Must Love Hockey: A Brooklyn Hockey story by Sarina Bowen

Author:Sarina Bowen [Bowen, Sarina]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Eight

Corporate Zombies of Doom

James

After the game, I wait, and I hope. But it doesn’t look good.

“She’s not out in the corridor with the families. I’m sorry,” Heidi Jo tells me as I carry sticks to the van. Every time I duck outside to the loading dock, I look up and down the block, hoping to spot her.

But she never comes.

Instead, I get a very nice thank-you text the next day.

Emily: That was so much fun! Thank you for giving me a ticket.

James: You are welcome. No boyfriend at the game last night? Delilah said she was your date. She thanks you for turning in the extra ticket, BTW.

Emily: No boyfriend at the game. He was going to come, but then he bailed at the last minute.

I argue with myself for a good half hour before responding. Does she need my opinion? No. But, fuck it. I give it to her anyway.

James: Just saying—if you were my date, there’s no way I’m bailing at the last minute. Unless the zombies got me. Did the zombies get your man?

Emily: You know what? His job in finance sometimes makes it feel that way. The corporate zombies of doom often have him tight in their clutches.

Now I feel like a dick. Her guy probably hadn’t made it because he was called in to work. My own job has bonkers hours. There’s a reason I’m still single.

James: I hope things get better for both of you.

Emily: That is really nice of you to say. And it bears repeating—I had a great time last night. Thank you! And now I’m off to study for finals.

James: Good luck with your exams! I’m available for pizza refueling should the need arise.

Emily: Thanks again!

That’s it. That’s all she writes.

I groan aloud.

“Got a problem, Jimbo?” O’Doul—the Bruisers’ captain—walks into the sharpening room and squints at me.

“Not sure,” I grumble, lifting his skate off the sharpener and checking the edge. “You’re all set. Here.” I pass both skates over to him.

“Is it woman trouble? I heard your girl came to the game alone.”

Lord, the gossip in this place. “She was alone. But she’s not my girl. There’s still a boyfriend. I think? What do you suppose this means?” I hold up my phone for his inspection. “But don’t you dare reply, or I’ll order you the wrong stick for the game against Toronto.”

“Easy, killer.” He reads my texts with Emily. “She doesn’t say why her boyfriend wasn’t there.”

“I noticed that.”

“That means the puck is in play.”

“Does it, though? She’s dating some banker—the kind of guy who wears a nice suit and pays for expensive dinners.”

“You can rock a suit as well as the next guy.” He punches me in the shoulder. “Don’t do that, Jimbo. Don’t assume the other guy can outskate you. That just makes you a loser before you ever step out onto the ice.”

“Stretchin’ this hockey metaphor a little far, captain.”

“Nah,” he says. “No such thing as too much hockey. You gotta size up your opponent. Get low and hit him with your weight, yeah? Beat him at his own game.

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