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“You know those things shed like crazy,” Bear said, pointing at the cat sticker. “Pixie has one, and you saw how I was covered in that shit when I got back from lunch yesterday.”
“Maybe don’t leave all your clothes on the floor during ‘lunch’ and Pixie’s cat won’t shed all over them,” Parvo said as he stuck a pink pen behind his ear.
“At least my clothes end up on someone’s floor,” Bear shot back.
That, of course, provoked a retaliatory insult from Parvo, which meant Bear had to respond. They chirped back and forth at each other like the three-decade-long best friends they were while Astrid sat down in her chair and allowed herself a happy little smile for three point two seconds before she got her shit together and reminded herself that she and Cal had had their last time several times already.
They were all out of last times.
Still, she couldn’t stop wondering how in the hell had he known how bad she wanted that breed of cat? They hadn’t talked about—and it hit her.
The film meeting yesterday.
All of the coaches and staff had gotten together to watch a film before their next pre-season game, and she’d let Bear use the mini lint roller she always had in her bag. She’d told him it was so she’d be prepared for when she finally got a Maine Coon.
Cal must have overheard and taken the time to find the fridge in her favorite color and the perfect stickers to go on it. So much for her avoid-seeing-Cal-so-she-wouldn’t-think-about-Cal plan. The way things were going, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause—and part of her didn’t even care.
…
“Did you hear a word I just said, Matsen?” Coach asked as he sat behind his desk, fidgeting with a mini Zamboni.
“Of course.” Cal turned his head away from the window between Coach’s office and the assistant coaches’ bullpen where Astrid was smiling like she’d just won the lottery. “The Rage’s new forward has a wicked shot and a hard-on for making Jonesy look bad—he can get in line for that, though, and it’s a long one.”
“Not exactly my words,” Coach said with a whatcha-gonna-do shrug, “but yeah, that’s it.”
“The tweaks Astrid made to the training schedule have helped.” Cal leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees. “She said something about organizational psychology, psy-ops, and emotional triggers. It all sounded like woo-woo crap to me, and I have no idea where she found that BBQ chicken essence stuff, but it worked.”
Her memo had explained that smells were well documented as being a massive subconscious memory trigger for the brain, and he’d thought it was shit, but he’d sprayed the net with it before Jonesy had gotten to their session anyway. The goalie still had an attitude, but he’d visibly relaxed and saved half of the shots Cal had sent his way. That had been the turning point. Since then, Cal had sparingly used the spray but had added other things like background music and even gold stars on Tig’s water bottle that she’d recommended. All of that plus the skills repetition was working.
Coach set down the mini Zamboni on his desk with a smile. “It’s all coming together just like we planned.”
Which should be why Cal was thinking about his job every night. After all, getting Jones back to form was the key to Cal making his second chance at hockey count. Instead, all he could think about when he closed his eyes at night was Astrid and how he could make her smile with the next day’s Diet Coke reveal.
He was so fucked.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
CAL: Favorite hockey mascots. Go.
ASTRID: The Yeti. Who doesn’t love a giant chaos monster? You?
CAL: The Golden Pugs.
ASTRID: The who?
CAL: It was my mighty mites mascot. Our coach had a pug that he dressed up in a gold suit and top hat for every game.
ASTRID: Tig was better in tonight’s pre-season game.
CAL: He’s making progress. But not fast enough.
ASTRID: You say that like he’s got a clock ticking.
CAL: He does. Hockey waits for no man.
ASTRID: Do you miss playing?
CAL: Yeah, mostly because I miss that feeling of being really fucking good at something. Did you miss being around the game during your fuck-hockey period?
