Page 13 of From Fling to Ring

TYLER

“You call that a beard?” Rake asks one of our rookie players.

The young guy self-consciously scratches his sparse whiskers. “Yeah, why?”

I know exactly where Rake’s going with this. Unfortunately, the new guy does not.

Like Rake, we all got hazed when we were new to the team. Nothing big, just fun stuff. Still, it takes some getting used to.

Rake shrugs before delivering his zinger. “It’s just that I saw a lady at the grocery store this morning whose beard was more manly than yours.”

Everyone laughs, even the new guy. The joke is old and cheesy as hell but hey, it’s what we do.

The kid—we call them ‘kids,’ even though this one’s probably only a few years younger than I am—wanders over to the locker room mirror and examines his sprouting facial hair.

“Hey, man,” I call after him, “ignore Rake. You know, he wrote a book called I’m a Dick and I Know It.”

The rookie does not look comforted.

It’s a team tradition, to grow our beards out during the season. Actually, a lot of teams do this, although most wait until the playoffs, thus the ‘playoff beard’. The Aftershocks, on the other hand, start at the beginning of the season. We shave when we do make it to the playoffs.

Yeah, it’s a silly superstition but it’s something to bond over.

And it obviously gives us the chance to bust the chops of the new guys, some of whom have never had a beard in their lives.

“You gotta ease up on the rookies, Rake,” Jonas says, unlacing his skates. We’re just off of some intense practice drills.

“Holy shit, do your feet stink, Jo. Did something up and die inside your skates? Can you shake them out to make sure they’re not filled with rotting flesh or something?” I ask, inching away.

“Sure,” he says, faking me out by looking into a skate while lobbing one of his rank socks in my direction.

I dodge it, and it lands on the floor, where I’m sure it will stay until the unfortunate equipment team does its pass through the locker room, cleaning up and taking our stinky, sweaty practice clothes to the laundry.

A job I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Hockey players are notoriously smelly, thanks to the intensity of the sport and the heavy gear we wear. When I was playing as a kid, my dad made me strip to my skivvies in the garage after practice, and on more than one occasion, sent me back upstairs for a second shower, reminding me it’s okay for goats to smell like goats, but not boys.

“Hey Ty, you have that interview yet with Petal’s friend? What was her name? Lucy?” Jonas asks.

“Yeah, it’s Lucy. And no, I’m heading to that as soon as I am cleaned up.”

A big smile grows across Rake’s face.

“What? Did Petal tell you something?” I ask.

I’m still not used to Rake being married, nor the fact that he and his new wife have a ‘no secrets’ policy, where they tell each other everything. I guess that’s how a normal partnership works, but it weirds me out to realize nothing I tell him anymore will stay just between the two of us.

That sort of arrangement is just not for me. I don’t think it ever will be. I like my own life, and don’t see much upside to sharing it.

That doesn’t mean I don’t date and, you know, other things. But that’s the extent of it.

Rake slaps me on the back. “Ty, Petal and her friends are not the typical women we meet in hockey-land. I don’t think your usual charm is going to do you any favors with this one, as evidenced by how Lucy shot you down in front of everyone when you invited her to dinner.”

I wave him off. “Think what you want. My charm is legendary. If I feel like it, I can have this woman eating out of the palm of my hand, I don’t care how much she doesn’t like me.”

Just stating facts, no matter how douche-y that sounds.

Jonas is dressed and ready to go, probably in a rush to get to his kids. But before he does, he takes a seat on the bench in front of our lockers. “Hey, weren’t we going to wager a bet on this very thing? You know, what we discussed the other night? Ty’s dating practices, or rather, should I say, his inability to date a woman for any length of time?”

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