Wednesday, December 22, 2010
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRxrvTexb3E omg he speaks fluent French? I’m dead
“Look at that face. Oh my god son, you’re breaking my heart.” Jon looked up from lacing his skates to find goalie Turco standing over him shaking his head.
“I know, pathetic isn’t it?” red headed defenseman Brian Campbell was next to throw his five cents in. Jon went back to tugging at his laces. He didn’t expect them to understand and he sure as hell wasn’t about to let their ribbing distract him from the game. The ache he had in his chest was already doing that.
“You gonna be okay kid or do you want to borrow Kaner’s soother?” Keith asked as he passed, tapping the blade of his stick against Jon’s shins. Jon didn’t look up. He should be used to this by now, he told himself as he gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the snickering of the rest of his teammates. If they wanted to laugh at him, at the expense of his feelings, he’d have to let them. He had a god damn job to do out there and if he blew up at his teammates he’d expend energy he intended to use against the visiting Oilers.
“Don’t listen to them kiddo,” Sharpie sat heavily on the bench next to him. Jon glanced sidelong at his older, but he knew from experience, not always wiser teammate. “You gonna be okay out there?” Jon nodded silently. He would be fine once he hit the ice. That was his office, his home away from home. He’d forget how much it hurt that she’d just left without a word once he got out there, in front of the fans and felt the vibe of a real game. “Good,” Sharpie smiled and Jon went back to his skates.
Edie slipped the jersey over her head. She was glad to have her cleavage finally covered but it felt strange to be putting on the red and white and not the blue and green of her home team. Still, as she glanced down at the visiting team stepping out onto the ice, she wasn’t a fan of the Oilers either.
“Looks good on you.” Edie looked down at the Native chief’s head logo on her chest and winced.
“Feels weird,” she replied honestly.
“I gotta send a picture of this back home,” Carolyn squealed, holding her phone up and ignoring the look of warning that Edie shot in her direction. “Oh c’mon, turn around,” her co-worker grinned. Rolling her eyes, Edie turned her back to the camera and brushed her hair out of the way of his name. “You’re never gonna live this down Edes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Edie sighed, and was about to say more, but a roar suddenly erupted, drowning out her warning. She moved to the edge of the box and looked down at the ice. The Hawks players were making their way onto the ice and her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of the number nineteen on his back.
“Did you want to go down to ice level to watch the warm up?” She looked over at Peter who had suddenly appeared at her side.
“Would that be...possible?” she asked, her pulse suddenly doubling as she turned her gaze back to the men circling the ice at speed. You couldn’t hear their skates biting into the ice from here, and she couldn’t see his face. She longed for both.
“Sure, let me get an usher. We can probably even arrange to have you meet some of the guys after the game, get you an autograph or two if you like,” he added, signalling to someone over her head.
“That would be...great,” Edie replied with a grin, “just great.”
Would he be able to see her, she wondered, from wherever they ended up near the ice. She didn’t have to ask herself how she felt about that. Her rapid pulse and clammy hands were answer enough.
“This way,” a hulking security guard with a flashlight that looked like a weapon and a walkie talkie that looked more like a brick appeared behind her. With a grateful smile aimed towards their new client, Edie turned to follow the big man back into the hall and, a few steps away, into a small private elevator that he had to open with a key that she was willing to bet not just any old Tom, Dick or Harry would have access to.
It took less than two minutes for them to find themselves squeezing past the Zamboni and walking towards its’ entrance, right behind where Marty Turco was working on his knees, blocking shots and tipping them towards the boards. Edie searched the ice for his jersey, his number and his chocolate coloured eyes. He was lined up at the blue line with some of his other teammates. He was shuffling his feet, tapping the blade of his stick on the ice impatiently and wearing a seriously grim expression.
“I’d say you wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley right now, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t agree with that statement.” Edie was already regretting having told Carolyn anything, except she’d been fairly sure if she hadn’t she’d have imploded but she didn’t answer her friend’s assertion. She was too busy reminding herself to breathe and remain upright as he took two leaping strides before he began streaking towards Turco and the net at full speed.
“Holy hell,” she coughed, her entire body swaying towards the glass and the nearer he got the thicker the air got and the harder it was to draw it into her lungs. The puck ricocheted off the glass right over their heads. Carolyn let out a loud squeal that made everyone around them turn and look, including Jon as he skidded to a halt just in front of the net, sending a shower of snow towards Turco, who justifiably gave him a shove with his hefty goalie stick.
“He’s taller than I remember,” Carolyn slapped her hands against the glass to get his attention but Edie knew that particularly annoying sound wasn’t necessary. A slow, sweet smile was spreading across his perfect mouth as his gaze locked with hers’.
‘Hi’, she mouthed, pressing her hand up against the glass.
He didn’t think he’d been this happy or this nervous since he’d tossed the first pitch at Wrigley. His heart was racing and he knew he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn’t help himself. He pressed his gloved hand against the glass in line with hers’ and stood there, grinning. Holy shit, he thought to himself, she is so fucking beautiful.
“You came back,” he finally managed to say and she nodded, grinning back at him. For a moment he wondered what this looked like, with him standing there with his hand and face pressed up against the plexi-glass but then he decided that everyone in the stands were hella lucky that there was glass in between the two of them, or he’d probably have already had her out of that jersey by now.
“I guess I can’t stay away,” she called back, her sexy voice muffled by the thick glass that was the only thing keeping them from doing something indecent and illegal.
“Can I see you? After the game?” he asked, his heart stopping as he held his breath, waiting for her answer. She seem to think about it and for a moment he was almost sure she was going to shake her head and say something like she was going to leave right after the game or something like that and he felt his smile fade as she just stared blankly up at him. But then she surprised him, pleasantly, by smiling and nodding. “Right on!” he was back to grinning like an idiot and he pumped his fist as if he’d scored a goal. She laughed. He couldn’t really hear it through the glass but he already knew the sound and just thinking about the sound made him hard. “Where are you sitting?” he asked, looking around for someone to open the gate so he could smell her hair, feel her soft, smooth skin. She looked around, with a puzzled frown like she didn’t know and then her sexy, playful smile reappeared as she pointed up toward the boxes. Jon followed her line of sight and saw two of the Hawks’ owners standing near the front of one of the boxes. He frowned back at her, unsure if that was really where she meant to point. “You know the Wirtz’s?” he asked and she just grinned and shrugged. Shaking it off and deciding it didn’t matter if it meant he could see her, touch her again, Jon motioned to the spot she was standing at. “Be here, after the game, I’ll find you.” She shook her head.
“Peter said he’d bring us down to meet some of the players after the game,” she called back to him, wearing that mischievous grin that made him want to do things to her that would get him arrested for sure. “Do you think I could get your autograph, Mr. Toews?’ she asked, biting down on her bottom lip even as she answered his unspoken desire with ideas of her own that showed clearly behind her eyes.
“Absofuckinglutely,” he replied, growling in frustration at being kept from touching her. “I can’t fucking wait.”
“Better play good then,” she called back at him, stepping back from the glass so he could see that she was wearing his jersey. It hadn’t really registered with him until that moment bit seeing it did nothing to make him feel better about wearing a protective cup right at that moment.
“I’ll score for you,” he called back, reaching for a puck with his stick and with a twist of his wrists picked it up on the blade of his stick and flipped it towards the top of the glass. He watched it go up and over and when he looked back, she was watching it fall, right onto her friend, the tiger girl from last night’s face. He laughed and shook his head as her friend let out a blood curdling screech. Edie merely shrugged and then turned to put her arms around her friend, leading her away from the glass.
“Is that your little bed buddy?” Sharpie asked, giving Jon a shove as he happily skated away from behind the net. For his part, Jon could only grin and nod. He was going to have to have a cold shower before the game started. He could hardly breathe, let alone answer questions. “She’s definitely a hottie,” Patrick added and Jon felt his grin grow, but again, he only nodded before heading for the bench and the dressing room and then a very, cold shower.
This game was going to last for fucking ever.