“Who are we?” I shout as the sticks continue to tap.
“U. S. A!” the team shouts.
Sticks are tappingeven harder.
“Who are we?” I shout louder.
“U! S! A!”
“WHO ARE WE?”
“USA!”
We all skate away, cheering with the excitement of being here. There’s so much to do on play days, and so little to do on off days. I know we need to keep warmed up, but I need to find the balance between practicing too much, where we’re sore and worn out, and not enough practice, where our plays are getting sloppy.
My legs ache, and my lungs burn as I head into the locker room to change. I can hear the team chatting about our drills today. They seem happy with how things went, and I am genuinely proud to be their captain.
The opening ceremonies are tonight, and I can’t wait to mark that experience off my checklist.
I’ve been staring at my phone ever since I put my number in Drunk Woman’s phone. Even after all that, I still never got her name. And who the hell was I to give her my information? I didn’t even give a fake number like I’ve done in the past.
I think I’m getting soft.
My phone dings, and I’m almost afraid to check it. What if it’s her? What would I even say?
Our last encounter was a bit of a doozy. I thought for sure she was going to clock the guy behind the counter. Honestly, it would be deserved. At least investigate the situation if a customer tells you that someone was in their hotel room. I’m sure she had leverage by threatening to get her lawyer involved.
It would have been fun to see her punch him, though.
And why did I feel the need to touch her and drag her away from the situation? My hand went right to her waist without thinking. It felt natural. I dragged her drunk ass to her hotel room one time, and now I’m her knight in shining hockey gear?
No fuckin’ way.
My phone dings again, and I practically lunge for it this time.
What the fuck was that for, Skye? Calm down.
But I can’t calm down because it’s an unknown number that texts me, and it starts out with an introduction.
It’s her.
It’s Drunk Woman.
Drunk Woman:Hey, this is Violet. My friends call me Vi, so I guess you can too. I typed this message three times before I finally decided to send whatever I came up with, so I apologize in advance for whatever my hands say.
I smile at my phone. Actually smile. Who is this girl, and why does she have me feeling like I can’t dislike her?
Skye:Hey, Violet
Seriously? All I’m going to say is her name? It is a nice name, though. She looks like her name would be Violet. Put together, but it can also be a mess when things aren’t going right. Willing to talk to anyone about everything and make new friends in social situations.
I never analyze people like this. I need to stop.
I’m adding her contact to my phone when her reply comes through.
Violet:That’s all you’re going to say after I basically word-vomited all over you about absolutely nothing?
Skye:I’m sorry. I wasn’t reallysure how to reply to someone who sounded like they were having an aneurysm.
