Should I really intake that much sugar?
Four freaking seconds.
“Coke and Strawberry for me.”
“Chocolate and Mountain Dew for me,” Collin says.
“Bacon cheeseburgers or just cheeseburgers?”
“Double bacon cheeseburgers.” Mind made up, I might as well go all in.
“You’re really eating your feelings.”
“We’ll need to hit the treadmill after this, but it’s going to be worth it.”
“You sure about that, rookie?”
My head turns and standing there to the left is someone I’ve followed for a long time, since before he got traded to the Raptors. Shaw fucking Chandler. It feels like someone just sucker punched me.
“Uh…”
He shakes his head.
“Daddy?”
He looks down at a little boy who is his spitting image.
“You want a chocolate or vanilla shake?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and even.
“Mmmmmm….chocolate for me and vanilla for Mommie.”
“You got it.” He glances at our waitress. “Molly, can you sit him at the counter and keep an eye on him for a minute until I talk to these as…guys.”
“Sure thing, Shaw.” She holds her hand out. “You want to sit on the stools, little man?”
He grins, a dimple showing in his cheek, and takes her hand.
Once he’s out of earshot, Shaw motions for Collin to scoot and he does it without hesitation, just as awed as me.
“You guys are being stupid right now. Your season starts in about a month and you’re eating crap. That’ll slow you down on the ice. If your body isn’t in the best shape, you’ll be shit out there.”
“Coach said I need to pick up my speed.” I barely get the words out of my mouth and my hands start pouring rivers of sweat with my nervousness.
“Coach had me come to a couple of your games last season. The two of you work together seamlessly and we’re looking to replace the entirety of our second line.”
“All of them?” Collin gapes at him.
Shaw shrugs. “The owner decided that all the expensive contracts he had that weren’t puling their weight had to go. We’ve pulled a few players up from the farm team, but we’re watching a lot of college players as well. The two of you have a chemistry on the ice it takes some players years to build. You’re good, but if you’re eating like this, that won’t last.”
“It was a last supper sort of thing.”
“Has training started yet?” His tone says you better not fucking lie to me because I already know the answer.
“Yes,” we both whisper.
“Get the fucking chicken and a water. Sugar and carbs are not your friend. Stick to the meal plan the school dietitian gave you. Or the scouts that show up to watch you won’t be back because you’ll be washed.”
Part of me wants to fight back, to tell him I’ll never be washed, but the fan boy in me is screaming that Shaw fucking Chandler knows who I am.
