Page 11 of Breaking the Ice

My attention is diverted again as the waiter brings our food. While I savor my steak, my girlfriend is too excited to eat anything. Instead, she fills me in on her latest plan. She wants her father to buy some of her paintings for the exhibition. She thinks it would impress Mr. Weinstein. Meanwhile, I contemplate whether I should let Emma in on the bet. The guys would probably give me a hard time if they found out, but it might be worth it. Or not? Ah, well, Emma is smart; she'll probably figure it out on her own soon.

“Caleb, damn it!” Jessica's hand hitting the table startles me. Damn, I've zoned out again.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I cross my arms as she shoots me an annoyed look, her blue eyes narrowing.

“I was asking if you could help me transport the paintings. What's going on with you today?”

I should really engage more in her excitement about the upcoming exhibition. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I just didn't sleep well last night and I'm a bit out of it, that's all. Of course, I'll help you with the paintings. It goes without saying,” I say, flashing my apologetic smile. Then I take her hand and plant a kiss on her knuckles, which quickly softens her mood.

The rest of the meal, I make a conscious effort to pay attention to Jess and her chatter. Afterward, I head home to my loft for some downtime before heading to practice at the ice rink around four.

The locker room is as chaotic as ever. Twenty guys cramming themselves into gear, talking over one another, and laughing. Everyone's dressed except for Toby. He stands shirtless in front of Byers, one of our defensemen, a dark-skinned guy. Toby points to his own chest. “This, my friend, is my little love jungle. Women dig it, I'm telling you.”

“Love jungle! You're out of your mind! You look like a yeti.”

“What do you mean yeti? If anything, I'm a bear. Balu the Bear – king of the jungle,” Toby says, rubbing his hairy chest provocatively.

“I'm gonna puke,” Byers mutters as he squeezes past the massive Swiss guy to take his seat and put on his skates. “Balu the Bear? I'm gonna throw up!”

“Kid, you have no clue about women. They love hairy men, believe me. All they need to do is run their fingers through my jungle, and they're aroused. And then it's like, lift the skirt, insert the stick.”

Europeans and their humor, I think, shaking my head, and I go over to my locker. As I change, I glance over at Parker, who's slipping on his gloves. He doesn't look particularly cheerful, so I suspect Emma turned him down. Sorry for him... Okay, no, I'm not sorry. But he really did gamble too high on that one. Durand is nowhere to be seen. I wonder where the Canadian is. Ten minutes later, as I step onto the ice fully dressed, I get my answer. He's already training. As I do a few laps to warm up, I keep an eye on him. He looks as usual. I contemplate mentioning the bet to him, asking how things are going. I'm really curious whether he's seen Emma today. That pretty arrogant boy is hard to read. Just as I'm about to skate over to him and strike up a conversation, the shrill sound of Coach Thornton's whistle slices through the air.

“Alright, guys, gather up!” shouts the small man from the center of the ice. He stands with some papers in his hand. “We've got a game against the Iron Hawks on Saturday. Those guys have top-notch defense and a forward who's supposed to give Whyler a run for his money.”

“Bullshit! No one's as good as Whyler,” Parker chimes in, and the rest of the team confirms his words by thumping their sticks on the ice three times in a row. It's a tribute to my first game where I scored three goals and sent our then toughest opponents home with a three-to-one loss.

“Anyways, I want you guys well prepared. Warm up and then I want Byers, Hard, and the rest of the defense on the north side,” Thornton's finger points to the upper area of the rink where some pucks lie. I understand what that means – he'll be training their agility, making them do slaloms. “The rest of you focus on Toby. I want him sweating.” He gestures toward the net on the south side. “Now, let's get moving!”

Thornton's shrill whistle goes off again, and we start skating, warming up.

Shortly after, our Swiss goalie takes his place in front of the net, and we line up in front of him. As usual, he signals a kiss, pressing it first onto his massive glove and then onto the red goal frame. The guy is off the wall. He's named his net – Samantha. And Samantha is his everything. Heaven help anyone who gets too close to his ‘sweetie’. He actually lost it in a game once when an opponent tore Samantha from her moorings. He's a freak, no doubt about it. But he's a freak who damn well keeps his ‘box’, as we call it, clean.

“Ready to go, losers?” Toby calls to us as he gets ready, crouching slightly. Parker goes first, shooting, but our goalie easily blocks it. The next three pucks don't make it past him either. “What, is that all you've got?!” he taunts, prompting Durand to put in extra effort. But neither he nor I manage to score. “You guys are such pussies! My grandma plays better. Maybe I should bring her in to show you how to score!”

Fired up by his comment, we intensify the pressure on the Swiss goalie, firing shots at him in increasingly rapid succession. He's struggling, panting heavily like a walrus. “All good, Samy-Baby, all good,” I hear him groan after Parker's final shot, which he almost missed. That's it, I think, we've got him now, he's getting tired. And sure enough, my next shot sails past him and smacks into the net. The black rubber puck clatters onto the ice.

“What's the matter, Toby? Should we call your grandma to show you how it's done?” I taunt him, then turn to Parker, signaling for him to follow up. But as I glance toward Durand, who's standing by the boards, he turns away from the ice. He's leaning casually against the open bench door, leading to the locker room. What's he doing there? As I'm about to skate over and check on him, my attention lands on the bench. Damn it! Wrapped in a thick coat and wearing a white beanie, Emma is sitting there, watching our practice. And of course, that slimy bastard is taking advantage of the situation, hitting on her. Just wait! I grab a puck, skate to the blue line, and fire it straight at Durand's ass with all my might. Even though he's wearing protective gear, he yelps as the puck hits him. He turns toward me immediately. But before he can say anything, Thornton spots him leaning against the boards. If there's one thing our coach can't stand, it's lazy players.

“Durand!” he bellows across the ice. Through the grid visor of his helmet, I can see the Canadian's face contort in reaction. “Come over here, now!”

“Yeah, Coach?” Durand's face twists and he shoots me a just-you-wait-I'll-get-you-for-this look.

“Get over here, now!” Thornton commands. While the coach reads him the riot act, I seize the opportunity to skate over to Emma.

“Hey, how's it going? Everything alright?” I ask. Oh man, she looks incredibly cute in that cream-colored coat and the pom-pom beanie. She directs her amused gaze toward me, warming me from the inside.

“Everything's fine. I just wanted to see what a training session looks like for you guys.”

“I see,” I say with a lopsided grin, realizing that she probably saw my recent goal. “Maybe you'd like to...”

“Whyler!” Dammit. I narrow my eyes. Thornton's spotted me. “What the hell are you doing? Get over here immediately!”

“Sorry,” I say to Emma, who bites her lip and looks back and forth between me and Thornton. “I have to go. See you later.” She nods, gracing me with a smile that almost throws me off balance.

“See you, Caleb,” she says, raising a gloved hand.

“Damn it,” I mutter as I skate back to Thornton and a smug-looking Durand.

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