Ollie and Mikalski are watching the Flyers/Hurricanes game and taking bets on whose team will win. Apparently, the loser has to do the winner’s dishes for a week. I’ve lived with these guys for months, and I’m not one hundred percent sure either of them knows how to wash a dish.
Van’s messing with his tie. And his hair. And his tie again. He’s anxious these days, and I bet it has to do with the fact that he’s been in study hall with all us newbies lately. His grades aren’t the greatest; he openly admits that, but he must have a rough schedule this semester because I’ve heard Coach mention tutoring on several occasions. Doesn’t sound too scary to me but Van looked like he saw a ghost whenever Coach brought it up. He’s usually a relaxed guy, has this almost surfer vibe, but these past few weeks he’s been on edge. Midterms are next week, maybe that’s why?
But Norris is jittery, too, and that’s not like him, either. He’s usually got nerves of steel. He’s going through all of his pre-game rituals, which would be weird because we’re not actually playing tonight, but I'm gonna chalk that up to the fact that he’s a goalie and those guys are notoriously superstitious. For once, his phone isn’t glued to his hand, which is probably good, considering our goal tonight is to mix and mingle. He keeps throwing glances Coach’s way, but I’m not sure why. He’s a respected member of this team; I’ve got no doubt he’ll be Captain next year. So, I’m not sure why he doesn’t just butt in to Coach’s convo and add his two cents since he’s watching Coach like a hawk. But again, goalies are kinda weird.
I check my phone again, and there’s another text from Mel, this one showing off her four-inch heels. Now those, I do remember—they’re sparkly and black and sexy as fuck.
Will: Damn. I can’t wait to see the rest of you.
Will: And see those shoes and that dress in a puddle on your floor later tonight, but that goes without saying.
Mel: Want to play a game?
Will: Like hockey? Because I’m pretty good at that.
Mel: Nope. Try again.
Will: Spin the bottle, perhaps?
Mel: You wish.
Will: You’re right.
Mel: But no. Next guess…
Will:Soccer?
Mel: Not even close.
Will: Fine, I give up. But only because Coach is making us store our phones in his office and board the bus. And yes, it’s dumb as shit that we can’t have our phones. But it’s probably smart, too. This way, we’ll actually talk to people.
Will: Ok, I’ve got thirty seconds. What’s the game? Is it that guess the word game?
Mel: Close, but no.
Mel: This game is called Guess What Color My Panties Are…
Mel: And we have all night to play.
Will: Fuck yes. This is my new favorite game. What do I get when I win?
Mel:Whenyou win? You’re pretty sure of yourself… You only get three guesses, one each for the next three hours. If you’re right, you get to pick what we do tonight.
Mel: We could watch a movie.
Mel: Or play cards.
Will: Or I could fuck you from behind and make you come three times before I flip you over and pound you into the mattress.
Will:Just throwing that out there.
Those three little bubbles pop up, and I’m dying to see Mel’s reply, but I’m up next and I can’t really look Coach in the eye and tell him I need ten more seconds so my girlfriend can give me a hint on what color underwear she’s wearing. So, I drop my phone in the box and head onto the bus like the good, horny hockey player I am.
* * *
Two hours later,and I’ve burned two guesses, made more small talk than ever before in my life, and lost Norris.
Seriously, how do you lose a guy who’s six-foot-two-inches and has the wingspan of a condor?
