Page 43 of Slap Shot
“Will you hand me an egg? The milk and butter too?”
“You’re making these from scratch?”
I lift an eyebrow. “You thought I was going to use a boxed mix?”
“I did, and I’m learning it was a wildly offensive assumption. Forgive me, chef.”
“You’re forgiven.”
I grab a whisk and we work around each other. We make casual conversation about his game, about Lucy’s art project that involves dried macaroni and a whole thing of glue, about the dogs getting in trouble at daycare because they stole treats from a puppy.
Hudson is easy to talk to, and the company in the kitchen is nice. It’s even nicer to be around someone who makes me laugh, and when he starts the mixer and batter flies onto his face, I wheeze until my sides hurt.
“Fuck.” He wipes a chocolate chip away from his cheek and pops it in his mouth. “I should leave this to the professionals.”
“What did you do for breakfast before I got here?” I pour the salvaged batter onto the griddle and pull out a spatula from his utensil drawer. “You did eat, right?”
“Hardly. It was mostly cereal. Toast. Bananas that weren’t chucked at my head.” He chuckles and wets a paper towel so he can clean his face. “I’d swing by my friends’ places and steal some of their food. I tried to make scrambled eggs once, and the final product ended up burnt. It was a tragedy. I can still hear the trill of the smoke alarm.”
“You poor thing. You’re lucky I’m here.”
“Yeah.” Hudson beams at me. There’s still batter in his beard, on his Adam’s apple and his nose, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Lucky indeed.”
THIRTEEN
HUDSON
Puck Kings
G-Money
I fucking hate wearing suits to games. Every other league lets their players wear whatever they want, and then there’s the NHL.
Making us dress like we’re extras on the set of fucking Bridgerton.
And I still hate our chat name.
Mitchy
Good show.
Me
GREAT show.
G-Money
My Uber driver asked if I’m in finance. Gag me.
Easy E
I have a meeting with the commish next week because of my “excessive roughness” last season. Want me to pass along your opinion, G? I’ll ask if we can roll up in sweats from now on.
Mavvy
Whoa. Wait. You do?
Me
