“She is a real coach, Nate.” His sister socks him in the arm. “You were amazing out there, Ellie.”
“And in the interviews.”
“You know what I mean,” my dad backtracks. “Like, a professional coach. Ellie, you saw how rabid the spectators were. I saw how the other players were treating your team. It’s not fair for them to have to deal with that every game.”
“Yeah, okay, Dad. I know.”
“Don’t listen to him. Go get laid! You earned it!” Granny Murray slaps me on the back.
“Not with a player,” my dad begs.
20
FLETCHER
It takes a second for the crowd in the club near the stadium to recognize her, but with the pink suit, there’s no mistaking it. She chews on her lip, looking around as the drunk patrons start pointing and snapping photos. She seems surprised when people want her autograph.
I watch her in the crowd, in that bright-pink suit. The coach responsible for one of the biggest upsets in hockey history.
She sees me in the corner and hesitates like she’s not sure if she should come over. I jerk my head and follow the bright pink as she makes her way through the crowd toward me.
Most of the team is floating around the dance floor, where girls in Orcas jerseys are flirting with our players. And Zayne is actually controlling himself, only nursing a light beer while the younger players crowd around him, reliving the game while he laughs with them.
Ellie slides into the booth next to me.
“Didn’t want to go barhopping with your grandmother?” I slide my scotch over to her.
She takes a sip and winces.
“What? Do you need a pink lemonade and vodka?” I tease, taking it back from her. Because I’m drunk on the beer and the win, she’s actually, for once, not annoying. I try to get the attention of one of the servers.
“Don’t. You don’t need to,” Ellie says in a rush. “I’m not staying.”
“You’re not going to celebrate your first win?” On the TV above the bar, they’re replaying highlights of the game. Cookie floats through the air to score the overtime shot. Then there’s a clip of Ellie taking a swig from a bottle of tequila. “You can’t be that much of a lightweight.” I nudge her.
“Um,” Ellie says. She’s fiddling with her headband. “Sorry,” she says finally, “for, you know—” She nods up to the TV.
I tilt her chin up. “What?”
“You know, for the pink suit and the Barbie music and the, uh, feminine products all over the ice.”
“Don’t care.” I lean in, rest my forehead against hers. “We won,” I whisper. “I won my first NHL game ever in my life, and I scored and got an assist, and we won, Ellie. You can play the Barbie music after every game if we keep winning. I don’t care.”
“I won’t,” she promises, picking at the pink polish on her nails.
“No?” I tease her. “You don’t want to petition Dana Holbrook to officially change the Islanders colors to hot pink and rose gold?”
“That is a superior color combination to the burgundy and gray.” She sniffs.
I set my glass down and tense up when a group of Orcas players head into the club. “What the hell are they doing here?”
“You’re probably in their hunting ground for picking up women,” Ellie says with a forced laugh.
One of them, a defender, Kessler, who smashed me against the boards, sees the pink suit then sees me. Eyes narrowed, heheads in our direction. I stand up and shove away from the table as the guy approaches too fast, calling, “Hey, Barbie!”
I’m going to kill this motherfucker.“What did you just say to my coach?” Kessler takes a step back as I get up on him, the glass clutched in my hand like a weapon.Wish I had my rifle.
“Whoa, whoa there, big guy.” He holds his hands up. I keep my body between him and Ellie. “Man, no wonder you’re a menace on the ice, Sully,” he says conversationally. “My mom and little sister really wanted to meet Ellie. They’re big fans.”
