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Once I was done, he blew on them and then carefully drew out his phone. We posed for a selfie, showing off our nails. Mason posted it to hisInstagram.
The guys ribbed us as we went about getting ready for the game. I kept the secret to myself anytime they questioned me. But Mason, like the dork he was, clasped his green hands together and intoned like a prayer, “Power of the polish.”
“Power of the polish!” Jones screamed and attacked me. He was the closest to the net when the final buzzer sounded, and he lifted me off my skates in his bear hug. The team was seconds behind, and they bulldozed into the group hug, shouting “Power of the polish” into my ears.
When we eventually pulled apart, I was slightly dizzy. They had spun me around too much. Also, my eardrums may haveruptured.
Not having joined in the hug-pile, Sebastian skated up and steadied me with a hand on my arm. Once he was sure I wasn’t going to tip over, he let me go and heldup a puck.
“Congrats on your first shut out.” His face was as blank as usual when he was on the ice, but I could have sworn I heard a smile inhis voice.
I took the puck that would be joining my collection, which included the first puck I ever stopped, the first puck I let in, a puck from Rachel McCarthy, and a few others.
“Ms. Warren. We saw the pictures posted by Mason Frey before the game. Do you really think painting your nails in the locker room is appropriate?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? Everyone has a routine before games.”
“Yes, but you also painted Mason Frey’s nails. Don’t you think forcing your femininity onto your teammates is going to affect their game?”
“I wasn’t forcing anything on anybody.” I was getting tired of this guy and was one more stupid question away from losing my shit.
“Well, the team needs to be aggressive on the ice, and girly nail polish could diminish their confidence. You have a responsibility to keep your female activities to yourself to preserve the environment ofthe NHL.”
“Excuse me?” I said, leaning forward. But before I could say anything else, Jones darted into the impromptu press conference taking place in the hallway. He paid the reporters no attention and came up to my side.
“Damn, Warren. I should have taken you up on your offer. Those nails are fierce. But I don’t think that pink is for me.” Blocking me from view, he steered me back into the players’ lounge. The press tried to follow but were blocked by half the Blizzards’ defensemen. Good luck getting through them. In other news, I was never leaving the lounge before the rest of the guys again, no matter how badly I needed to walk out the cramps inmy thighs.
“How about orange?” I asked Jones.
“Philly orange? God no!”
“You’re right. That’s my bad. I can do Blizzards’ blue and white.”
“That’s morelike it.”
“There you are, Warren! Are we going out to celebrate?” Henry Nicks asked, emerging from the kitchen area with a protein shake in hand.
“Oh, God no. I’m dead tired but have a drink inmy honor.”
“Will do.” Nicks saluted me with his shake and wandered away. A second later, I heard, “Decker! You coming outtonight?”
Jones slung an arm around my shoulders. “Aw, you’re not going to celebrate, Warren? What are you, an old woman?”
“Just not feeling a bartonight.”
“What about a night in? Some video games? A couple non-alcoholic beers?”
God that sounded perfect. Well, not the beers. But the rest? “I’m downfor that.”
“Great, come on.” With the arm over me, he dragged me into the locker room. He looked around and immediately found his target. “Oi, Kingston. Video games tonight at your place? You, me, and Warren? We need a Mortal Kombat rematch. I’m pretty sure you cheated last time.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I didn’t cheat. You just suck, but sure. Let’s make a night of it. You coming too, Frey?”
Mason’s head perked up from his locker. “Old-school Mortal Kombat? You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”
“Eat it, Frey!” Jones yelled.
“Don’t get cocky, bitch! I’m on your ass,” Mason shot back, and his character kicked Jones’ inthe face.
