Page 20 of Josh’s Play

Campbell

I’d never kissed a guy before, and just like that, I had. And not just any guy, but Joshua Marchetti-Gordon, the guy I’d been pretending I didn’t want to kiss since the day I spied him with his arm propped up, sitting in the waiting room of a medical office.

He brushed my arm as he maneuvered around me, and our gazes met and held. I knew I wanted him, and I knew he could see it in my stare.

And those impossibly blue eyes? What were they saying to me? I’m sorry? I’m not sorry?

“You all right?” he asked, and I could barely even nod in response though I tried for a small smile.

He slipped out and down the hall, and moments later, Noah arrived with two of our teammates.

“There you are. You're here early. Who’s the little guy?” our team captain, Ethan, asked.

Noah slapped him. “Everyone’s little compared to you, you unnatural, giant freak.” Ethan rubbed his arm though Noah had just tapped him.

“That was the guy from the party the other weekend, right? Josh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said distractedly. “We’re in that sports journalism class together. I'm gonna teach him hockey, and we’re gonna blog about it or some shit like that.” I attempted to sound blasé, all the time wondering how flushed my cheeks were and if the guys could see what was happening behind my sweatpants.

I was able to get out of further conversation when our coach appeared on the opposite side of the ice.

“Oh, good. Everyone’s up bright and early. Ryan, my office.”

“Yes, sir.” I scooped up my safeties and crossed the ice. Even just gliding from one side to the other gave me that rush that being on the ice always did, centering me, calming me. I pulled my fingers through my hair as I slowed on the other side and followed our coach down the hall.

Staring at his back, I wondered what he wanted. Could he possibly have been in the arena the whole time? Had he seen me with Josh?

“Glad you’re here early. Have a seat, Ryan.”

Coach Weadner sat behind his desk, and the assistant coach entered, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

Neither spoke, so after I nodded a good morning to the assistant, I questioned, “Sir?”

“I’ve got a friend in Buffalo, Ryan.”

“Buffalo, sir?”

“Denny Maltby. He and I played together in college, and he …”

“He’s assistant coach for the Buffalo Blizzard.”

“That he is, son.” Coach Weadner paused. Whether he meant it to or not, it came off as being for dramatic effect. I sat up straighter and waited.

“He’s sending a scout, Campbell. So I need you focused and healthy and ready to impress. Because I believe you can, son. I know you can.”

I had walked into that room in a fuzzy haze for one reason and left it shocked for a completely different reason. The Buffalo Blizzard were sending a scout to watch me play. I resolved then and there to keep my eye on the prize. Like Coach had said, I needed to stay focused. I couldn’t be kissing boys in front of the players’ bench, or anywhere else for that matter. Putting hockey first was a decision I had made years ago. I couldn’t forget that, not when my dream was there within my reach. If I could make it come true, the sacrifice would be worth it.

After morning practice, I showered and threw on my sweats. I was sitting on the locker-room bench, my gym bag between my legs, wondering how I was going to work with Josh on our project and not have a repeat of what had happened on the ice earlier that morning.

I felt a slap on my shoulder.

“Cam, you all right?”

“Huh?”

“What’s up with you today, man? Let’s go eat, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I said distractedly.