8. Stefan
8
STEFAN
Well, I didn’t see that kiss coming, but seeing her so angry just now did something to me. I needed to shut her up, and kissing her was the only thing I could think to do. I’m lucky she didn’t knee me in the balls. Wren seems like the ball-smashing kind of girl. With her doe eyes and blunt razor cut, she’s sexy as fuck, and her mouth … totally kissable … and I was right. That angry kiss was off the charts hot, but I cannot shit where I sleep. I need to keep her and everyone onside. I need to focus on the end goal: playing hockey. To keep playing hockey, I need to behave and overhaul my image. Once that’s done, I can get rid of my new roomie and get back to living life … but why do I keep thinking about her?
She’s always on my mind, and when she goes running in those tight little outfits, I have to think of fat naked grannies, otherwise, the woodie of all woodies pops up to say hello.
It’s time to leave for practice, and if I don’t want to be late, I need to haul ass. I quickly grab my gear and make my way to the garage, thankful, I don’t pass Wren along the way.
As I slide into my G-Wagon, Big Bertha, “Poker Face” by Gaga comes on, and it reminds me of the times the JJ would sing in the showers when I was with the Crushers. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the camaraderie I had with them, even if they pissed me off most of the time. The guys here in LA aren’t as friendly, but they train hard and push themselves, and that’s something I admire.
Big Bertha is a matte black, top-of-the-line G 63, and I love her to pieces. Along with my beachfront condo, she’s my most prized possession—oh, aside from my hockey card collection that includes an ultra-rare Wayne Gretzky rookie card.
When I arrive at the stadium, I turn off the car, grab my things, and as I’m walking in, I bump into Rick. Maverick “Rick” McQueen is the owner and assistant coach of my old team. A year or so ago, he lost his wife suddenly, leaving him a single dad with four kids. “Coach, what are you doing here?”
“Catching up with Leif while, ummm, K—” He stops himself and furrows his brow and a silence engulfs us. “You played well against Vancouver over the weekend.”
“Thanks, everything fell into place in that game. The team and I were seamless … better watch out come the finals.”
“Bring it,” he states. “But you and I both know, that Cup is ours again.”
“Bring it,” I repeat.
Coach and I say our goodbyes, and I head toward the locker room to change and get out onto the ice.
Coach Barber didn’t appear today, and today’s session was left to the assistant coach but, between you and me, he’s a complete loser. He doesn’t know shit when it comes to hockey, how he got this job is beyond me.
After a less than productive session, the guys and I decide to meet at my place for an impromptu team barbecue and game of beach volleyball. On my way out to my car, I run into Coach Barber and Rick. I extend an invite to them too, but they both decline.
Like earlier, I notice Rick isn’t his usual self, and when he and Coach say goodbye, Coach brings Rick in for a hug. It isn’t your usual “catch you later” hug, this is something more. When they pull apart, Rick sees me and immediately schools his expression as he makes his way over to me. “How was practice?”
“Shit,” I honestly tell him. “You’re a far better assistant coach.”
“Thanks,” he replies. “Well, I better get a cab and head off…”
“I can drop you back at your hotel, if you like?”
“I, umm?—”
“It’s no trouble, Coach, and I’d really like to catch up. I … I miss New York.”
He stares at me, and just when I think he’s going to turn me down, he nods. “That would be great, thank you.”
We silently fall into step and head toward my G-Wagon. Climbing in, I start the engine and quickly turn down the volume. “Sorry, I like my music loud. Gives me time to think.”
“Yeah, I do that too,” Coach agrees. His tone morose.
“So, where too?”
“City of Hope Comprehensive Cancer Center?—”
“You have cancer?”
He shakes his head. “A, umm, friend’s mom does.”
“I’m so sorry, Coach.”
“Thanks, it’s not looking good …”
Not knowing what else to say, I focus on the road and getting Coach back to his friend. After dropping Coach off, I swing by the liquor store to stock up on beer and White Claws. Then I head back to my place. When I arrive, some of the guys are already here and setting up on the beach. Like moths to a flame, the ladies gravitate toward us.
The guys ask Wren to join us, but she declines. Instead sitting on the lower deck with a glass of wine and a book. She doesn’t seem to be getting too much reading done, though because each time I look over, her eyes are on us. Me, specifically. And each time I flirt with someone, I swear Wren’s jaw clenches.
Ever since our kiss the other day, she’s been avoiding me. Which is fine by me, less time in her presence means I can continue to have fun, but I must admit, taunting her is a new hobby of mine. And from the look on her face right now, this afternoon is going to be fun with a capital F-U-N.