Page 2 of O Goalie Night
“Please man, I’m desperate. Beth got a job at an elementary school in Stittsville. She wasn’t supposed to start until the new year, but the teacher whose maternity leave she’s covering needed to go on bed rest, so they asked her to come early.” He’s talking very fast now, pleading his case before he loses me.
“Where exactly do I come in?”
“She was supposed to be arriving this afternoon, but her flight got changed and now she’s due to arrive tonight at six. I’ve got plans to go to a restaurant opening with Valentina that I can’t get out of.”
I frown at him. “Can’t you pick Beth up and just show up to the restaurant a bit late?”
His shoulders slump as he mumbles, “Valentina said that wouldn’t be possible.”
“Hold on.” I run a hand through my hair that’s drenched in sweat from the two-hour practice that just ended. “You can’t pick up your little sister at the airport because you’re going to a party with the model you’re fucking?”
“Don’t minimise my relationship, man. What I have with Valentina is special. I think we’re soulmates.”
Valentina is a model Ben met three weeks ago at some fashion show in Toronto. Eighteen days ago, to be exact. How do I remember that? Because the idiot has done nothing but talk about how he’s sleeping with a supermodel for the past eighteen days.
To be honest, it’s out of character for him. The guy hasn’t had a girlfriend in the four years I’ve known him, preferring to keep things casual with one-time hookups. He meets Valentina and suddenly she’s the centre of his universe. If he hasn’t already gotten her name tattooed somewhere on his body, I’d bet my Olympic gold medal that he’s going to soon.
I resist the urge to tell him I’m pretty sure a soulmate would alter her evening plans to help one of his family members. It’s not like it would make any difference. Besides, I’ve been letting him talk me into things I don’t want to do for the last four years. Why stop now?
“So, you want me to pick her up at the airport?”
He nods enthusiastically. “And drop her off at her new apartment.”
“I’m available,” Austin offers, now fully clothed andsporting a shit-eating grin. The team’s hotshot rookie never passes up on an opportunity to stir the pot. He’s not a bad kid, but he’s got more charisma than common sense and a smile that will either land him on the cover of a magazine or in prison. “I’dloveto pick your sister up.”
Ben lunges for him, but I step between them, blocking his assault. Austin blows him a kiss before striding out of the locker room, laughing his ass off.
I exhale defeatedly and start for the showers. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Before I can get past him, Ben throws his arms around me and lifts me off the ground. As a 6’2” man that weighs 210 pounds, I’m not used to being picked up and I don’t like it. Especially when I’m naked.
“Put me down, Jackass.” I growl, shoving him away from me. “Text me her flight info and the apartment address.”
“I will. Thank you, Fozz. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” He continues to shout as I walk away. “You’re a god. A king amongst mortal men. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, after Valentina.”
I don’t know if he’s finished praising me or if I’m just out of earshot, but I welcome the silence. I stride into the shower room and am greeted by wet floors and lingering steam. Most of my teammates book it to the locker room as soon as practice is over, but not me. I’m always the last player on the ice and that’s how I like it. Not only does it give me extra time to work on strategy with the coach, but the locker room is usually cleared out by the time I get there.
Unless an annoying friend is waiting to ask me for a favour, like today.
Don’t get me wrong; I like my teammates. For the most part, I’ve gotten along with the guys that have come and gone on the team. I even consider a couple of them to be close friends, especially Ben and another defenseman, Will.
But I’ve always felt the need to keep a bit of distance between me and everyone else. I need a certain amount of solitude to be at my best both on and off the ice. When you play at this level, you’re often surrounded.
I replay the butterfly drills my goalie coach just put me through in my mind as I shower. I’ve become a lot better at staying tight to the posts, but there’s always room for improvement.
Once I’m clean, I head back to the now empty locker room where I dry off and dress quickly, eager to get home and grab something to eat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Foster?”
Tony, one of the arena’s security guards, waves at me as I’m on my way to the parking complex. I smile at him as I approach.
“Just Foster is fine, Tony.”
The guy is a few years older than me, but insisted on calling me “Mr. James” when he started. I told him to call me by my first name and since then it’s been “Mr. Foster.”
“My nephew, Hunter, is turning ten this weekend. He’s a huge fan of yours. I was hoping you’d sign his jersey for him?”
“Of course,” I answer without hesitation, taking the marker and pint-sized jersey from him. This isn’t the first time I’ve signed merch for him or even the tenth, but he’sa good guy and a loyal fan so I’m more than happy to oblige. I scrawl my illegible signature to the top left shoulder.
