Page 105 of Bombshells
“You saying boys are dumb? That’s sexist,” Manny says with a chuckle. “I’m offended.”
“Well, sorry,” she huffs. “The women’s rules change the game. There’s no body-checking, so you have to use different techniques to shake the puck loose.”
Who knew our Trina was a hockey expert?
“I’m only funnin’ you.” Manny nudges Trina. I think he has a thing for her.
Down on the ice, our opponent continues to make trouble. Charli trips a player and gets called for it, giving Boston a power play.
The Bombshells set up for a faceoff, looking aggravated.
The only one who doesn’t look rattled tonight is Sylvie. Her stance is fluid and her motion is as smooth as that first day when she’d caught my eye. Whenever Boston manages to pull together an attack, Sylvie has no problem dismissing it.
She’s doing it. She’s in the game. And I can’t believe I get to be here to watch.
* * *
It’s a long, tense battle. At the first intermission, I pass out food that I arranged for ahead of time. And during the second intermission, I lead the whole gang on a tour of the men’s facilities and the smaller practice rink. We tour the video room, the weight room, and the players’ lounge.
Along with my students, I’ve got Leo Trevi and his buddy from college, Bridger McCaulley. He’s Scarlet’s husband, and he’s probably having a pretty boring game tonight, because Scarlet is sitting on the bench.
This pleases me to no end, even though Bridger seems like a cool guy. “Nice digs,” he says as I lead my crew through the locker-room door. The room is empty, as it should be at this hour of the night.
“Dude, classy,” Manny agrees, looking around. “You ever use that ice bath?”
“Only when the trainer makes me,” I admit. “You don’t know cold until someone pours a bucket of ice all over your naked body.”
“For your paycheck, I’d do it,” Manny says.
“There is that,” I admit.
“Hey! Got a lot of fancy stuff in your bathroom,” Cedric says from around the corner, where he’s snooping near the showers. “This cream says it polishes and brightens. And it smells like mangoes.”
“I play better when I smell like mangoes,” I tell him. “Come on. Let’s get back for the third period. Anyone want ice cream?”
That gets them moving. We sit back down in our seats during the fourth minute of the third period. The score is still zip-zip.
Just when I start to think I’ve accidentally brought these kids to a soccer game, Brooklyn scores on Boston.
“Yeah!” I holler, standing up to cheer. “Let’s go, Fiona!”
“Don’t you owe her ten bucks for every goal she scores?” Trevi reminds me.
“Totally worth it,” I argue. I want this win for Sylvie. She’s got a shutout, which is going to be great for her stats if she can hang on another fifteen minutes.
No matter what, though, I’m going to find Sylvie after the game. And I’m going to tell her how much I miss her. And then I guess I’m going to find Campeau and finally let him know that I need Sylvie in my life.
For real. I don’t think this is casual anymore.
While I’m making these plans, Samantha scores for Brooklyn.
“Two goals!” Cedric yells. “This is great. They can’t catch us now.”
“God, don’t jinx it!” Trina shrieks.
The whole section laughs. But then Boston gets a damn breakaway. Now we’re all leaning forward in our seats.
“Lookout, Sylvie!” Trina screams. “Incoming!”
