Chapter 8

(AL)


Marc had to leave soon after because he had a date with his girlfriend, Vero, who, according to Marc, was “just dying to meet me”. Then Sid had to leave because of some commercial thing with Reebok or Gatorade, leaving me alone with Jordan and Max, who for the next two hours couldn’t seem to stop arguing about which was the better province, Quebec or Ontario. I personally didn’t have a preference, or maybe I just didn’t give a crap. Constant fighting gets me cranky.

“Well, the Habs have won more Stanley Cups than any other team in the NHL,” Max pointed out, for about the fifth time.
“Yeah, that’s only because they used to get first dibs on all the French players,” Jordan countered, again.
“So you admit that the French are better!” Max stated, grinning smugly.
“Whatever, they haven’t won a cup in like 15 years,” Jordan said.
“Oh, yeah? And when was the last time the Sens or the Leafs won the cup?” Max asked defiantly.
“Ontario has the Prime Minister,” Jordan said, changing the subject.
“Quebec has the Wax Museum!” Max said.
“You’re comparing the Prime Minister to the Wax Museum?” Jordan scoffed.
“I think it’s a pretty valid accusation,” Max said. “For all Harper’s done for our country, he might as well be made out of wax.” And it continued like that. For two hours. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Geno walked through the door. His presence always made me smile, even when he was on the ice.

“Hey, Geno,” Max said, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Your epicranius is showing.” Geno’s brown eyes grew wide and he looked down to his crotch. He turned around in a three sixty and then looked back at us, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Oh my God, he was so cute. Obviously, Jordan and Max didn’t view him in the same way I did, and exploded into yet another fit of laughter at their prank. Geno just looked at them blankly.
“What is… ecipanious?” he asked, puzzled at what seemed to be so funny. The two comedians were still crippled with laughter, but when they caught the look I was giving them, they promptly shut up. Geno merely shrugged off the event and disappeared behind the refrigerator. A few seconds later he came back, empty-handed.
“We need food,” he stated simply, sitting down on the couch next to me.
“Ooh, let’s do Chinese!” Max exclaimed, getting up and pulling out an enormous copy of the yellow pages. He flipped to a dog-eared page, and within moments had our orders down and the phone in hand. From what I could tell by his side of the conversation, he was pretty friendly with whomever he was talking to on the other line. When he finally put down the phone, he turned to us with a sly smile.
“You got the food for free again, didn’t you?” Jordan sighed.
“Maybe…” Max responded, slinking back into the room.
“She’s never gonna stop if you don’t quit milking it, Max.” Jordan said.
“Yeah,” Geno added, only to become a part of their conversation.
“What’s going on?” I asked them, confused.
“There’s this girl at the Chinese place that’s absolutely obsessed with Max,” Jordan told me. “It’s freaky as hell. I’m not even kidding; she followed us home from the restaurant one time. And the funny part is that she doesn’t even know he’s famous. She just thinks he’s--”
“She thinks I’m hot. And she has every right to. I mean, just look at me,” Max interrupted, flexing his biceps. Geno pushed him, making him lose his balance and fall over the coffee table. Jordan chuckled.
“Anyway, she’ll give him whatever he wants. And he’s been taking advantage of it for months now,” Jordan said, glaring at Max.
“Hey, you shouldn’t be complaining. You’ve never once had to pay for a meal from that place,” Max said defensively, getting up and brushing himself off.
“But you’re leading her on! She thinks you like her!” Jordan exclaimed, frustrated. Wow, he sure was sensitive about this.
“Dude, relax, she’ll be fine. Stop being such a chick,” Max told him calmly. Jordan glared at him for moment, before getting up and muttering something about the washroom. As soon as he was out of the room, Geno spoke up.
“What his problem?”
“Who knows,” Max shrugged.

It was then that Sid burst through the door, his hair decorated with tiny white specks. He had the biggest grin on his face.
“It’s snowing,” he smiled, shaking his wet hair like a dog. Max and I both smiled too, but Geno grimaced.
“I miss Russia,” he said solemnly. It seemed Sid had been enjoying the snow a bit too much, and he went upstairs to change out of his wet clothes. Max sat down next to me on the couch.
“So, Al,” he began, looking at me. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Uh…there’s not too much to tell,” I told him, kind of dreading the conversation that was soon to follow.
“Where are you from?” he asked, smiling.
“Ottawa,” I told him. His grin widened enormously at this.
“So you’re Canadian, eh?” he said. “Do you happen to speak French, by any chance?” he asked hopefully.
“Yeah, pretty fluently,” I said, smiling at how happy this made him.
“So you play hockey, you’re Canadian, and you speak French?” he asked.
“Yup,” I said, laughing a bit.
“C’est attirant, ça,” Max said in French, looking at me up and down. If it were anybody other than him, I would’ve been insulted by the way he was looking at me like a piece of meat. But there was something about him—maybe it was his eyes, which never stopped twinkling—that told you he was the laid-back, not intense, always joking around, never really completely serious. He was the spitting image of my older brother.

I was beginning to notice how extremely good-looking Max was; the brown hair, the tan skin, the brown eyes, the rugged features…the accent. Oh, the accent.
It was then that Jordan crashed loudly down the stairs, disturbing my daydream. Oh, Sweet Lord of All That’s Good and Pure. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I had to keep my lips pressed tightly together to keep from letting out a gasp.
“Dude, cover up your chest, there’s a lady in the house!” Max exclaimed, much more dramatically than necessary. Jordan ignored him and walked past us into the basement. A few seconds later he re-immerged, holding a book in his right hand. He then climbed back up the stairs, not making eye-contact with anyone the entire time.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. This man was going to kill me.

“Let’s play spit,” Sid said, breaking the pleasant silence that frequently followed an over-sized dinner. Everyone turned to look at him. He frowned.
“None of you know how to play?” he asked incredulously. I raised my hand hesitantly.
“I do,” I said, and he smiled widely, showing off his incredibly white teeth.
He sat down across from me at the other side of the coffee table and pulled out some cards from the drawer. He distributed them equally between us and had his piles set up in record time. I took a little bit longer; I hadn’t played spit since I was a kid.
“Ready?” he asked, grinning widely. The others—Jordan, Geno and Max—had all gathered around the table, anticipating the game that was about to follow.
“You better go easy on me, I’m a little rusty,” I told him. Max snorted.
“No chance of that, honey,” he said. “Sid’s the most competitive guy you’ll ever meet.” I exhaled loudly, and Sid and I flipped our cards.

I quickly skimmed my eyes over the numbers I saw in front of me and the numbers I had in my piles, and began rapidly getting rid of my cards. I was done in about 10 seconds, and slammed my hand down on the smallest pile.
“Spit,” I said. Everyone looked at me, eyes wide in surprise. Sid glanced at his huge pile of cards and frowned.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you,” I said, breaking into a huge grin. “I’m awesome.”
“Ooh,” Geno sounded, moving away from Sid’s part of the table to sit next to me. He was picking sides, and he chose mine. I was really beginning to like him. Sid scowled at him and grabbed his much larger pile and began setting up his cards once again. I smiled at him sweetly; he was in for a rough ride.

It only took about three more rounds for me to become the winner. I guess I probably should have mentioned my skill for card games before I had offered to play, just to be fair. But, then again, he had challenged me, and I never said no to a challenge.

“I want a re-match,” Sid said stubbornly, glowering at us all from across the table. Max and Jordan had both decided to join Geno on my side once they had realized the probability of where the game was going. It was kind cool to have them there standing behind me; it felt like I had a posse.
“Alright, if you feel like getting humiliated again,” I told him. Sid did not like this one bit, and heatedly grabbed the deck from the table to shuffle.

He was better this time; he even won a couple of rounds. It was much more fun to play this way, when my competition was actually good. The room was tense while we played; no one spoke. But once a round was over, all you could hear were the whoops and hollers of the winner and their posse. The “posse” kept switching back and forth between me and Sid; I like to think that Jordan hovered around my side throughout most of the competition, but then again, it could’ve been simply my imagination.

We got so wrapped up in the game that we ended up playing for over an hour before I realized how late it had gotten.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, jumping up. “It’s almost 1:00! I have to go,” I told them.
“No, don’t leave,” Sid protested, standing too. “Stay for one more game.”
“Maybe another time,” I smiled at him, which he pouted at.
“But you’re the only one who knows how to play!” he whined.
“Actually, I think we all know how to play by now, considering we just watched about 50 or so games between the two of you,” Max said.
“Okay, let me rephrase that then,” Sid said. “You’re the only one who’s actually good.” Max jumped on him, tackling him to the floor. Geno and Jordan moved in to try to break them up, and I took that as a good opportunity to make my departure. I walked out the door, leaving the hustle and bustle of the wrestling hockey players behind, before realizing that Jordan had driven me here and that I didn’t have a car. I would have to walk. I considered turning around and asking Jordan to drive me home, but I didn’t want to be pushy or demanding. I hear men don’t like that in a woman.

I zipped up my jacket and hugged my arms around my torso to shield myself from the cold. As I was beginning my long walk home, I heard someone run up behind me.
“Al!” Jordan yelled, slightly out of breath. I turned around, surprised.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you—”
“You think you’re just going to walk all the way to your house in the middle of the night?” he interrupted me, catching up to where I was standing.
“Um…well, yeah,” I said, frowning.
“You weren’t going to ask me for a ride?” he asked, his breathing slowly becoming even.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I told him. He laughed.
“Trust me. You would be doing me a favor,” he said. And it was then that he did it. He grabbed my hand and tugged on it lightly, only for a second, pulling me forward. He then immediately let go and walked beside me back to the house.

My hand was tingling. I wasn’t sure if it was something he meant to do, or if he had even noticed he had done it. But I had. I could feel exactly where his callused palm had pressed lightly against my own, and where his long fingers had enveloped the back of my hand. I had felt the spark when our skin had met. I wondered if he had felt it too.

He opened the door of his car for me, and I stepped inside, nodding thanks. On the drive home, my fatigue that had momentarily faded while I was with the guys finally caught up to me, and I felt my eyes drooping. I yawned, and I heard Jordan chuckled lightly. I looked at him, and he said,
“You’re cute when you yawn.” I felt my face get hot and turned away so he wouldn’t see me blush. No matter how much I tried to stop it, I couldn’t keep a smile from forming on my lips.
We arrived at my house a matter of minutes later, and Jordan burst into laughter when he saw Brooks’ car still parked in the driveway.
“Some crazy shit is bound to happen tonight,” I sighed, shaking my head. I was used to this by now, of course, with Kayleigh being, well…Kayleigh, but somehow now it felt different. It was more awkward, in a way. I guess it was because Brooks was part of team of guys that I suddenly felt strangely close to, even having only met them a couple days ago. I think, with Kayleigh’s other “boyfriends”, I wasn’t afraid to make a bad impression because I knew that he would not have an influence at all on my life. Now things were different because Brooks did have an influence on my life, or, rather, Jordan did. And you wouldn’t believe how welded the bonds of a team can be. Your team is your family. I learned that the hard way, back when I was still playing.

Jordan walked me to the front door, still silently laughing to himself about his overly-ambitious teammate. I turned to him.
“It’s really not that funny,” I said.
“Oh, but it is,” he responded, grinning. I shook my head and turned to put the key in the door. I then stood in the open doorway, facing him.
“So, thanks a lot for, you know, taking me in and all,” I said sheepishly.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You certainly made the night more interesting.”
“Sid’s quite…enthusiastic,” I said, smiling. He grinned back.
“Yeah, he gets kind of weird like that when he really likes something,” he replied.
“You mean spit?” I asked.
“Yeah, spit…and you,” he said, and his eyes sparkled.
“He likes me?” I asked, slightly astounded.
“Yeah, of course,” Jordan said, making it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We all like you.” My heart jumped.
“Well, I like you guys too,” I told him.
“Good,” he said. We said our goodnights and I closed the door, watching as he walked away. I couldn’t help but admire the way his figure looked, standing there in the perfect moonlight. I let out a breath as he drove away. He had said ‘we’. We all like you. Not just they. We.