Chapter 1
A Naked Russian Standing in Front of Me
Josh
The locker room was always crowded in the preseason. It was noisier too—players chirping over each other while skates and sticks hit the floor. Also, lots of sweat. That was kind of gross, but it was part of the game. The air buzzed with the bodies and noise and something that was just hockey.
I grinned, still standing in my skates, because this was fun. So many guys, all excited about the possibilities ahead of them. I remembered when I was one of the hopefuls in preseason games. Playing my ass off, trying to impress the coaches and the other, established players.
My first training camp had been in Nashville, with the team that drafted me, and I’d been sent down to the farm team after. It had been a big disappointment. I was one of the shorter players, and all the pundits had questioned whether I could make it with the larger guys, so I’d had some doubts. Then, halfway through the season a couple of injuries to players on the big team got me called up, and the time I’d spent on the farm team had upped my game. I’d stayed up, and never looked back. A year later I was traded to Toronto. Now I was one of the established players, not one of the wannabes.
Training camp and the preseason were way better this way.
I’d gotten to know most of these new guys and kinda wanted them all to make it, but we weren’t allowed that big of a roster. Thank all the hockey gods I wasn’t in charge of making the decisions. Word had come down that some of those cuts were coming through tomorrow. We were a week into preseason games, and the coaches had to let some players go.
“Hey, we should go out tonight!” I yelled into the noise.
A couple of the new guys looked at me, eyes kind of big like they weren’t sure I was talking to them.
“Anyone who wants. Let’s go out and enjoy that we’re here.” I got a few yeahs back, mostly from the newbies.
Fitch, whose stall was down one from mine, asked, “Is that a good idea?”
I didn’t care. “We don’t have to go crazy. Like, maybe not a club. But we can go out to a bar, meet some people, do something more than watch hockey tape and worry.”
That had the new guys nodding. I wasn’t worried, at least not about whether I’d make the team. I played right wing on the top line last year, and at the end of the season, the second highest point scorer on the team was me. This summer I’d worked hard with the teammates who’d stayed in town to prep for this year. I’d have to majorly screw up to miss making it, and I wasn’t doing that.
Fitch shrugged. “Okay, I’m in.”
I was surprised he wanted to come. He’d been traded in from Edmonton over the summer. Cooper had suggested Fitch and I could be roommates and he’d moved in a couple of days ago, but I didn’t know him very well. He was older and didn’t talk about himself much, but he gave off quiet vibes. Nice, but not a guy who’d party much. Maybe I was wrong.
I circled my hands like a megaphone in front of my mouth. “Okay, who’s in for the Top Shelf tonight?”
About five of the new guys raised their hands. So did Royster. He was one of the regular players, part of our shut down line. With Fitch and me, that made eight, which was probably a good number. The three of us could watch out for the others.
“This is not good.”
Oh fuck. I had a naked Russian standing in front of me with his arms crossed.
Petey, or Petrov to his face, was our starting goalie and, as far as I was concerned, a cyborg. He never lost his temper, never shirked a practice or workout, and never had fun. He’d been part of the group training together this summer, so I’d spent a lot of time working out with him and yeah, perfect cyborg.
“We’re not going to do anything crazy. Just go have a few drinks, meet people we haven’t been sweating with all day, and clear our heads for a bit.”
Petey frowned. “Not late.”
I wanted him to move, because if I sat down, his junk would be in my face. “No, I promise.”
He jerked his head in a nod. “Okay, I come.” Then, thankfully, he stalked off.
I dropped on the bench to unlace my skates. Petey coming with us would certainly keep the rooks in line, but I wasn’t sure it was worth it.
“Is he always like that?” Fitch asked.
I looked up. “Like what? Naked? Or the cyborg thing?”
He grinned. “Both. Either.”
“He might be a Terminator, except he stops goals instead of killing people. The other thing? My guess is that his family back in Russia are nudists. Because he never bothers with a towel when he’s walking around the showers and locker room.” I straightened up to work off my skate. Didn’t want to give Fitch the wrong impression. “He’s always dressed anywhere else though.”
