“No. If I was trying to be nice, I’d tell you that you look good.”
Chelsea glanced down at her white blouse and Burberry kilt. “Because it’s more conservative than what I usually wear?”
He chuckled. “Because your skirt’s short.” He pointed his cane at Derek. “You can stop now. I think you’re ready for some passes.” He walked into the garage, and wh
en he returned, he had a hockey stick in his right hand. He thrust it toward Chelsea. “Derek, you’re going to feed passes to Chelsea.”
“Me?”
“Her? She’s a girl.”
“That’s right,” Mark agreed, and she half expected him to say something sexist. “She’s little and quick, so you better watch yourself.”
She took the stick and pointed to her feet. “I’m in three-inch heels.”
“You don’t have to move. All you have to do is stop the puck.”
“I’m wearing a skirt!”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to be really careful not to bend over.” Beneath the shadow hitting his top lip, he grinned. “I wouldn’t mind, but we have to keep it clean ’cause Derek’s a minor and I promised his mom.”
“The things I do for this job.” She kicked off her shoes and lowered her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose.
Mark walked several feet away and pointed to Derek. “Move down ice. Bring the puck up and just feed it to her.”
Derek moved down the driveway, barely able to stay up on his skates. Not only couldn’t he skate, but he got tangled up with his stick. A few times he nearly fell, and when he finally did shoot, it went wide and Chelsea had to run after it.
“You’re watching the puck,” Mark told him. “Keep your head up and your eyes where you want the puck to go.” He tried again, and once again he barely stayed on his skates and Chelsea had to run after the puck. After the fourth straight time, she was getting a little irritated.
=“0%”>
“I’m tired of running after your pucks,” she complained as she brought the puck to the middle of the driveway.
“Derek, what is the first rule of hockey?”
“No whining, Coach.”
Chelsea frowned and looked from Derek’s flushed face to Mark. “Is that in the official rule book?”
“Yes. Along with the importance of trash talk.” Keeping his right leg straight, Mark bent down and picked up the puck. “So let’s hear some chatter,” he said as he handed it to the kid.
“Okay, Coach.” This time as Derek skated toward her, he said, “Your hair is stupid and you have a stink eye.” He shot, and the puck hit Chelsea’s stick and bounced off.
“I have a what?”
“Stink eye.”
She raised a hand to the lenses of her glasses. “I do?”
Derek laughed and Mark shook his head. “No. Trash talk doesn’t have to be true. It just has to be distracting.” He picked up the puck and tossed it to Derek. “That was a good one. You do better when you’re not trying so hard.”
This time when he skated toward Chelsea, she was ready for him with something she figured was age-and Derek-appropriate. “You’re so skinny, you can hula hoop with a Cheerio,” she said, thinking she was pretty clever.
Derek shot. It went a little wide but she was able to stop it without have to run too far. He shook his head. “That was stupid.”
This from the kid who said she had a stink eye? She looked at Mark and he shrugged. “Maybe you should work on your trash talk.”
She wasn’t the only one. Other than stink eye, Derek didn’t have any other insults in his repertoire, and after he’d called her that three more times, she was ready to whack him with her stick. So when he got tangled up in his skates and fell, she wasn’t exactly feeling bad for him.