Page 6 of Gamechanger

"More seaweed?"

"Hey, don't knock it too much, particularly until you try maple-flavored seaweed." He grinned. "And I did just that—last night."

"You didn't…"

Moose started to wave his hands in his excitement. "I did more than try it. I used your idea to create a culinary masterpiece." He painted a picture in the air with his waggling fingers. "Imagine this: crispy waffle topped with crunchy seaweed chips and rich maple syrup drizzled over the top."

I blinked, trying to process the entire idea. "And, um… how was it?"

"Surprisingly scrumptious. Sweet plus salty, always a good choice. Don't knock it yet, Finn. We might be onto something serious."

I laughed. "Moose, you're certifiably insane. I mean that as a compliment."

"Aren't all of the great inventors a little nuts?"

"Got me there. So, tell me about your marketing pitches. 'Check out the Lumberjacks. We'll chop the other team down to size.' Does that work?"

Moose rubbed his chin. "I think I can do better. 'Portland Lumberjacks: We've got wood… and we know how to use it.'"

I gasped. "Hey, we're a family-friendly team!"

"Okay, how about 'Lumberjacks: Stick it to 'em'?"

"I think that might be worse." I added one more. "Cutting Edge Hockey!"

Our horrible puns drifted into theme day ideas.

Moose shouted, "Flannel Fridays! Half price for everyone wearing flannel. You've got to do that one."

I tossed one into the basket. "Log Rolling Rumble! There's a log-rolling during one of the breaks between periods. Maybe the winner gets season tickets."

Moose finally lost it. He slide his back down against the wall, grabbed hold of his stomach, and laughed even harder. His entire face turned beet red. I joined him, and we did our best to catch our breath.

"Alright," Moose gasped as he wiped his eyes. "We'll have a Lumberjack Feast Night. Before the game, we'll set up a long, rustic wood table on the ice. All of the players have to eat a full lumberjack breakfast before they can take the ice."

A vision of Axel trying to stuff his face full of a stack of pancakes while wearing his hockey gear made me giggle. "Oh, my God," I muttered. "Just think of Coach's face."

Moose did a spot-on impersonation of Coach Fraser. "Eat faster, men! Get those bellies full, and I mean, full."

"With the loads of pancakes, it might turn into Maple Syrup Slip 'n Slide Night."

Another massive round of laughs consumed us. Moose occasionally let out adorable little snorts.

"Oh, man." Moose gripped his ribcage. "I think I pulled something."

I continued to giggle. "Might have done the same. I haven't laughed like that sine… don't think I can remember."

As the laughter finally began to face into occasional chuckles, I saw how close I was sitting to Moose. His arm pressed against my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of his flesh through my shirt.

He smelled crisp and clean, like one of those shampoos advertised as masculine. Heat crept up the back of my neck, and my heart skipped a beat..

Moose spoke in a soft voice with an edge of seriousness. "When I was talking to the receptionist, I worried that I might not have any ideas if I got a job like this. Now, I feel like they'd be nuts not to hire me."

I elbowed him lightly. "So true. You'll change the game, one plaid-faced fan at a time."

Moose cleared his throat. "I'd better get going. I've got a lot of reading to do with all these brochures. The interview's two days from now."

I nodded and we both stood. I lingered, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, searching for an excuse to prolong our conversation. "Good luck with the application." My voice was a little husky, and I cleared my throat. "You'll have to let me know what happens."

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