38. Russ
CHAPTER 38
RUSS
To keep myself from texting Shannon, I meet up with Gustafsson, Zondi, and Watanabe for dinner at a steakhouse across the bay in Burlington.
Zondi is our most promising rookie this year, and we need him to feel hyped for the rest of training camp.
Selfishly, I could use some hyping up, too. I need to get my head back in the game.
On the drive, I have my phone read me the scouting report for the game we’re playing day after tomorrow so I’m prepared for practice in the morning.
Detroit is expected to send a prospect heavy squad because they haven’t cut as many players as other teams at this point in the pre-season, which should make us the better team, but sometimes the chaotic oversized puppy energy of prospects thinking they might make the big show can surprise us.
A text notification drops as I’m getting off the freeway. A message from Max, to the whole team.
Max: What’s up, fuckers? Anyone going out tonight?
Fuck me.
Marsh: not me, sorry bud
Jenson: I’m chilling in my backyard if anyone wants to come over for a beer
Despite my growling chant of No, no no noooo , the next response is from Zondi.
Malik: A few of us are at this steakhouse in Burlington.
He drops a pin.
I pull up to a red light and consider pulling a U-turn and heading home again. Making some kind of excuse.
But there are cars on either side of me, so I have to advance when the light turns green. I’m two blocks away now.
Max: Sounds good. How long will you be there? Might join you in an hour or two.
Malik: Yeah, probably two hours at least.
The good news is that Tiller never shows up early to anything, so if he says one to two hours, he means two. I have to chuckle at Zondi already clocking that.
No dessert for me, no real hardship, and I should be able to be out of there before he arrives.
I pull into the parking lot at the same time as Watanabe.
“This might turn into a party,” he says with a laugh as he checks his messages.
“Sounds like.” As we head inside, I schedule a text to myself to send in seventy-five minutes, a trick one of last year’s prospects taught me. No hockey player is ever going to ask twice if you get a text from a supposed booty call.
It’s handy if you find yourself stuck with a chatty teammate and you just really want to have a nap.
And also, apparently, if you can’t stomach the thought of socializing with your team captain.
Great way to start the season, Armstrong.
So much for the hype. Here’s hoping the steak is good so I can salvage something from the evening.
It’s not really a lie that I’ll have a date, though. It might be a date with my right hand and the promise of Shannon wearing my jersey this winter, but it’s the best date I’ll have had all year.