Chapter 10 #2
We head down the hall to the locker room, and Kelsier holds up a hand to halt us when we get there.
“Let me check to be sure everyone is decent,” he says before opening the door and poking his head inside. “Hey,” he calls in. “Gunny’s professor lady is here. Is everyone dressed?”
There’s a chorus of eager voices from within as Kelsier looks around the room.
“Jesus Christ, Mack,” he says after a second. “Put some fucking pants on. Your jock strap doesn’t count as being ‘dressed.’” He looks back at me and the doc. “It will just be a minute.”
The doc looks at him as if she’s trying to decide if he’s serious. Knowing the guys as I do, he is.
Finally, Kelsier opens the door fully, and we follow him in.
There’s another chorus of greetings as Doc Mackey enters, but I sigh as I take in the sight before us.
Everyone is dressed, but just barely. Half the guys have their shirts off.
Mack only has compression shorts on that leave nothing to the imagination, and Fig is wearing his shirt with only his boxer briefs underneath. Assholes.
“Guys, this is Dr. Gray Mackey,” I say to the room at large. “And that’s Dr. Mackey to you,” I clarify as Mack opens his mouth to say something. “She’s here to see what I have to put up with from you lot.”
There’s an uproar of protests, and I hold my hands in a ‘Don’t blame me because it’s true’ gesture.
“What the hell, Gunny?” Fig says. “We’re a fucking delight.”
Gray looks at me. “Gunny?”
I shrug. “Just about everyone has a nickname,” I say. I jerk a thumb toward Fig. “This is Connor Figuin, or Fig for short.”
The doc nods at him. “Nice to meet you, Fig.” Her face goes serious. “I’m sorry. Can I call you Fig, or is that just for teammates?”
“You can call me whatever you want, Doc,” Fig says, smiling widely at her. He steps forward, but Kelsier stops him.
“Hey! Stay back,” he tells Fig. “Don’t make me get the spray bottle.”
I glance at the doc, but she’s got a faint smile on her lips, so I go on.
“This is Remy Bouchard, Alexi Samsonov, Matt Cote, Jon Novich,” I say, pointing around the room in order. “Aksel Nilsen, Anders Aasgaard.”
“They’re our Norwegian twins,” Kelsier cuts in.
“We’re not twins,” Aksel says in annoyance.
The two of them do look a little alike, but they’re not related.
“They’re twins,” Kelsier assures Doc Mackey.
“Fuck you,” both Aksel and Anders say at once.
Kelsier gives the doc a knowing look. “See?”
“Moving on,” I say before the Norwegians can respond, “This is Ryan Petruck, or Mack as we call him.”
“Mack?” the doc asks in confusion.
“As in Mack Truck,” Kelsier clarifies, and the doc nods. Mack needs no further explanation.
“Teach!” Mack greets her with a mock salute.
“That’s Donatello Archer,” I go on quickly. “You can call him Don if you’re talking to him, or The Don if you’re talking about him.”
The doc raises an eyebrow.
I give her a ‘Just go with it’ look and introduce the last of the players in the locker room. There are a few other guys missing aside from the goalies, but this is a good start. No need to overwhelm her.
“You staying to watch practice, Doc?” Fig asks.
She looks at me questioningly. “I’m not sure. Am I allowed?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, not sure why the thought of her staying to see me…see us play gives me a small thrill. “If you want to.”
“I’d love to,” she says. “My knowledge of hockey is a bit subpar, so I welcome the chance to learn more.”
“I’ll get you set up on the bench,” I say.
“Forget practice,” Mack says, stopping us as I turn to lead the doc toward the rink. “When are you going to come hang out with us?” he asks her. He turns to me. “You’re going to invite her out the next time we go to the club, right?”
The doc looks at me nervously, and I’m not sure if she’s afraid to be put on the spot, or if she’s nervous that Mack put me on the spot. Either way, I give her a reassuring look.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, keeping my eyes on her. “It may be a few weeks, but I’ll definitely let you know when we’re going to hit the club, and you should join us. Just don’t, under any circumstances, agree to dance with Mack if you value your toes.”
“Hey,” Mack protests. “At least I get out there and bust a move occasionally. That’s more than you can say, Gunny.”
The doc’s face eases into a smile. “You don’t dance?” she asks me.
“Not usually,” I say. “The dance floor is always so crowded. I like to just sit back and listen to the music.”
“You’ll dance, right, Doc?” Fig asks. “Show Gunny how it’s done?”
She smiles indulgently. “We’ll see.”
“We’ll get you out there,” Fig promises. “In the meantime, it’s a date. You’re coming with us the next time we go out to the club.”
He grins at me like a fucking Cheshire Cat, and I decide to check the shit out of him during practice today. Fig is one of our smaller forwards, but I’m not above crunching him to make a point. If he thinks he’s going to make a move on the doc, he needs to think again.
Gray Mackey is off-limits to him and every other one of these assholes, and I’ll make sure they know it, one way or another.