Page 23 of In the Net
Despite all that, I’m able to lock in for today’s practice session. Coach already isn’t happy that I’m going to be gone for an entire week right before the start of the season. The last thing I want to do is earn any more of his ire by slacking off or being distracted like I was the other day.
Right now, I’m running a drill where two of our second line defensemen are trying to block me and keep me from getting off a shot on goal.
One of them, Maurice, a freshman who’s new to the team, is really good. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him make first line next year. The other, a junior named Darren, is weaker, though. I position myself further to his side, deke past him, and send the puck sailing off the blade of my stick into the empty net.
I catch Coach’s eye, and he gives me a begrudging nod before blowing his whistle to signal the end of practice.
When I’m stepping off the ice, I pass Coach and he says, “Don’t let the week in France make you soft before the season, Lawrence.”
I bite back a grin, because even though Coach is giving me a hard time, I can tell from his voice that he’s proud of me for winning the competition and getting to go on this trip. Coach always stresses the importance of our studies to us. “No, sir,” I answer.
“If you don’t have access to a gym, do push-ups and squats in your hotel room. Go on runs. And don’t fill up on croissants.”
Felix slaps me on the back as he passes on his way to the locker room. “Don’t fill up on the Parisian girls, either.”
I roll my eyes at Felix, and Coach pats me on the behind with his clipboard before heading to his office.
Honestly, though, now that it’s had a couple seconds to sit in my mind, Felix’s comment stimulates my excitement.
I’ve been thinking so much about just being in Paris and walking around, seeing the sights, and visiting the museums, that the idea of a nice week-long fling with a French girl hasn’t really occurred to me.
But now that it has, it sure doesn’t sound too bad. Like something out of a movie.
But then, right on the heels of that thought, I imagine Harper doing the same, having her own fling with a French guy.
I imagine being in the hall of our hotel and seeing them walk in or out of her room together.
I don’t know why, but the thought immediately brings a revolting taste to my mouth and makes my nose scrunch in a scowl.
I guess it’s just a reaction of sympathy for the poor imaginary French guy, for having to suffer the fate of Harper’s company for an entire week. Yeah, must be it. That’s a thought that could call a scowl to my face in a millisecond.
When I get to the locker room, I try to push all thoughts of Harper out of my head, but the rest of the guys don’t make that easy. It seems they’ve all decided it would just be hilarious to give me shit about us having to go to Paris together.
“Harper and Sebastian in the city of love,” Carter says as he steps into the shower stall next to mine and turns the water on. “It’s almost enough to make my heart skip a beat.”
I decide not to dignify his comment with a response, but that doesn’t deter the others.
“Just imagine,” Felix picks up the topic, “Sebastian thinks he’s all alone at the very top of the Eiffel Tower, just as it’s striking midnight. He turns around—and there’s Harper, standing there.” He has his hands held up in front of his face like he’s a director planning out the scene.
“I do not think the Eiffel Tower would be empty at midnight,” Veikko chimes in with his literal deadpan. “Late at night it is very busy there.”
“Or imaginethis,” Jamie contributes, “somehow the people from the English department booking their rooms screwed up, and they have to share one.”
“With only one bed?” Kiran asks, his voice far too excited.
“Of course,” Jamie answers.
“Is this what gets you guys off?” I ask.
Kiran ignores me, still directing his far too excited questions to Jamie. “The bed would be really narrow, too, right? So they’dhaveto spoon.”
“Holy fuck, you guys are obnoxious,” I grumble, turning around to let the jet of hot water stream against my chest.
Not surprisingly, calling out my teammates and turning away from them does nothing to shut them up.
“Couldn’t one of them sleep on the floor?” Veikko asks, ever the realist.
“They’d start off trying to sleep back-to-back, of course,” Felix says, ignoring the sensible Finn, “but they’d wake up in the middle of the night face-to-face, with their arms wrapped around each other and their legs tangled.”
