Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
CHANCE
Gunner and his crew are noticeably absent when I drag myself to the locker room. Despite their absence, or maybe because of it, the room is buzzing with excitement.
I step inside.
As one, the team turns their flush-faced, wild-haired, expectant eyes on me.
“There he is!” someone yells.
Whoops break out.
My teammates surround me.
“Nice job out there.” I smile. “Palenski, I saw you with those assists.”
He grins so broadly his chipmunk cheeks almost punch me in the face.
“Chance, you have to come with us. We’re heading to the Tipsy Tuna for a round of beers.”
“I got plans, but…” I open my locker and slip out my wallet, handing over a credit card, “you guys enjoy yourselves.”
Their eyes widen.
Another roar of celebration erupts.
I notice that they’re all clothed and changed out of their gear.
Shooing them out, I say, “See you on Monday.”
The guys leave, talking excitedly. Some of the players on Gunner’s team sheepishly wave at me. I wave back, showing I hold no malice.
Gunner, Renthrow, Watson, and Theilan are the ones who have it out for me. It’s not fair to the others for them to tiptoe around us or feel like they have to choose sides.
Stowing away my hockey stick, I sit down to remove my gear. Once my hands are free, I grab my phone and check if April texted. I forgot to ask her to message me when she got to the garage safely.
Since there are no notifications from her, I reach out first.
ME: Hey. Did you get back okay?
ME: I was thinking of you during the press conference.
After a pause, I add a wink emoji.
APRIL: I did. By the way, this is the garage’s number.
ME: Okay…
APRIL: Rebel thought a customer was flirting with her.
ME: The flirting was intended for you.
APRIL: Then you swung and missed, hockey boy.
I laugh and tap in her personal phone number to use instead.
ME: How are things with the Bel Air?
APRIL: It’s in pristine condition. All it needed was an oil change and it was good to go.
ME: Thanks for changing the oil. Was that canola or olive?
APRIL: Ouch. Was that supposed to be funny?
ME: Another swing and miss?
APRIL: :) Thank you for bringing it over. May says having it in the background of our videos will be great for ‘engagement’ online.
ME: I bet it will.
APRIL: It’s ready for pick up. We’re closing the shop in thirty minutes though, so if you don’t get here in time, you’ll need to pick it up tomorrow.
I don’t mind if April keeps the Bel Air overnight. It’s safer with her than with me since I don’t have a house to park it in front of.
Absently, I tap on her profile picture. The image is of her posing next to the Bel Air. She’s wearing her mechanic jumpsuit with the oil stains and her leg is kicked up in celebration.
She looks so beautiful it literally chokes me up.
I massage my throat, unable to breathe.
Forget seeing her tomorrow, I need to see her.
In person.
Right now.
How much time do I have left?
I check the phone screen.
Twenty-nine minutes.
Tossing the phone, I strip out of my clothes and run into the shower like I’m being chased. The steam curls around me, floating through the air like grey ghosts. Steaming hot water spatters into the shower tiles at my feet.
I scrub my face and hair enthusiastically. Then I scrub down my stomach, grinning when I remember the appreciative gleam in April’s green eyes when she saw me shirtless.
After the shower, I grab a clean towel, wrap it around my waist and return to my locker to grab a fresh change of clothes and some cologne.
Unfortunately, I can only locate the cologne. All my clothes have disappeared.
“What’s going on?” I murmur. Tossing out all the things in my locker, I search every nook and cranny.
No clothes.
I check around the benches, behind the towel hamper and even in the garbage.
Not only my clothes, but all the worn jerseys from the hamper are missing too.
Aside from the towels, there is not a stitch of fabric in the locker room.
Gunner .
His name rings through my mind and brings with it a bitter taste in my mouth. What’s with this middle-school prank?
I check the time.
Twenty minutes to go.
At this rate, I’ll miss April.
Desperate and naked, I call Max.
There’s no answer, which means he’s still mid-interview with the local news.
“Bobby!” I hiss, through the door. My towel slips and I reach with one hand to snap it up before I expose myself. “Bobby!”
The friendly maintenance man doesn’t show.
Wracking my brain, I search for another solution.
In the corner of the locker, an abandoned mascot head stares at me with unseeing eyes. I pick up the giant head and bring it to my waist, gauging its length and width.
Yup. Should be enough to cover the maker of my future children.
I secure the towel tightly, adjust the mascot head in front of me and tiptoe outside. I keep another gym bag in my car with an extra set of clothes, underwear and sneakers. If I can just get to the parking lot without being spotted…
“Chance?” Max’s voice rings loudly in the microphone the reporter has stuck to his face.
The camera swings to me at the same time.
The reporter blushes.
The camera zooms in on the mascot head.
Since there’s nothing to do but go with it, I straighten and wave a little for the camera. Unfortunately, removing my hand from the mascot head makes it unstable and the whole thing topples lower on my body.
Max springs forward and blocks me from the camera. “O-kay.” He clasps his hands together. “I think our interview is over now. Can you turn that off?”
Bobby pops out of the hallway on the opposite end of the stadium. His eyes widen and he scurries toward me. Max sees him coming too and sighs in relief.
“Is this your new mascot theme?” the journalist asks, eyeing me up and down like I’m a juicy steak on the grill and she hasn’t eaten all day.
“Uh…” Max’s eyes dart all around.
The side door screams open and a group of grey-haired older women march in, cackling loudly. They’re all wearing thick leggings, neon-green headbands and knee pads.
“Who are they?” I squeak, petrified.
Max slaps his forehead with his palm. “I forgot. The rollerblading rink is closed for renovations so these ladies are learning to skate.”
I grind my teeth in embarrassment.
Bobby arrives, his eyes still wide.
“Take Chance to my office. There are clean clothes in my locker. I’ll see the reporters out; make sure they delete the footage.” Max glides away, smiling broadly at the news team. “Where were we?”
The female reporter gives me one more interested look before allowing Max to tug her away.
“Where are your clothes?” Bobby hisses, tugging on my arm.
“That’s my question too,” I grumble.
From behind me, I hear snickering. Four familiar hockey players are in the bleachers, kicking their feet up and watching it all go down.
Gunner and his posse look smug.
My eyes narrow. Real mature.
“Let’s try not to attract any more attention,” Bobby says nervously. “Come this way.”
“Ooh la la!” A raspy voice wheezes, stopping me and Bobby in our tracks.
“Well, hello, gorgeous! If this is your mascot, I’ll come to the games!”
Grey heads bobbing, the roller derby ladies rush down to me, phones out and snapping a million pictures.
“Can I get a picture, hun? I’m a big fan.”
Before I can give my approval, the woman pushes a paper-thin cheek to mine and takes a selfie.
“Me next!” Her friend squeals.
One by one, the ladies line up.
“Can you take it, honey?” A woman that smells like Vicks Vapor Rub hands her phone over. “I want to get that nice little V-line at your hips in the shot.”
I almost choke.
So this is how it feels to be objectified.
“Whoa, whoa. Okay, let’s break this party up.” Max slides between me and someone’s naughty grandma.
“But my picture!” Naughty Granny says.
“I’ll take it,” I say with a patient nod.
Max frowns.
The woman brightens.
I take the shot, making sure all of my abs are showing, and lead Bobby to the locker room. After handing him my keys, he retrieves my gym bag from the car and returns with it.
Max is waiting on the bench when I change into a T-shirt, shorts, and my gym shoes. His eyes are narrowed and he looks like he’s been chewing a handful of thumb tacks.
Sighing heavily again, I check the time on my phone. April probably left the garage by now.
I missed my window.
“What happened?” Max demands.
I tell him about walking out of the shower and my clothes being missing.
“That’s absolutely ridiculous!” he mutters.
While Max rants about sportsmanship, my phone buzzes.
DEREK: FreshButtFit, a luxury boxers brand, is interested in a meeting. Call me when you have a chance.
“I guess the picture’s gotten out already,” I mumble, stowing the phone away.
“The news team?” Max groans.
“It’s probably the grannies.”
“That stinks, Chance.”
“Not really. I got an offer from a luxury boxers brand out of it so…” I shrug.
“I’ll speak to Gunner tomorrow,” Max says firmly.
“Don’t bother.” I take a sip from my giant water bottle.
“This was not only immature but totally uncalled for. What are we? In the fifth grade?”
“It’s okay.” I pat his shoulder. “There was no harm done.”
“You were naked as the day you were born and it was all caught on camera, but you’re not mad?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Max shakes his head. “I need to do something. As the manager of this team, I can’t turn a blind eye.”
I swing my gym bag over my shoulder and look back at him. “Turn a blind eye, Max.”
“Why?”
My lips curl up cruelly. “So you can do the same when I get them back.”