“We play professional hockey,” I say, clarifying, because who really understands someone just saying the word Vancouver? Her eyes land on me, dark lashes highlighting concerned pupils, and I swear they feel like heat rays, zooming in on me.
I know her. I swear I fucking do. But from where?
Turning away from me, she says, “I don’t watch hockey.”
All the guys groan together as Taters quickly goes on the defensive. Every time someone says they don’t watch hockey—which isn’t too often, given we all live in Canada—Taters makes it his mission to find out why.
“You don’t watch hockey? Is there a reason for that?” His body language reads that he’s ready to fight.
“Uh, better things to do?” she asks as the wind picks up, shooting some of the rain into the house.
“Better things to do?” Taters asks in disbelief. He shakes his head and thumbs toward her. “I was right about this one, she needs to move on.”
“Cut the shit,” Hornsby says. “Not everyone watches hockey. Are they making poor decisions in their life? Yes, but we’re not here to judge. We’re here to help.” He turns back to the girl. “Seriously, we’re not going to hurt you. It would be stupid on our end. Bad publicity. We’re good guys. I promise.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you’re hockey players?”
Hornsby pulls out his phone. “You can look us up.”
“Internet is out,” I say.
“Fuck.” He sticks his phone back in his pocket and then thinks for a second.
“I know.” He pulls out the umbrellas from the umbrella stand and tosses one to Posey and one to Taters. He doesn’t bother with Holmes, because we all know he hasn’t even lifted his head since our visitor knocked on the door. Then he snags a coaster off the coffee table and says, “Let’s show her. Lawes, set up a goal.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
His eyes land on me. “Yes, I’m fucking serious.”
Sighing, I push two bar stools to the side in front of the island, using the counter as the top of the goal and the chairs as the side. I stand in front of the goal and get in position.
“Now, watch carefully as we display our extreme athleticism.” Hornsby, our defenseman, drops the coaster on the floor and moves it back and forth with the tip of the umbrella. It’s comical that he’s attempting to have some semblance of coordination like Holmes. “This isn’t ideal, especially being guarded by two players. Holmes, I could use your help.”
“Nope,” he says.
With a sigh, Hornsby says, “Taters, you’re out. Make this two on one.”
“Fine by me.” Taters takes a seat and uses the umbrella as a mic. “I’ll announce.”
Hating every second of this, I watch as Hornsby gets in position, Posey defending him. Together, they tap the ground and then each other’s umbrellas. They do this three times, and then Hornsby snags the coaster and spins toward me. Look at Horny, making the moves—most likely trying to impress the girl since he’s not playing his actual position right now. Posey is right on his ass, though, using his shoulder like he does best as he reaches for the coaster.
“Welcome to an impromptu exhibition of umbrella coaster athleticism,” Taters says. “Guarding the goal tonight, we have Pacey Lawes. Quick on his feet, he’s a menace in front of the net. They’re going to have to work hard to squeak something by him. Socking across the hardwood floor, we have Eli Hornsby with the green umbrella, struggling to keep the coaster close to him, or to even slide across the floor. I believe he’s regretting his choice of puck at the moment.”
“Accurate,” Hornsby says, his voice tight.
“And with the yellow umbrella, we have one of the best defensemen in the league. Unafraid to throw a punch and then end the night with a bologna sandwich, Levi Posey sticks to Horny like glue.”
“Don’t call me that in front of company,” Hornsby says as he spins toward me. I keep my eye on the coaster, ready to make a grab for whatever shot he attempts.
“Horny is zeroing in on his target, but will he be able to get by the Chips Ahoy annihilator? Or will an entire pack of cookies affect Posey’s ability to move quickly enough to steal the coaster away?”
“Really feeling those cookies?” I ask.
“Light as a feather over here,” Posey says, grappling for the coaster.
“Knock it off with your goddamn elbows,” Hornsby says as he takes the coaster the other way, then switches back.