Holly & Hockey Boots by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9850922-6-9
Publisher: V.L. Locey

7

“I have to give you credit, Seiger. You are one devoted motherfucker.”

I glanced up at Rob as he waited at the blue line with his stick in his hand and about fourteen hundred pucks lying on the ice. I nodded, then began working my crease, plowing up little mounds of shaved ice into nice piles placed just so.

“Want to tell me why we’re here at six in the morning when we could still be in bed yanking off to the latest viral video from Tammy and Tanya?”

I glanced up from my crease prep. “Who are Tammy and Tanya?” Rob smiled so wickedly it scared me for a moment. “Oh, the Toe Twins,” I muttered, then went back to getting the ice just so.

“They were licking more than little piggies in the last video,” he informed me.

“Great, go them,” I grumbled, then turned my back on Rob and lifted my helmet from the net. My water bottle was sitting properly, so that was good. I slid my fingers through the bars, raised the mask to the lights four times, worked some spittle into the inside of the helmet and started singing the song as my spit dried.

“Super super Mario, super super Mario, super super Mario KART!”

“Fucking double D’s, Seiger,” Rob groaned. “I know you goalies got routines, and I’m all for not stepping on the tender mojo magic, but do we really need that song this fucking early?

I broke into another stanza after my helmet was in place. A tap to the pipes to ensure the luck ran into them, then I was ready. I dropped into a crouch and motioned Poore to come at me.

“I am never rooming with another goalie,” Rob said, then drew back to rifle a slap shot at me. It went wide of the net and soundly cracked the glass behind me.

“It would help if you could get the puck in the general vicinity of the net so I could maybe try to block it.”

“Hey, back off, dude. I’m tired and still somewhat aroused from last night’s shenanigans with Tammy and Tanya.” The next shot hit me right in the chest. I trapped the puck against the horse on my sweater, then let it slide to the ice. “How was that? Did that one give you a chubby?”

“Must be hard to eat, since you got no hands,” I countered. Rob gave me a look.

The pucks then started coming fast and furious. This was what I needed: time in the net to let my body run on instinct while my mind was on nothing but stopping pucks. Life was too complicated. The situation with the party had wrangled up my insides. Is that the right term to describe feeling like a jerk for lying to people? A puck bounced off the pipe. I spun around to bat it away but it fell behind me. Rob, of course, decided to be a dick with his celly. Around my net he skated, shouting and hooting. I swept the puck out of my crease with my stick, then saw him drinking from my water bottle.

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