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Danielle's right hook thudded hard into my palm as I pushed between them. "Ladies, let's keep the violence on the ice. Leave the fighting to the Maple Trees and the Flames."
Lucia huffed. "Maple Leafs, you idiot."
"I'm getting Keith," said Danielle. "He can throw you out."
"Hey, Danielle," Lucia said. "Dumb ass here gave me an idea. Instead of running to daddy, you want to make a little wager on the game?"
Danielle stopped. "I'm listening."
Lucia folded her arms. "Suppose . . . the winner got to humiliate the loser?" she said. "You know, put her in her place. How 'bout the loser strips and dances? I strip if the Flames win. You strip if the Maple"—she glowered at me—"Leafs win. A bare ass naked dance in front of everyone should do the trick. I've got the balls for it. Do you?" She raised her palm. "Bet?"
Uncertainly drifted across Danielle's eyes, then cleared. She smacked Lucia's palm. "It's a bet. Michael's our witness. No backing out."
"No backing out," said Lucia.
I would normally consider alcohol-fueled bets a bad idea, but watching Danielle strut away and Lucia wiggle onto a counter top made this one acceptable. From a purely salacious point of view, I had no preference who won. Both women were easy on the eyes.
Lucia fished a beer out of an ice box. "Damn. Talk about a temper. That woman needs therapy. My name's Lucia, by the way, and what hole did you crawl out of? Maple Trees? Give me a fucking break."
"I came up from Houston for a few months work. Sorry, I don't know much about hockey."
"No shit. It's not that complicated. Look . . . Michael is it? Two teams of six guys get on the ice and try to beat the hell out of each other." Lucia swilled beer. "So, Michael the hockey idiot, what do you think of Calgary?"
"It's cold, but it's a job."
"Yeah, a job would be nice," Lucia said with a sigh, then she pointed at her jersey. "Toronto. Maple. Leafs. Get it? I'm from Toronto. I'm staying with friends while I look for work."
The strains of "O, Canada" drifted in from the living room.
Lucia tossed a beer at me. "Let's go."
We found adjacent seats. News of the wager had spread because heads kept swiveling between Danielle and Lucia, and you didn't need telepathy to read the thoughts running through the heads. Which one do I want to see naked? Is getting a show from Danielle worth a Flames' loss? Screw the Maple Leafs, Lucia, let's see the goods. And so on until the referee dropped the puck.
As the game progressed, and when she wasn't hurling hockey abuse at someone's face, Lucia's explained hockey strategy. Even my untrained eye could recognize a powerful defensive contest. Scoreless, the game ground on.
Maybe because I wasn't giving her shit about her team, or maybe as the only outsiders, Lucia and I hit it off and struck up an implicit alliance. She had a sharp wit, an impulsive mind, and a devilish knack for pushing people's buttons. My proximity offered her modest cover from the brutal ribbing and her encyclopedic knowledge of the game held my interest. My ego basked in her attention and my libido, deprived since leaving Houston, frolicked through the possibilities lurking in her velvety, sandalwood fragrance. It was a favorite of mine.
In the game's last few minutes, the Flames seemed to catch some wind in their sails, pressing the Maple Leafs hard. With a few seconds left, the Flames off
ense broke out, one player boring in on the Maple Leafs goal like a kamikaze. The room roared to life when the Flames' player unleashed a ferocious shot, only to have it swatted away like a mosquito. The buzzer sounded with the players scrambling for the puck.
Score 0 -- 0. A cacophony of curses and armchair coaching blossomed.
Lucia exhaled a long held breath. "Wow, that was close. That Flames forward saved my ass."
"He did?" I asked.
She scooted back in her chair. "Yeah. Pay attention. He decided to be the hero and took a slap shot when he should have passed the puck 'cause there was time to set up a better shot. Bet he gets his balls chewed off."
Lucia nibbled her lower lip and scanned the room as a naughty gleam caught hold in her eyes. A sharp elbow slammed into my ribs. "Know what, Michael? An innocent little strip tease is too cheap for a game this good. I think I'll run up the price. Watch this." Lucia drained her beer and dug her fingers into my shoulder for balance as she climbed unsteadily onto her chair. "Hey, Danielle," she yelled. "Since we're in OT, wanna up the ante?"
The room quieted.
Danielle, curled up against Keith on the sofa, hesitated, then said, "Sure, name it."
Lucia paused for a dramatic beat as the gleam in her eyes ignited into a wicked blaze. "The loser strips AND has to suck off every man in the house. Any way the winner wants it."
A graveyard silence descended. Chips and beer bottles halted centimeters from parted lips. Someone nearby whispered, "Hell yes." Danielle sat frozen like an ice sculpture, her mouth open but no sound coming out. Finally, she thawed enough to look to Keith, but his impassive shrug gave her nothing.
