10. Cameron #2
“Nice hat,” Prez called as we herded kids into their age groups while parents settled in the stands for the first practice of the summer session. “I didn’t think you were into metal. I thought you were a big Manilow-head.”
Charlie sniggered, and I threw him a death stare. You get caught humming “Copacabana” one time and never live it down.
“Go rock on a pony,” I said, the comeback not at all the one I wanted to use. I flipped him off mentally. “Rottie is my neighbor, and I helped him find his camel so—”
“‘Camel’?” Prez asked while volunteers tried to harness the energy in the rink.
We had a long-term contract with this older, but still solidly built ice palace.
Back in the day Hollywood starlets would come here to skate.
There were pictures on the walls of famous starlets and leading men all glamorous as they cut figure eights into the ice.
“Yeah, long story.”
Prez got dragged away. and then, it was just me and Charlie waiting to start. He seemed distracted, and I was right that something was on his mind when he leaned in and spoke to me in a quiet voice.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Little Mikey is off grid; you haven’t heard from him have you?”
“You lost your brother?”
“Not lost him. I mean, I see the lights on in his place, but he’s not being social and shit.”
“That’s probably because you call him Little Mikey. Why can’t you call him Zeetoo like the rest of us?”
Charlie winced and muttered something under his breath that I had no way of hearing in the chaos. Then, he shrugged. “I’m sure it’s all good.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he grabbed his stick. “Let’s do this thing.”
I smiled at one of the volunteers, Miles, a tall guy with lots of gold curls.
He gave me a glance that simmered, but I merely nodded at one of the kids right beside him with an untied lace.
Sure. Miles was cute, but his eyes weren’t blue enough, and his face was too long.
Also, and I know this is a total Seinfeld schtick, but the guy was a sentence-finisher.
Finn always let me complete my sentences.
When I turned back to speak to Prez, he didn’t hide that he was assessing me.
“What? Did I miss a patch of whiskers when I shaved?”
I patted at my cheeks. I had been rushed thanks to mountaineer Blade showing up at the ass crack of my day.
“No, you just got this dorky look on your face like you saw a unicorn or found free Manilow tickets on the ice.”
“Don’t you have kids that need your expertise on something over by the net?” I asked as I waved a gloved hand at one end of the ice.
“What’s her or his name?” Prez pushed, his stick resting on his thick neck as his hands draped over opposite ends.
“Why is everyone asking me that today?!” My teammate shrugged. “There is no he or she, I don’t do that kind of sh… shiny newts.” Two little girls with pigtails wobbled past, cheeks plumped from their ear to ear grins. “So, Viking chic?”
Prez chuckled. “Coward, changing the subject. We’ll find out eventually.
” No, they—and by “they” I meant the team—would not because Finn was firmly closeted, and I was firmly averse to commitment.
“I have no idea what that even means. You know Charlie and his theme parties. For his birthday, it was Great Gatsby. The time before that, he threw that adult prom party. Oh, and then there was the camping party where he wore a sleeping bag all night. But this one is all his brother’s fault, apparently. ”
“I have no clue what a chic Viking wears. Skinny jeans to match his horned helmet?” I was clueless. Charlie was a great guy, a fantastic player, and one of our Storm rainbow brethren, but his party ideas were ridiculous, and with Zeetoo getting in on them as well, this was shit.
“Yeah, maybe. Hey, I bet the person you got dopey-looking over might have an idea. Are you bringing them?”
Honest to Gretzky, the guy was like a dog with a fucking femur.
I shook my head, then, thank goodness, was saved from further interrogation by twenty or so kids of about ten gathering around me.
I gave Prez a smug little smirk, then led my ducklings—all in bright purple sweaters with their CC’s Club team logos on the front—to a corner of the rink.
Many of them were veterans of the organization, but a few were new faces.
They were bright and attentive, eager to learn the basics of the game that, until this inner-city league, they’d been unable to afford.
Hockey was not a cheap game to play, especially for kids who outgrew equipment every year or two.
My parents could attest to that. Also, traveling from game to game was hard on working parents, which was why we also provided transportation to away games.
I’d been happy to sign the check for a few vans.
The dealer we’d bought them from offered me a contract to do commercials on the spot, which I was pleased to sign after my agent read it over.
I then bought my Mercedes from him, made four spots, and got trolled for my acting ability.
As I put the kids through some simple drills, my thoughts kept slipping back to a certain actor and a certain party. Would Finn want to go if I asked him? Charlie had said to bring a date…
Not that Finn would be there as my date, obviously, but as a buddy.
We could pull that off with ease. A couple of friends—no benefits—just hanging out with a bunch of jocks.
How heteronormative could you get? No one would think a thing about him being there.
If we told the guys that I was helping him with a role in a hockey movie that would cement the lie.
Someone fell down beside me, began crying, and that jarred me from my daydreams about me and Finn going out in the world together. I hoisted the little girl up to my hip. She reminded me of my little sister. She clung to me until her mom showed up to take her.
“You’re so good with the kids. When are you going to have some of your own?” Mom of the Crying Child asked.
I mumbled some words about skate blades. She nodded, then carefully moved across the ice with her daughter in her arms. The little girl gave me a timid wave that I returned.
Kids? Me? Pfft. Yeah, no, not anytime soon.
Kids required time, love, and commitment.
I seemed to be lacking in most of those key areas I’d been told more than a few times by more than a few people.
Mostly, people I’d left after getting my itch scratched.
Love and commitment required time, and as we had covered just a moment ago, I had little of that so…
Nope to kids right now. Maybe later. After hockey. When I had a partner.
My life was fine at the moment. Me and Finn were doing good… if you called hiding and lying good. Which I did, right? Sure. I was happy with things. No strings. Lots of sex. A few cuddles. Tons of takeout food. Yep, it was the perfect arrangement.
So why the hell was I already tapping out a text to Finn?
Had my fingers been possessed? I hit send before I could change my mind.
Great, now I was rebelling against my better judgment.
What kind of spell had Finn Kerrigan cast on me?
A finger enchantment maybe? I stared at the sent text.
Shit, he had already seen it. Too late to delete it now.
Fuck. Now came the dread of waiting for a reply.
Maybe Rottie was right. Maybe the loss to Boston had given me slow mindfulness…
Hey. Want to go to a party on Friday night? NOT A DATE! Just as buddies. ~ CC