for their new boyfriends and people with way more money than I will ever see in my lifetime.
Alan read my disbelief and nodded his head quickly.
“There are refreshments in the corner and a bathroom to your left and I'll be at the end of the phone if you need anything at all.” He held up his cell phone from his breast pocket and pointed to the black phone box on a desk.
“Hot dog with mustard!” Paulie shouted in Alan's direction.
“Paulie!” Sarah was horrified. “You are perfectly capable of getting one yourself.”
Alan smirked and put his phone away before disappearing behind the door
The kids huddled at the glass window with “ooo'” and “I can't believe this” coming from their mouths. Fog coated the glass and their noses left imprints in the condensation.
The room was far from the action, but somehow I could still hear the scrape of the blades as the players took the ice. I huddled by the spread, stuffing my face with meatball sliders and chicken salad croissants and a plethora of fancy finger foods.
“There he is!” Paulie screamed as Sasha Dimitrovic was called to the ice.