Page 50 of Trade Deadline

I know what’s coming.

The fans know what’s coming.

We all know what’s coming because this is what he’s known for.

It all started in senior year of high school when he completely forgot where he was and started dancing to the music between plays, and ever since, it’s become iconic. Every game—home and away—fans wait in anticipation to see what Elliot will dance to next or serenade his goal posts to—he’s been known to crouch down and sing a bit of Taylor Swift to the iron—and they will send him endless song requests on social media.

A bubble of laughter escapes me as Elliot shimmies his shoulders under his pads as "Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” echoes through the arena before removing his mask and placing it on top of the net. He was always a dancer as a kid, dancing to commercials on TV, or begging our mom to let him go on those dance machines whenever we passed an arcade.

The crowd gets louder as Elliot places his stick, glove, and blocker on top of the net, and then starts to dance. We crack up laughing on the bench, his bright smile visible as he gyrates his hips the best he can with his pads on and places his hands on the back of his sweaty head.

“We think you’re sexy, Elliot!” One fan screams.

I shake my head, my cheeks aching from laughing.

Once the song changes to another, he waves at the crowd and skates over to us, shimmying his body to the music. I slap him on his padded shoulder and pass him a drink when he reaches us.

Coach is trying not to laugh, but the way his lips keep twitching is betraying his usual stoic facade. “Olsen, I’d say let’s not give up the goaltending gig just yet. You might be popular with the crowd, but I’m not sure you’ll make it onto Broadway.”

Elliot grins, squirting some water into his mouth before he flicks some in the air, his eyes trailing every droplet. “No problemo, Coachio. Between the posts is where my heart lies, and where it shall remain, ‘til death do us part.”

The game in Anaheim ends six to one. A major win for us.

The locker room is buzzing with electricity as we enjoy our post-W singalong and hit the showers.

It’s always good to start a long stretch on a high. We’ll be heading to Los Angeles next, before San Jose, Seattle, and then Vancouver before making our way back to the windy city. We load up our bags onto the waiting coach and make the drive to Los Angeles for the game tomorrow night. Once we’re checked in, some guys head to the bar for a drink, while others head straight to their assigned room. I flop down on the bed, groaning into the sheets. Damn, my body aches. Kicking off my shoes, I slip my phone out of my pocket and text Alex.

Blaine

Hey, are you awake?

His reply is almost instant.

Alex

Yeah, I am.

Alex

Congrats on the win! :)

Blaine

Thank you! It feels good to start the road trip with a win.

Blaine

Can we FaceTime?

Alex

Yeah, of course.

I hit the FaceTime button,and it only takes one ring before his gorgeous face fills my phone screen. His bright smile lights up my insides like never before.

“Hey, great game tonight!”

I preen like a peacock. “Thanks, hot stuff. I dedicated my goal to you.”

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