Page 82 of Love at Teamsgiving
Her brown eyes brighten. “We could gift pumpkin spice candles and the matches.”
I click my tongue. “See? We’re the perfectpear... like the fruit, get it?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think pear-scented candles would go over well at our wedding.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Our wedding.”
Her cheeks blush rosy pink. “If we’re going to have these favors in time, we’d better get cracking.”
Mrs. Popovik appears, sits down on the stool at the reception desk, and her fingers fly over the computer’s keyboard. She says, “I’m on it.”
“Pumpkin scented candles, not pear, Mama,” Junie says.
Mrs. Popovik winks at me and I can’t help but wonder if I’m not alone thinking about our wedding.
I’m swampedwith away games and loads of training. Badaszek still hasn’t spoken to me.
If I were in jail, I’d be using hash marks to count the days of silence. It’s not that I feel isolated, but it is a bit like solitary confinement. Vohn gives me some cues and instructions for ways to improve my puck protection techniques and we work on a nifty little variation of a backchecking drill, but the head coach is oddly silent.
I’ve heard the other guys’ stories about encounters with Badaszek, including Pierre being called into his office every day for a month straight. Being hollered at above the sound of the Zamboni—Redd. Beau mentioned they once had what amounted to a father-son heart-to-heart, even though they’re not related. I figured they both had ice in their chests instead of anything living or beating. But at this point, I’ll take anything other than silence.
To be honest, it’s unsettling, but I’m performing well—fans continue to call me the “Stick Sniper,” so I must be doing something right.
Except when it comes to Badaszek and Junie, to a lesser degree.
She refuses to give me a haircut and my mother says if I go elsewhere, I’m being disloyal, especially since the Cruz crew did the remodel.
But I should get it trimmed for Shane’s sake. He befriended a gentleman, not a Sasquatch. I’d fit right in on the Saskatchewan AHL team.
Though it’ll be sad to say goodbye to my breakup hair, especially when, as the days pass, I’m starting to have my doubts about us getting back together.
Where’d my mojo go?
I give my head a shake because I hear an echo. Only, it’s not in my noggin.
It’s Hayden talking to me. He knocks on my helmet. “You okay, dude?”
I give my head a shake and watch the puck ricochet off the boards. It’s only practice, but still, I never miss a pass. I’ll admit I’ve been a little off, zoned out, in my head. I’m not having sympathy jitters for Shane. More like him getting married and Junie’s involvement in the planning only reminds me of how close we came.
“It’s about a girl.” Beau grunts.
The guys all glide over, sticks raised and I brace myself for a beating. But it doesn’t come.
Grady asks, “The hater?”
“It’s always about her,” I mutter.
Hayden asks, “Did the flowers, chocolates, or fruit basket work?”
I shrug. “I didn’t find them in the dumpster or returned to sender, meaning in my locker or something equally devious. So I don’t think they hurt the situation.”
“Heard you got egged,” Hayden says.
“Junie’s salon did on mischief night.”
“Cabbage night,” Redd corrects.
“Hooligans,” Beau says.
