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Coach clapped to grab our attention. “Okay, boys and girl. Let’s get back out there.”
The rest of the game went by a lot smoother. I allowed in two more goals in the second period, but I didn’t let it stop me and shut them down in the third. Our offense, on the other hand, wasn’t able to take back the win, unsurprisingly. All things considered, the 4-6 loss wasn’t too bad. And the hometown crowd agreed.
We received standing applause as we shook hands with the Piranhas. Babin even apologized for the accidental headshot. The team was in good enough spirits considering our loss as we entered the locker room, talking and jeering with each other.
Sweaters and pads started coming off immediately as players wandered back to their lockers.
Coach didn’t have much to say. He would have known his antics in the first period would cost himthe game.
“Okay. We’ve got Friday off, so I’ll see you on Saturday. The vultures are waiting outside, and as much as you hate them, no one deserves to smell you all. Go shower. I will be getting my ass handed to me by our feared owner. Good luck with the evil scavengers. Give them hell.”
Chapter 3
There were many reasons I was grateful not to be the first woman in the NHL. Near the top of the list was the shower argument. When Rachel McCarthy was drafted, there was a huge argument about locker rooms and showers. Obviously, women couldn’t shower with the guys, but you couldn’t remove the women from the locker rooms either because bonding is invaluable for teams. Shutting women out of the space where most of that bonding was done would have been detrimental to the team dynamic. The curtain worked in the locker room, but for the showers, the Vancouver Talons built Rachel a personal shower in their players’ lounge. Desperate to be inclusive in the eyes of the public, the rest of the NHL followed suit and constructed separate shower areas in all home and guest locker rooms for any future women joining the league.
The women’s showers were not as big as the men’s, but with the full space to myself, I had more than enough room to rinse off the rough game. After patting dry, I wrapped my hair up in a towel, slipped on my bra and panties, and went to jointhe boys.
The locker room was a mess—sweaters strewn everywhere and pads shoved haphazardly intocubbies.
I got to my locker and didn’t bother with the curtain. My important bits were covered, and everyone had been avoiding looking in my direction all day anyway. Not that teammates tended to look. There was always locker room etiquette, whether it was all guys or there happened to be a woman on the team. The most basic rule is simple—don’t stare. Get your shit done as fast as possible and try not to make anyone uncomfortable. In my experience, most players in the NHL stuck to that. No doubt they got a lecture from management before a woman joined the team. They didn’t look at me, and I returned the favor. It was professionalcourtesy.
But Lukin didn’t know how to be a goddamn professional.
“Nice,” he said with his strong accent, leaning against his cubby wall, and ran his eyes over me. I could practically feel them leaving a slimy trail on my skin.
Not looking at him, I stepped into my slacks and shoved my arms throughmy blouse.
“I mean on ice. You didnice job.”
Sure, that’s what he meant. I buttoned upmy shirt.
My silence must not have been entertaining because, after a few moments, he stalked off with a huff. Hopefully to wash off that smell. Coach wasn’t kidding;we reeked.
Fully decent, I turned around, and as I suspected, no one else was looking my way. Lukin, however, should take a few pointers on how to not be a fucking creep. It might help him if he didn’t want to get bitched slapped sometime in his life. Whether that slap would come from me or somebody else, I didn’t know. I just hoped somebody recorded it.
Across the room, Mason came out of the showers in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around his hips, and went to his cubby. I scrubbed my hair dry as I waited for Mason to slip his underwear on beneath his towel then joined him. He didn’t even have to look up to knowit was me.
“I’m still pissed at them,” he grumbled softly as more players emerged from the showers. “I lost a lot of respect for everyone, especially Jones and Kingston. They’re usually against rookie harassment. The next time I see Babin, I’m going to punch him inthe face.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t jump the bench when I got hit.” Mason was a mother hen at heart, but I was grateful that he’d kept it together. He knew I could take care of myself and that I wouldn’t want him to embarrass me in front of the guys. If he had, I wouldn’t have taken it well.
“I thought about it for a second, but I didn’t want the next person hit to be me. You’ve got a wicked right hook, and I can’t ruin my pretty face right now.”
“Of course, you can’t.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Not when Drewis here.”
He recoiled, andI laughed.
“Fuck you,” he grumbled shyly and ran his towel over his head, the freshly showered fluff of brown hair undercutting his bitching. He was a fucking puppy, and I couldn’t resist scrubbing my hand throughhis hair.
“Ugh, no. Get off.” He slapped at me, and I dropped my hand.
“But honestly, Mase, it’s fine. Well, not really, I don’t like it either, but just drop it. The quicker everyone gets over this, us included, the easier it will be for everyone. I just want to play hockey. And Babin didn’t mean it. He already apologized.”
He huffed and finished getting dressed into his game suitand coat.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I need food.”
We stopped so I could get my heels, blazer, coat, and bag from my cubby then left the locker room.
