Page 10 of Dating Goals
The final horn blares, and we’ve done it. Squeaked out a 3-2 win against Davos. My heart’s still racing from that last sequence, where I had to make three saves in quick succession.
As we line up for the post-game handshakes, I spot a familiar face that makes me do a double take. “Holy smokes, Dex Campbell?”
We played juniors together back in Calgary. I didn’t see him on the ice tonight, but goaltenders rarely share a game 50/50.
“Griffin McGregor, you beauty!” He grins through his beard as we fist bump. “Sick saves tonight, man.”
We can’t chat more, as the line keeps moving, but Dex taps his wrist as if to say, ‘let’s catch up later.’
After showering and changing, I find him waiting outside our locker room. “There’s a great coffee place around the corner,” he says. “Unless you’ve got team obligations?”
“Nah, I’m free. Lead the way.”
The café is cozy, with wood-paneled walls and the rich smell of fresh-roasted beans. Dex orders something complicated in perfect Swiss German while I stumble through pointing at the menu.
“So how long have you been over here?” I ask once we’re settled with our drinks.
“Three seasons now. Swiss league’s been good to me.” He stirs his coffee. “Better than riding buses in the AHL, that’s for sure. But what about you? Starting tendy for the Titans. That’s huge.”
“When we’re not locked out.”
“Could be worse places to land than Switzerland.” Dex grins. “The mountains, the chocolate, the beautiful women…”
I almost choke on my coffee, as if Dex knew I’d been thinking about my bathroom intruder all night.
Dex raises an eyebrow at my reaction, but I quickly change the subject. “Wow, it’s good to see you, man. Juniors seems forever ago.”
Dex leans back in his chair. “Yeah. Remember that time the bus broke down outside Red Deer?”
I snort. “Coach made us do jumping jacks to stay warm and what’s-his-name complained the whole time.”
“Bryce Sheriton.”
I snap my fingers, memories flooding back. “Yes! Oh my gosh, Bryce Sheriton. Except we used to call him?—”
“Bryce Krispies!” we both exclaim in unison, laughing at the memory.
“What a weenie,” I say. “He was the laziest player I’ve ever seen.”
“Man, junior hockey was something else. Remember when someone filled your blocker with shaving cream?” Dex smirks proudly while pointing at himself.
“That was you?” My jaw drops. “I blamed Aiden Harrison for months!”
Dex’s eyes shine with mischief. “The look on your face when you went to make that first save.”
“I had foam shooting up my sleeve! The refs had to stop the game.”
“Hey, it made you more flexible. You were doing splits trying to shake that stuff out.”
I shake my head, still amazed after all these years. “Speaking of games, I didn’t see you out there tonight until the handshake line. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just my rest game, but I was suited up just in case. We’ve got a good rotation going. Coach likes to keep us both fresh. Tonight was Eric’s night. He’s a solid keeper. This way we’re both sharp when it counts.” Dex takes a sip of his coffee. “You know how it is. Play too many games and suddenly your reflexes are shot come playoff time.”
“Tell me about it. Back in Toronto, Coach Knight practically has to drag me off the ice sometimes. But he’s right. By game sixty, those cross-ice one-timers start looking a lot faster.”
“At least we’re not stuck in some AHL barn playing three-on-threes anymore.” Dex raises his cup in a mock toast. “To Switzerland.”
“To Switzerland,” I echo.
