Jim Steele and Jett Olsson took me up on my offer for lunch, so we are tucking into thick deli sandwiches and pasta salads. Jett went with three cookies on the side.
“You’re going to get fat and slow if you keep eating like that,” Jim tells him, nodding at his plate.
The three of us make up the core of the second line for the Arizona Vengeance. I’m the center, Jim is my left-winger, and Jett is my right-winger. Even though I just came to the team at the end of last season, we managed to click very well during the playoffs. I do believe the fact we won the Cup, defeating the defending Cold Fury champions, is a testament to that.
“I can beat you down the ice any day, old man,” Jett quips in his Swedish accent, giving him an evil smirk.
Jim’s not sensitive about his age. He’s one of the oldest on our team at thirty-three, but it’s just a number. He’s still quick and agile enough to beat young rookies down the ice, so he just rolls his eyes at Jett.
“I don’t know about you two,” Jett continues while chewing through a mouthful of pastrami on rye, “but I’m pumped about training camp starting next week.”
Jim and I nod our heads, choosing not to talk with our mouths full. It’s been a long summer. While not one of us bemoan the time off, we’re all eager to get back to work and see if we can win a repeat championship.
After training camp, the pre-season games start, and it’s on. Not many things in my life compare to the rush of what I do for a living, so to say I’m looking forward to getting back on the ice is an understatement.
“Which means,” Jett says, waving a cookie in our direction, “we’ve got minimal opportunity to misbehave. Thus, I’m eating cookies. Also, we should go out tonight and party it up. What do you say?”
“I’m out,” I reply without thought, wanting to do nothing more than hang with Mollie. I have no clue how long she’s going to stay with me, but if it’s only going to be a few days, I want to spend all the time I can with her.
And sure, I could bring her out with us tonight, but I don’t know where her head is right now. After our talk last night—when she told me what Matthew had done—I realized even more how precious she was to me.
“Got better plans?” Jim teases.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I say. “I have a friend in town who I’m hanging with.”
“So, bring him,” Jim says.
“It’s a her,” I reply.
Jim and Jett exchange a transparent look, telling me their minds are in the gutter.
“She’s my best friend,” I explain. “It’s not like that.”
I get nothing but blank looks back, which is typical when I try to explain Mollie to people. I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for others to realize that men and women can be best friends without anything sexual.
As we eat, I take a moment to explain. I tell them about college, summers hanging out, and the bond we’ve formed, ending with her travel blogging—which impressed them mightily, as it should—and that she’s here for an impromptu visit.
“So, bring her out with us tonight?” Jett suggests, then gives a waggle of his eyes. “Is she hot?”
I glare across the table. “She’s gorgeous. If you even look at her sideways, I’ll stomp you to the ground.”
Jim gets a knowing look in his eyes, smirks over at Jett. “I see… they’re just friends, but he doesn’t want her to be anything more with anyone else.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, but he’s not wrong. While I’ve managed to keep a good face on over the years as Mollie’s dated various men—even most recently this dipshit Matthew—it would be more than I could handle watching her with one of my teammates while visiting.
A change of topic is in order before I lose my cool with my mates. “Have y’all seen Baden lately?”
“I went up to visit him yesterday,” Jim says, his voice lowering an octave to denote the sadness this topic brings about. “He’s not doing well.”
I nod. I had gone to visit him earlier in the week. He’s a shell of the man I once knew.
Baden Oullet was our backup goalie, an integral part of our team. Always one with a quick smile, sharp wit, and a propensity for pulling pranks. While we’re all friendly with each other, Baden was also revered because his position was one of little glory since he rode pine most of the time to our primary goalie, Legend Bay. But the reason he had so much respect was when Legend needed a break, Baden was the one teammate we could always count on to step onto the ice and give as good an effort as Legend would have. He was that good, yet he never bemoaned his number-two spot.