Page 7

Yeah. I need to find my own apartment. With some luck, hopefully this will work out. And if it doesn’t, then maybe it’s a sign that the Mules really isn’t the team for me and St. Louis isn’t destined to be the home I’m trying to make it.

Ander

“Did you say Ivanov’s coming over?” I ask Ryan with more excitement in my voice than I intend. It causes Shutzie, my puppy, to stop in his tracks chasing after the ball I’ve been tossing for him and look at me with his head cocked to the side.

Shutzie was a slightly impulsive acquisition. I’ll admit that. But I’m thrilled to have him. He’s good company for me since I’ve been spending so much time alone and he has endless energy to burn so he keeps me busy. Which is great, because lately for some reason, whenever I slow down, all I can see is Ivanov in that damn Speedo. I don’t know why I can’t get that image out of my mind. It’s probably just as simple as being shocked by seeing someone out of context. Or like a hermit crab out of its shell. It’s weird though, and unexpected.

But there’s nothing weird about Ivanov at all. Which is quite the accomplishment considering he’s a goalie and we’re all at least a little bit strange. Or that’s what I thought. Hell, that’s what everyone’s always thought. So why does Ivanov seem so comfortably normal? Normal enough that he stood in my parents’ house in nothing but a skin-tight Speedo for an entire day. Which is far longer than the rest of his teammates lasted. It’s almost like he was trying to intimidate me while wearing it.

It might have worked. Because suddenly my heart is racing and I’m feeling a bit nervous about his arrival.

“Yes. He’s coming by to look at an apartment,” Ryan says, then looks at me and Shutzie sternly from where he’s grabbing beers out of the kitchen. “I swear to God, Ander, if that puff ball pisses on my floor again, I’m wiping it up with your face.”

Shutzie runs back up to me with his ball in his mouth and I pick him up with one hand, to bring him closer to my face. “Can you believe he called you a puff ball?”

In response, the little four-pound caramel and white shih tzu I’m holding licks my face.

Ryan pats him on the head after he hands me a beer, then takes a seat beside Brandon on the couch. The two of them are highly invested in the baseball game that’s on TV. “He is cute, though,” Ryan says, leaning forward to stroke the top of Shutzie’s head again.

“You two should get a pet,” I suggest.

“Absolutely not,” Brandon says, then takes a sip of his beer. “I still can’t figure out why you got one when we’re on the road nine months out of the year.”

“A lot of my teammates have dogs.” I shrug. And it’s true. Hell, Tavish’s golden retriever has an enormous social media following. Fans bring dog toys to our games to exchange with Tavish for pucks. It’s awesome! If fans start bringing gifts for Shutzie, I’ll start throwing my stick over the glass as a thank you for really good ones. That might get expensive though. I guess pucks make more sense.

“Yeah,” Brandon says as he relaxes against Ryan. “And all your teammates with pets have wives and girlfriends at home to take care of them.”

Ryan nudges Shutzie with his foot, encouraging him to bite at his sock. “What are you planning on doing with this dust bunny during road trips?”

“Ideally take him with me.” I shrug. I’ve grown quite attached to him. “But if that’s not possible⁠—”

“Which it’s not,” Brandon says.

“Then Tavish’s wife said she’d watch him. He gets along great with their dog.”

Shutzie lets go of Ryan’s sock then darts across the room, distracted by something else.

“When’s Ivanov getting here?” I ask. I wonder if he likes dogs? I have a hard time imagining him with a dog. He’s so put together. The thought of dog hair embedding itself into his clothes and furniture seems like something that would ruffle his feathers. It’s a good thing Shutzie doesn’t shed.

“Goddamnit, Ander!” Ryan huffs, rising from the couch.

“What?” I ask, taken completely by surprise. I look to where he’s headed. Shutzie is in the dining room sniffing at the shit he just left under the table. “Fuck.” I grimace. “Sorry, Ryan. I’ll take him out.”

Nikolai

Walking up to Ryan and Brandon’s building, I’m feeling nervous. Which is ridiculous. It’s just an apartment. So why am I feeling like I’ve had too much caffeine? That’s an impossibility. I always only have one cup a day. Right when I wake up, the first thing I do is fix myself a cappuccino. Fortunately, Danton and Vicky didn’t mind me hooking up my machine in their kitchen. Unfortunately, their kids have taken an interest in it and now the stainless steel is covered with sticky fingerprints.

My nerves are most likely misplaced excitement from the idea of getting my own place again. This building is nice. It would be smart to sign a lease. I’d enjoy living here, and if I end up getting traded again midseason—and mid-lease—I can sublease it out to someone eager to get into the building.

Feeling good about this decision, I pull the lobby door open, but instead of stepping inside, I’m struck by something as large as the door, but not nearly as transparent.

“Oops. Sorry,” Ander Bouchard says after we bump chests.

The force of him has caused me to stumble back. I cover it by acting as if I was taking a step. I hold the door open and gesture for him to head outside. “Not a problem,” I say as he passes through the door. “I was not paying attention.”

“That’s not very goalie-like of you,” he says with a large dose of teasing.

I stare at him. “Is offseason.”