Chapter 6
Olivia
The final buzzer goes off and the Grand Marquee Manticores win 4-1. After the penalty shot, Ashton, the guy I met last night, scored the final goal with 30 seconds remaining on the clock. He’d recognized me and kept trying to make chit-chat during the small breaks when the ice crew was cleaning up the snow, but I kept trying to evade him. Truth is, I’m not here to make friends, I need to remain fair and objective at all times, and that’s exactly what I am trying to convey to these players and coaches.
Brian, the Manticore’s head coach, was one of the nicest guys I’ve met so far. He said he was excited to have me here and looks forward to working together this season. The Foxes’ coach took one look at me, saw I was a woman, and promptly continued to ignore me. Whatever, that’s fine. I knew some of these guys would have no respect for me, which is why I need to assert myself and make them respect me.
The home team stays on the ice to celebrate their win and wave at the fans. They give the kids closer to the bench pucks and sticks and fist bumps through the railing that separates them. As I start heading off the ice, I turn and take one more look at the group celebrating. I see #31 jumping in the goalie’s waiting hug and they look so ridiculous I snort out a laugh and shake my head. Ashton catches me watching and winks at me.
After changing in the referee-appointed locker room, I take my leave. Down the hall is the home team locker room and I quickly walk by it, but I still hear the end of the captain’s speech.
“Great job out there tonight, team! I know we’ve had some struggles in the past, but I am confident this is our season! We’re gonna make it to the playoffs, mark my words.” They all holler and cheer him on, and I keep moving.
If they keep playing the way they have tonight, they have every chance of making it. The first line is really strong and their goalie is so good, it’s like he almost has precognition. He senses where the puck will go and catches it effortlessly, it’s incredible to watch. The only reason he got scored on was because they were one man down and the defense was not in position.
As I make it out of the arena, I see a restaurant nearby and decide to get some food and celebrate my first AHL game. The streets are filled with people that have just come out of the game—lots of red, white, and black jerseys, courtesy of the Manticores’ fans heading out to bars or their cars. The restaurant is full as I walk in and there are even some people waiting for a table. The host asks me, “How many?”
“Just me.”
“There is a 30-minute wait for a table, but I think I see an empty spot at the bar if you’d rather sit now. It’s all the way at the end and close to the kitchen so it’ll be loud,” he explains.
“I don’t mind, I’ll take it,” I say, my stomach already growling. I usually eat something light a few hours before the game so I don’t feel sick on the ice, which means I’m always hungry afterwards.
I make my way through the restaurant over to the bar and admire the decor. The place has a game theme, from video games, to board games, and even arcade. There is a PacMan machine, which you don’t see often, and many others I don’t recognize. The wall opposite the bar has an entire shelf of board games, from the classic Monopoly and Catan, to the more obscure, or newer board games. I notice that only the people at the booths on the far side of the restaurant are playing games, and the tables are bigger than normal. I wonder if I’d need a special reservation to get those tables and play.
The rest of the walls have posters and art that are video game specific. There are some really nice Zelda and Mario pieces. Underneath, a small plate shows the local artist’s name and the price of the print. They’re cheaper than I would have thought for the quality of the design.
I take the only empty seat at the bar, all the way at the end, by the kitchen. There are two bartenders, both running around and filling orders as fast as they can. I scan the QR code and look at the menu on my phone, and after about five minutes, one of them heads over my way with a water glass.
“Sorry for the wait, what can I get you?” he asks, leaning in and resting his forearms on the bar, giving me his full attention.
“Can I get the fried avocado nuggets and the bacon and blackberry jam grilled cheese?”
“Sure thing, anything to drink?”
“Some kind of IPA. You can pick.”
“I’ll get that order right in.”
“Adventurous, I like it,” a deep voice says behind me. I turn around on the bar stool and come face to face with the Manticores captain. His dark blond hair looks almost brown since it’s damp from his shower and he looks incredibly handsome in a blue dress shirt that makes his eyes pop. My mouth is dry as I take him in. My gaze runs over him and I notice his crisp and tight dress pants. I bet his ass looks amazing.
That thought makes me blush and I snap my eyes right back to his. I swear he can read my mind because he gives me a smug smirk and says, “You wanna take a picture? I can even turn around, give you the whole view.”
I narrow my eyes at him and lift my chin, “No, thank you, I’ve seen enough.” I turn back around to face the bar and right at that moment the bartender places a tall glass of beer in front of me. I pick it up and take a big gulp. What is going on with me? Why am I getting so flustered? Better yet, since when do I ogle and flirt with hockey players? I take a deep breath and tell my gut to settle down. With any luck, he probably left.
“Hey Robbie, your order is almost ready, it’s just gonna be a few more minutes,” the bartender says and turns around to fill another order.
Well, so much for him leaving. He steps up to my right, leaning in sideways on the bar, his back to the kitchen door, facing me. I can feel him taking me in, although I don’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.
After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only about 40 seconds, I face him and ask, “Can I help you with something, Elliot?”
He gives me an amused smile, his blue eyes sparkling, “My friends call me Robbie.”
“We are far from friends, Mr. Elliot,” I deadpan.
“Ouch. Mr. Elliot is my father, please don’t insult me,” he puts both his hands on his heart and feigns hurt. “And I know we just met, but trust me, we’ll be friends,” he says with an easy smile.
I scoff and shake my head, “I’m here to do a job and be impartial, not to make friends, Captain.”
He tilts his head and observes me for a moment, then says, “I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive.”
“Wow, big words for a hockey player!” Why the hell did that just come out of my mouth? I’m making assumptions and stereotyping this guy when I don’t know anything about him. I take a peek at his face and see his smile fading. Well, now I feel like shit.
“Sorry, not sure why I said that,” I admit sheepishly.
“It’s fine. Hey, did you order the chronic fries? They are delicious,” he deflects and looks around the bar and plays with a straw wrapper. Did I really hurt his feelings with that comment?
I swallow and say, “No, I got the grilled cheese.” He nods and looks everywhere but at me, and the loss of his attention hits me harder than it should. I was actually enjoying the conversation. Until I ruined it. Why am I so bad at this?
I mentally kick myself and ask, “So, why don’t you think the two are mutually exclusive?”
He takes a moment, still folding the straw wrapper until it’s a small square in his big hands. I notice that he doesn’t like to stand still and for some reason that makes me smile. He finally looks up at me and says, “Because, you being objective and impartial has nothing to do with friendship. You can still have a friendly relationship with players and respect them the same way they respect you, and not have to rule in their favor. Take Bob for example, I’ve known him for the last five years, and we have a great friendship even though he’s sent me to the box dozens, if not hundreds of times. He shows me pictures of his vacations and kids, and I tell him about my life too. We don’t hang out outside of the game, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see him as a friend.”
I listen intently and nod. He makes a good point, but I’m not Bob. Bob’s probably someone who’s good with people. He continues to watch me, waiting for a reply or a reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he continues, “I think you made all the fair calls on the ice tonight, and I don’t hold anything against you. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. You did a great job asserting yourself and making the players respect you out there. We need more women in the hockey world.”
I blink at him a few times but still don’t say anything. Because what should I say? The truth is I’ve been wanting to hear that from someone who is not my grandma or my mentor, someone with an outside perspective. Hearing it from him makes me tear up a little, because for whatever reason, I respect his opinion. He’s been in the game for so long, he knows what the pressure is like. I look away before he can see tears forming and because I don’t know how to take a compliment, I quietly mumble, “Thanks.”
I don’t know if he hears it, because the next moment, the bartender shows up with my food and a to-go bag for him. “You’re all set, Robbie, have a good night.”
“Thanks, man,” Robbie says with an easy smile. The bag is dangling from his left hand and his right is still leaning on the bar as he’s facing me.
“Well, Miss Referee, it was nice meeting you. I look forward to our next game,” he taps the bar twice with his fist and another smile and starts to turn to leave.
Before he can, I swivel in my seat and say, “Don’t call me that, I don’t like nicknames.”
That makes him turn back and I notice his puzzled look, “What should I call you then?”
“Olivia.”