Chapter 2 #2
Grady introduces August and Conrad, unnecessarily, judging by the huge smiles on all their faces, and then tells the boys that our visitors will be here for the week.
The excitement is palpable. It reminds me of why I love this game so much.
The pure joy and love of hockey. These two guys represent more than fame and success in their sport.
They signify the hopes and dreams of every kid who steps onto the ice and thinks about playing forever.
It’s that voice deep down in your subconscious that whispers “You can do this too.” If I looked too hard at that last part, I might have a problem with it, given I know what it takes and the statistics of those who achieve it, but for these boys nothing is more powerful.
It might not land them a seven-figure contract someday, but it will inspire them to work harder and dream bigger.
While the boys continue to stare and mutter to themselves and fanboy over August and Conrad, I sneak another glance at the latter.
His cheeks have taken on a reddish tinge from the chill of the ice, and it makes his blond hair and light blue eyes all the more compelling. I grew up around hockey players. My dad played in the semiprofessional league, and he passed on his love for the game to me and my brother.
We were a hockey family in every sense of the word. Long nights at the rink for practice, late dinners, weekends traveling, cheering on local teams, and planning vacations around sports schedules. All this to say, hockey players, even extremely hot ones, don’t normally make me lose my shit.
In fact, I don’t date hockey players. Ever.
I made that decision sometime around puberty to avoid awkward encounters with my brother’s teammates and friends, and it has served me well.
Especially as my brother has made a name for himself as an enforcer-style player with the most penalty minutes in the league.
It doesn’t exactly make him likeable, so I try to keep a personal distance from the pro hockey world while still supporting him as much as I can.
But the guy in front of me is in a whole other league of hot that has me questioning how I watched him play and don’t remember him. I have goose bumps on my arms that have nothing to do with the cool air.
“Whit?” Grady’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Oops. Stop gawking at the hot hockey player and act like a professional.
I force my lips into a wide, friendly smile. “Yeah?”
“Can you show the guys to the locker room?”
“Of course.” Do not look at him. Do not look at him. Do. Not. Look.
Grady speaks directly to the guys. “You can store your stuff there or in the office if you’d like.”
“Thanks, man,” August says to him.
I lead our guests off the ice and to the locker room.
“I remember them being bigger.” August smiles as he sets his bag on one of the wooden benches. He looks around like he’s taking it all in, maybe remembering his own humble beginnings.
“Most of our players are under six feet tall and our budget is just a smidge less than the Moonshot team is working with,” I say with a small laugh.
The changing room smells like an awful combination of dirty feet, body spray, and the stringent cleaner the janitorial staff uses throughout the school.
“It’s great.” He sits down, which only serves to make him look even bigger somehow. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. No problem.” I finally force myself to look at Conrad. He’s standing a few feet away with his bag clutched in his right hand. The red of his cheeks is still present, even in this muggy locker room. He doesn’t look at me as I say, “If you need anything, let me know.”
Conrad finally glances in my general direction. Not at me, exactly, but in a way that indicates he’s aware I spoke.
“Thanks. We will.” August is the one who answers.
It’s clear who the friendly one is, and it isn’t Conrad. Pity. Hot and stuck-up. But I don’t care how he treats me as long as he’s good to the boys.
The next few hours are spent doing a few things: shooting, passing, stickhandling, and more importantly, keeping the boys focused and not drooling over their hockey heroes.
August has our five goalies on one end working with them, which leaves me, Grady, and Conrad with the rest of the boys.
We have them in a skating drill, and I can practically feel the intensity vibrating off them. Each one wants to impress us, or, more specifically, Conrad.
The aloof vibes I felt from him earlier have shifted to something more relaxed and a little friendlier. I’m trying not to take it personally, but as the only woman on the ice, it’s impossible not to notice he’s more talkative with everyone else.
The boys are lined up and one at a time they take their turn, skating around the cone obstacles. On their third attempts, Grady and I take positions at either side, and we add in receiving and passing the puck while navigating through the drill.
Conrad leans on his stick between me and Grady, watching and calling out words of encouragement to each of the kids. Every single one.
Jake knocks over a cone and sends his pass back to me wide. I stretch out to catch it with the end of my stick, moving closer to Conrad. He gives me a quick glance, eyes widening slightly, then skates over to give me more room.
“Sorry,” Jake says to me with a sheepish grin.
“Keeping me on my toes this morning, huh?” I ask with a slight laugh, pushing away the cool indifference from Conrad.