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“Give me a proper one. A real good luck kiss.”
I’d flung my arms around him and kissed him hot and deep, but then I’d heard Leon, and I’d pulled back.
“Tonight, okay?”
“What?”
“After the game. Come to my room.”
Spencer had stood frowning, holding my wrist. I’d leaned up one more time, then shaken him loose.
“I’ve got to get going. I’ll be late for work. But tonight, okay? We’ll celebrate.”
“Wait, Izzy?—”
Had he told me to wait, or was that my guilt talking? I had felt bad, running out like I did. But I’d been up half the night working on concepts, and woken up early to noodle some more. I’d lost track of time, and I was late.
Leon poked his head in. “Should I make nachos?”
I jerked where I sat, jolted back to the present. “Nachos? Uh, yeah. I could eat nachos.”
Leon ducked out again, and I woke up my phone. I pulled up Spencer’s contact and started to type.
CHAPTER 9
SPENCER
Coach Nelson was a big man. I was taller than he was, at least by a hair, but he was heavier, wider, broader in the shoulders. He had a great bushy beard, black shot with white, and a vein in his forehead that twitched when he talked. The rest of the guys had made themselves scarce, and he stood looming over me as I hunched on the bench.
“I asked you a question.”
“Huh?”
“Where’s your head at?”
“I thought it was one of those rhetorical questions.”
He gaped at me, bug-eyed. I thought his head-vein might pop. I swear his beard bristled, standing up by itself.
“Rhetorical, what? Where’d you learn that word? You don’t need a word like that taking space in your head, goddamn five-dollar word nudging out hockey. All I want in that head of yours is technique. Technique. Where’s your technique at? Where’s your finesse?”
I thought about telling him to check up his ass. I thought about asking what “finesse” even meant. I didn’t have head-room for smart words like that.
“Sorry,” I said instead. “Guess it’s an off-night.”
“An off-night? It’s game night. You can’t have an off-night.” His head-vein pulsed harder. His beard rose and fell. “Your team’s doing their part. They’re feeding you the puck. You gonna just waste that, and not follow through?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“You sure about that? Or do I need to keep yelling? Or, what, you need coddling, you need a hug?” He said hug like a curse word, and his whole forehead rippled. His brows drew together, so close the hairs touched, and I thought of something Dan had said once — like two worms, those brows of his, two caterpillars. Two hairy black crawlers trying to bump butts.
I covered my mouth and choked back a chuckle. “I’m good,” I said. “I just need a minute.”
“He needs a minute.” Nelson addressed the whole locker room, though no one was listening. He threw up his hands and shook his big head. “You take your minute, but only a minute. When that horn blows, I want you focused. Head in the game, no bull, no excuses.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.” He went away. I slumped on the bench, my whole body aching. I wasn’t superstitious — not that superstitious — but I couldn’t shake the feeling this came down to Izzy. I’d needed her last night, this morning, all day. Needed that charge I got when it was just us together. I couldn’t explain it, but she made me feel strong. No, more than strong. Invincible. Heroic. When she looked up at me and she told me good luck, it felt like more than just words. It felt like a blessing.
She’d run out so fast today, one kiss and poof. She hadn’t even said it, hadn’t wished me good luck.
