Page 15 of The Import Slot
“Well yeah, I’m getting made redundant, and I need to find something quick.” She glances toward me, and I offer a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sorry, that sucks,” I say. “What do you do?”
Jen explains her job as a web developer; she lights up when she talks about it, and I can’t help but hope she finds a new opening soon.
“So, was that a date you were on yesterday?” I ask, noticing her face dropping into a frown.
“See, you are nosey,” she says.
“Not nosey, just curious,” I say. I can hardly tell her I’m jealous of that loser though.
“Yeah, well it was, but it was terrible, and I’m officially done with dating now. I’d rather be single than subject myself to that crap again. And how am I supposed to get by when I give shit blowjobs?”
There’s a teasing tone in her voice, and it makes me chuckle. I stare at her mouth, wondering what those lips would feel like.
“Your stick handling is impressive,” she blurts out.
Is that a euphemism? Because my cock stirs. “It’s nothing,” I shrug.
“It’s not nothing!” she says. “Danny can’t do all that stuff you were doing there at the end of practice.”
“Ah, so you were watching me?” I ask, making her blush. I like the idea. The fancy stuff I did with a stick and puck at the end of practice was just for fun, nothing that I would do during a game.
“Merely admiring your skill. Anyway, thanks for the ticket. Let me know if I can repay you,” she says, waving to someone behind me.
“Consider it yours for the rest of the season.” Fuck, I’ve done it now. Jen would be a massive distraction at this rate, but I don’t care. In fact, I want to find more ways for her to distract me.
“Oh, there’s my uncle. Have you met?” She points at a bald, muscular guy as he walks over, already wearing skates. He introduces himself as Coach Roberts, and I shake his hand.
“We’re so glad to have you with us. The kids are so excited to meet what they call ‘a real hockey player’.” Coach Roberts does the air quotes with a scoff. “Johnny Koenig said you’d be able to help coach at the junior games, too?”
Fuck, first I heard of it, but to keep myself busy and potentially spend more time with Jen, I grin and nod.
“I’m more than happy to help,” I say, as an idea pops into my head. “Actually, Coach, I appreciate you’re all covered here, but if I can help you during practice, I’ll be glad to.” I glance at Jen just in time to see the shock slip over her face. Great, she’s going to distract me even more.
“Seriously? How’d you fancy throwing your skates back on and showing the kids some stick handling? We’ve been working on backhand toe pulls, but I’m sure you can demo a hell of a lot better than me.” Coach beams and rubs his hands together. I bet he’s Googled me.
I had spent a lot of time honing my stick-handling skills, both on the ice and in our backyard before turning pro. My mom was the ultimate hockey mom and drove around with a sheet of synthetic ice in the trunk of her car and always got it out whenever we had time to idle.
Coach Roberts beckons the group of kids onto the ice, and they all give me a look of awe on their way past.
Jen hands me a roster sheet, her hand briefly sweeping across mine, and my skin tingles. Fuck. That’s new.
My eyes snap up to meet hers, and she bites her lip nervously before looking back at the paper in haste. There’s something between us, I can feel it, and I’m pretty sure she can too.
She briefly explains how the session runs before grabbing a stack of marker cones and gliding out gracefully onto the ice; I can’t help but watch her go.
I grab my skates and gloves from my cubby stall and head back to the bench to lace ’em up.
Vicky hovers and gives me a small wave before pointing at her camera and giving me a thumbs up. I’m not surprised that she’d be all over this; I can practically hear Ronnie, too. ‘It’s all good publicity.’
Our sticks are organised in a row just behind the bench, and I run my hand along them until I come to a stop at mine. There are a few ready, but I grab the most worn and make my way onto the ice.
I’m teaching the kids to keep the stick away from the body, something Coach Roberts says usually doesn’t stick, but they appear to be getting it.
“Thanks for helping,” Jen says as she clears the ice of cones once the kids have gone.
“No problem. Same time next week?” I say, and she nods.
