Page 102 of Pucking Around

46

Game night. Jacksonville Rays versus the Pittsburgh Penguins. Puck drops in twenty minutes and shit just keeps hitting the fan. First, Walsh tripped on a poorly placed electrical cord heading out to practice and busted his knee. The damn thing is still swelling. I’ve got him nursing an ice pack in the locker room.

Meanwhile, J-Lo has some kind of stomach bug. He’s been puking his guts out for the last hour. And now Karlsson is worried he overextended his finger. Not to mention these guys are all a bunch of raccoons who like to raid the medical bags. All my athletic tape is missing.

“Hey—Avery,” I say, catching him in the hall. “Do you have any athletic tape?”

He huffs, brushing past me. “It’s not my job to chase after you, holding your first aid kit, Price. I’ve got my own job to do.”

“I’m not asking you to follow me around, Avery. I just need some tape—”

He spins around, getting up in my face. I hate that my natural reaction is to flinch away. He sees it and smirks. “Listen, Princess. I don’t know whose dick you sucked to win your fellowship, and frankly I don’t care. But I’m not gonna let your constant incompetence affect the way I run my PT program. Do you job, or I’ll find someone else who will.” With that he stomps away.

I’m so shocked, I can’t even muster a reply. Did Avery really just accuse me of performing sexual favors to win my fellowship? Over the past several weeks, I’ve given that asshole every chance to prove he’s not a sexist pig. But now I’m done. I am sofuckingdone. He comes at me again, I’m going there. Full spider monkey.

Rushing to the end of the hall, I’m fuming as I dive into the backup medical bag. I’m so frustrated with Avery. And I’m starving. And I have to pee.

“Hey, Hurricane.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Caleb standing there with a box of blades in his hands.

“You’re looking extra twisty today,” he says. Clearly, he can read the ‘fuck off’ sign I’ve got hanging around my neck.

“Either help me or get lost, Cay,” I say, digging through the bag.

“Ooo, twistyandsalty. Like a sexy, mean pretzel,” he teases. “My favorite kind.”

“Goddamnit,” I snap, zipping the bag shut. “Where the hell is all the athletic tape?”

He huffs a laugh. “The guys stealing your stuff?”

I brush my hair back off my face. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” As I say it, I know I’m thinking more about Avery than the missing tape.

His dark eyes narrow at me. “When’s the last time you had something to drink? Or eat? You’re looking feral—”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

Now he’s smirking, and it makes me want to nut punch him. “You’re hangry.”

“I’m not hangry, Cay. I’m just busy. I’mworking. And all you guys are making it freaking impossible today!” I take a shaky breath, glancing around. “I gotta go hunt down some tape,” I mutter. Apparently, I’ll pee when I’m dead.

I move to brush past him, but he sticks out his hand. “Whoa, whoa. Hold on there, killer. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find an EMT, and I’ll ask to raid their bag—”

“Nope. Come on,” he says, pulling me down the hall.

“Caleb, let go,” I huff. “I know how to do my damn job. Areyoua doctor?”

“Nope,” He hands off his box of blades to Jerry as we pass him. “But I was a hockey player for twenty years, and now I’m the equipment manager on an NHL team. Do you know what that means, Hurricane?”

“What?” I say with a sigh, letting him lead me towards the locker room.

“It means I manage equipment,” he says with a wink.

He pulls me into the busy locker room. Rock music is blasting as the guys get themselves pumped up for the game. The room is crowded and noisy and buzzing with excitement. Jake sees us immediately and flashes us a smile.

“Novy, cut the music!” Caleb shouts.

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