“Girl, he absolutely would have had a celebratory fuck in the booth in front of everyone with you. Even in that pink suit.”
“I’m burning that suit.”
“You’ll make Aunt Trina cry.”
“I’m not—” I add a stack of vinyl hockey-themed stickers to the cart. “I’m not, like, hockey-girlfriend material.”
“Well yeah, you haven’t maxed out your credit card on boob implants.”
“Also, why are we even having this conversation? I can’t be lusting after one of my players. I promised my dad.”
“Uh, I’m sorry.” Harlowe rolls her eyes. “I know our entire family is like intermarried and extremely enmeshed, but your dad and you had a convo about you sleeping with the players?”
“He’s very concerned. It could affect his job.”
“If you getting your pussy slammed is going to get him fired, he needs to get a new job. It’s the holidays. He could walk into the Christmas market and get a job.” She smirks. “At least if your dad finds a new coach, you can freely fuck Fletcher to your pussy’s content.”
“Ew. Don’t ever say those words.”
“You have a discontented cunt.”
I clap my hands over my ears. “Not listening! I’m not listening!”
Before we start practice,I rock slightly on my skates as I hold the oversized blue bag with glittered stars hot-glued on it. My mom and I spent all afternoon making it.
“I just want to give ourselves a big round of applause. Each and every one of you gets a sticker.” I hold out the sheet. “Don’t leave these on your shirts, because they get ruined in the washing machine. You can put them on your face.”
“Can I have the net?” Jovi asks excitedly when I show him the sticker options.
“How come Cookie gets a prize?” one of the rookies whines.
“Anyone who scored can get a prize.”
“Murph set up assists. Can he have a prize?”
“I’ll defer my prize to the group.” Zayne smiles indulgently at the players.
“You can have an extra sticker. How’s that?” I offer.
He tilts his head down so I can stick it right on his chin.
“What about Ren? We would have lost without him,” Carlsson says.
I wrap my arms around the goalie’s neck and pat his helmet. “Seriously, Ren, fantastic goaltending. We wouldn’t have won without you. Ren can get a prize, too, out of the surprise bag. And Ren”—I pull off a new sheet of stickers—“also gets a whole sheet to himself.”
“As long as you keep me out of prison, darling,” he says, accepting the stickers and pasting them on his helmet, “you’re doing right by me.”
“Carlsson, with an amazing goal in first period.” I wave him up. The big man digs around in the bag and comes out with a stuffed rabbit wearing a Christmas hat.
“Heikkiläinen!” The blond man has a big grin on his face as he skates up. “Coming in with that beauty of a goal in second period!”
“Lego!” he announces, pulling out the small Santa’s sleigh kit.
“What?” Carlsson complains. “I didn’t know there were Legos in there. I want a do-over.”
“No do-overs,” Fletcher announces as Cookie skates up and practically sticks his whole body into the bag.
“Seriously?” Carlsson demands.
