Chapter 9 Toni
Toni
“Okay ladies…,”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I hated it when coaches called us ‘ladies’ especially the male coaches, although it was way better than the ‘girls’ that followed us all through college. As if the men’s team players were being called ‘boys’…
“We’re going split into two practice squads, goalies will rotate in and out. Divide up when I call your name.”
I put on a yellow vest when my name was called, noting that Yvonne was on the red team.
She’d seemed out of sorts at breakfast. Friendly one minute, cold the next.
It was something about her father, I’d bet money on it.
I could swear she’d dissociated for a few minutes when I brought him up, just staring into space with a completely blank look on her face that had freaked me out more than anything.
I didn’t need to be a psychologist to pick up there was some trauma there.
I lined up on the ice across from her, and our eyes met for just a few seconds before she turned her attention back to the practice game.
Why was I so fascinated with Yvonne Volkova all the sudden?
One of the coaches blew the whistle, and we started our scrimmages.
My skates flew across the ice, weaving in between players as I fought for the puck.
I loved this feeling. Loved racing across the ice, feeling almost weightless, all my attention focused on getting that disc of black rubber into the net.
I guess with a father who was a professional hockey player and a mother who was a figure skater, it was inevitable that I’d do something on the ice.
I’d been skating as long as I’d been walking, and some of my earliest memories involved skating at our local rink and following my parents to their competitions.
I actually really liked ice skating too, and I’d taken both hockey and figure skating lessons as a child, but hockey had appealed to me more.
It was the teamwork, or maybe the brute force of it.
Both sports required a high degree of physicality, but hockey called to something deep inside me. Something primal.
My physique was better suited for hockey too. My brother had inherited my mother’s slimness and grace, while I’d gotten my dad’s height and musculature.
Nothing about winter sports called to my brother, despite my mom’s hopes that he’d go into skating.
He hated playing sports, even the non-ice ones that my parents had insisted that he at least try.
Now he was an accountant, happily living the single life in New York City.
He’d promised to make it to Italy for at least one of my games though.
We’d been close growing up and he’d always been a big supporter of mine.
I got the puck and started racing towards the net.
I saw something flying towards me in my peripheral vision and then I was flying into the boards, checked by Volkova.
It lacked her usual force though. The puck flew away but for a second we both stayed up against the glass, neither of us wanting to move first. Then a whistle blew loudly behind us.
“Volkova! Lindstrom!” one of the coaches yelled. “Save the brute force for the Finns, not your teammates!”
We broke apart, both of us breathing heavily.
“Thanks roomie,” I said with false cheerfulness. “I needed another bruise.”
Yvonne skated off without a word.
“Asshole,” I called.
To my shock, she gave me the finger over her shoulder. I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t even know she had it in her. It kind of made me like her more.
Practice continued for another hour, followed by a group yoga class. By the time we hit the showers, I was hungry again, and ready for a nap. Despite our efforts to combat it, jet lag was still setting in.
I went to the cafeteria with a few of my teammates. Yvonne had disappeared, so I presumed that she’d either gone back to the room or walked over to the other cafeteria with the rest of the team.
She was sitting at the little table in our room when I got back, a container of salad and a kindle in front of her. I guess she’d chosen to eat alone.
“Hey.”
She gave me a curt nod but didn’t say anything. I pulled out the chair across from her and stared at her until she looked up.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “We were getting along fine this morning, but now you seem pissed at me. Is it because I asked you about your father?”
It was the only thing I could think of, given how her attitude had changed after that part of the conversation.
“Don’t talk to me about my father,” she snapped, telling me that my suspicions were correct.
“Fine,” I snapped right back. “I won’t.”
There was a long, pregnant pause before she spoke again.
“We’re not going to be friends, Lindstrom.”
“Fine with me,” I shot back. “I have lots of friends. Excuse me for trying to be friendly when we’re stuck here in this tiny little closet together.”
“You think I’m happy about this roommate arrangement?” she asked.
“I think we were getting along fine last night and had a perfectly nice conversation at breakfast, and something freaked you out or something and then you turned into a royal bitch, that’s what I think.”
I know, but sometimes that word was the perfect descriptor, whether I liked it or not.
“Nothing freaked me out.”.
“Then why are you acting like this?” I asked. “Why were you trying to grind me into the fucking boards today?”
“Because,” she said.
A long pause ensued before I finally prompted, “Because what?”
“Because you bother me, Lindstrom. There’s something about you that makes me feel itchy, like my skin is too tight.”
Her eyes widened slightly, like she’d said more than she intended to.
She stood up, her hands fisted at her sides.
I stood up too, facing her. Her eyes were tumultuous, and in that instant, I knew exactly what she was upset about.
I couldn’t say why, but I just knew. I felt a wave of tenderness for her, maybe because she’d obviously been raised to see emotions as weakness.
“There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to me,” I said softly. “I feel the same way, you know.”
“I’m not attracted to you,” she denied.
“Really? Then why were you staring at my breasts earlier?”
Her eyes dropped to my chest then popped back up, a slight flush crossing her cheekbones. “I was not.”
“Whatever you say,” I smirked.
She took an aggressive step forward, and I instinctively took a step back.
Not that I thought she was going to hurt me or anything.
No, my retreat was more about giving her time, because I knew exactly how I felt.
I wanted her. I’d wanted her from the first moment I saw her, but I thought she wasn’t interested.
Now I knew better. We’d been roommates for only twenty-four hours, but somehow a connection had already formed between us. One I couldn’t deny, even if she could. Maybe it had always been there, and we just needed to spend some time together to make it strengthen.
All I knew was that I was more attracted to Yvonne than I’d ever been to anyone else in my life, and I wanted to explore what that meant.
She took another step forward, her chest heaving, and I felt my back press against the wall. This room really was microscopic.
One of her hands came up to cup my cheek and I relaxed against her palm, waiting for her to make her next move. She stepped closer, until maybe an inch of space separated us, and moved her face close to mine, close enough that I could smell the salad dressing on her breath.
Time passed while we stared at each other. It could have been a minute or a year, I had no idea.
“Tell me to back off,” she whispered.
“No.”
She gave me another few seconds to push her away, and when I didn’t, her lips crashed against mine.