Chapter 9 #2
“Dude can’t just be doing something nice to be nice, Cap?” Patrick Peck, our black hair and blue-eyed center, I feel will someday where the C on his chest, cautiously questions, fingers tangled with his long-legged, golden caramel-skinned, fiancée, Neena Stiles.
“Nyet,” grumps the man we often answer to on the ice as well as off.
“There’s that famous Cap expression,” Lummy unexpectedly states in tandem with snapping a photo. “Oh! And the listening to our fearless leader one.” She clicks another – this shot aimed at Peck. “These make the best promo shots for rookies and potential draft candidates.”
“I just got this part time gig to start assisting with event photography for a local catering company, but eventually, I’m thinking I wanna move onto people,” announces Neena, frame moving closer to Lummy’s. “Mind if I shadow you for a bit?”
Lummy happily shrugs. “Of course not.”
Pecks expression instantly shifts to one of disapproval, “Wings-”
“I’ll be fine, Papi.”
“But-”
“No.”
“But-”
“No.”
“And earlier-”
“Cono,” she bitterly bites prior to pulling away her grip, wiping her hands against one another, and throwing them up in a frustrated fashion. “Ta bien, listo, Papi.” Her palms plant themselves firmly on her string bikini covered hips. “Entiendes?”
His frame melts in obvious dejection, convincing Cap to shove him backwards into the pool. “There.” The giant splash gets Neena giggling and Lummy clicking. “He understands now.”
“Gracias, Cap.”
“Da,” he grunts on an amused shrug. “Just doing my job.” Peck pops back up above water prompting our fearless leader to point a stern finger at him. “Ostyvat'.”
“Come on, Cap,” the center grumble chortles, “you know I’m bad at Russian.”
“He’s barely passable in Spanish, and we’ve been together forever,” Neena sassily interjects.
“It means ‘cool down’, Pecks,” I inform during my guiding of Gilly away from the group.
“You speak Russian?” she excitedly inquires, our casual stroll filled with additional finger waves to other players and their family members.
“Understand,” bashfully leaves me. “And only a little bit.”
“What about Spanish?”
“More than Russian.”
“Czech?”
Her acknowledgement of what Matty was speaking receives a quirked eyebrow. “How’d you know that was Czech?”
“I know the boys too,” she saucily winks, “remember?”
Right.
Guess I should be thanking the Lord most of them don’t know her.
Otherwise?
Cap probably would’ve pushed me in and held my head under.
Wild thing is…I have this unfortunate feelin’ that that’s still a real possibility.
“Do you know how to Hula?” I easily segue with an excited smirk.
“No.”
“You up for learnin’?”
“Are you?”
“Of course, Gillybean.” Bringing her knuckles to my lips for a chaste kiss precedes another crooked grin. “I’m willin’ and ready for any and every adventure that involves you.”
The faintest hint of red hitting her cheeks causes my chest to swell yet again.
I swear every time they turn that shade, I find myself loving that color more than the one I wear on my sweater.
Wonder if I could get Dub to work it into my bucket design.
Have a little piece of her out there with me.
Having my back.
Cheering for me in secret.
Ooooo!
I bet I could get him to work in jellybeans pretty easy.
Then again…would that be too on the mask?
We’re talkin’ ABBA most iconic song too obvs.
Hmm.
Somethin’ to think on before he finishes up his first round of sketches.
After giving one more cautious, big brotherly glance to Bronny – who is now gearing up for a noodle jousting competition against Lyam Wheaton, our other goalie – we resume our trek to the dance area that immediately reveals a general lack of interest in the activity.
However, I don’t let that dissuade me.
I never do.
I never would.
Life’s about the tunes you wanna make, not what everyone else wants to hear.
Courtney Hale – Corbin’s older sister – warmly welcomes us to the space, introduces us to the male and female dancers she’s brought along, and naturally progresses into her prepared speech regarding the activity’s cultural history as well as significance.
Side by side – still linked by our hands – Gilly and I drink in every word.
Ask questions.
Clarify pronunciations.
Poke fun at one another when we screw ‘em up.
Effortlessly allow ourselves to become tucked away from the rest of the world.
Lost to the magic melody that we make whenever we’re together.
Around the time we’re slipping kupe'e leis on around our wrists, Cap is begrudgingly being dragged over by his adorable bite sized, blonde-haired, first-born daughter, Bella. “We gonna hula, Daddy.”
“Daddy is too big to hula,” he grouses yet continues to let himself be bullied into standing where she commands.
“Uncle Groffee is bigger than you, and he is hulaing,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Sure am, Princess Bella,” I warmly concur prior to pulling on a green colored loincloth. “I’m even wearin’ a malo.”
“Daddy, you wear one too,” instructs the little handful dressed in a red and white swimsuit that reminds me of peppermints.
And I’m pretty sure that’s probably the point.
Her mom – technically stepmom but the only mom that has ever and will ever matter – Joey Alexeyev is obsessed with Christmas.
She even comes to me when she wants to mix up her holiday themed playlist.
James Brown’s “Santa Claus Go Straight To The Ghetto” was a huge hit for her last year while The Ramones “Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)” became Bella’s daily must anthem, something Cap creatively punished me for by blaring it near my ear whenever I managed to drift off to sleep on our plane.
How was I supposed to know she was gonna turn into a little punk rocker who then only wanted to hear that band night and day?
Though they do have some bangers.
“Nyet,” huffs Cap, arms folding firmly across his chest. “Vot gde ya provozhu chertu.”
“Is it?” Joey teasingly inquires while Gilly helps straighten my accessories. “Is that really where you draw the line?” Her curvaceous frame arrives into the space between me and Bella. “You really won’t wear a man skirt for your little hatchling?”
“Joeski…” he whines, melting for his Slayer the same way we all melt for our own.
That’s why they call them Slayers.
They’re the only ones who can always successfully take us down.
“He need the same size like Uncle Groffee,” Bella informs Courtney during her wiggle on of the tiny grass skirt. The second it’s in place, she pridefully spins around in front of me and asks, “Pretty, Uncle Groffee?”
“Absolutely.” Squatting down to be closer to eye-level occurs to the sounds of Cap grumbling his displeasure. “You are the second prettiest lil’ lady on this side of the big muddy.”
“Second?!” she scoffs in obvious outrage.
“Only to my Gillybean,” I casually retort with a small finger point in her direction.
“Her name’s Gillybean?!”
“Gillian,” corrects my date at the same time she joins me in the lower position. “But you can call me Gilly.” She offers our team’s honorary niece her open palm for shaking. “And I think that you are definitely the prettiest little lady here.”
“I think so too,” agrees Bella as they shake.
“Bella,” scolds her mom alongside wriggling on the wrist accessories.
“I mean…” her bright blues execute a roll, “spasibo.”
All smiles.
All attitude.
All loveable.
Can’t lie.
She’s always had this way of making me want my own.
And now that I’ve found the one woman I’mma have ‘em with…wonder how soon is too soon to bring the subject up.
“Joey,” Cap’s wife introduces upon us returning upright.
“Gilly.”
“You look so familiar,” the light café brown freckled face woman casually gestures, once more encouraging uncertainty to cha-cha slide around the pit of my stomach. “Have we met before?”
Like earlier, a hiccup sound escapes rather than words.
Huh.
My lady has a nervous tick.
Why do I think that shit makes her even more adorable?
How is her bein’ more adorable even possible?
“Maybe at a meet and greet?” Joey follows up when she doesn’t get an answer.
Gilly’s mouth lowers to answer only to have another hiccup escape.
Concerningly, Cap’s wife inquires, “Need some water?”
“Now,” Courtney states loudly, regaining control over the situation, round face the brightest and most enthusiastic I’ve seen it yet, “is everyone ready to learn a few basics?”
Bella’s excited glee-filled squeal gets the group smiling and nodding and properly off the topic of Gilly’s hidden relation.
Our first directions are all about proper stances.
The next are about footwork.
And the last are about putting them altogether to simple timing.
Cap and I flawlessly execute each movement – credit due to training exercises that have required much more strenuous and awkward poses – while the females in our company all seem to have two left feet.
Or arms.
Or in Gilly’s case both.
“You got this, Gillybean,” I lovingly encourage, hoping it dulls some of the frustration that’s pinging around her face. “It’s jus’ like when we first met.”
“This is nothing like when we first met, Jukes,” she huffs between stumbles.
“Sure, it is,” sweetly leaves me in tandem with swinging around to be behind her.
“We’re gonna shuffle…shuffle…this way,” my fingers lightly lift her bent elbow upward for better form as we slowly take two steps to the left, “switch,” I maneuver them into the opposite direction, “and shruffle…shruffle…this way.”
Giggles are attached to her headshaking.
“Shuffle…shuffle…again…” There’s no stopping my hands from falling onto her hips to assist. “Then switch.”
“And shruffle…shruffle…this way.”
“Exactly,” is cooed beside her ear. “And once more…” Her frame instantly softens against mine practically turning my voice into nothing but air. “Shuffle…Shuffle…last time.”
“Then switch.”
“And shruffle…shruffle…last time.” She cranes her face up and over her shoulder. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make everything feels so…” a smile sweeter than candy rain graces her glossed lips, “easy.”
“Don’t think everything in life has to be that hard.” Leaning down is met by Gilly lifting herself up. “Especially not with you.”
Our parted lips lightly feather together, encouraging our eyes to close, us to prepare for our tongues to finally brush, only to be interrupted by the one person who has more power over my career than her brother. The team owner. “You have got to be fucking kidding me…”