Pucking Around: Chapter 6

“Ready to go?” Caleb is standing in my doorway holding a travel mug. He’s dressed in a Jacksonville Rays tech shirt, a pair of workout pants, and trainers. His coppery brown hair is slightly damp, curling at his nape, and he didn’t bother to shave. His five o’clock shadow from yesterday is officially stubble today, and I don’t hate it.

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” I say, leaving the door open as I dart back in to grab all my stuff off the counter.

I only left his apartment about an hour ago. I spent the night on his couch wearing a pair of his grey sweatpants to hide my bare ass. At some point in the night, Sy joined me. I woke up to my alarm, body sweating, with sixty pounds of dog tangled between my legs.

I slipped out while Caleb was still sleeping and did a barefoot walk of shame down to the leasing office. I was ready and waiting the moment the guy arrived at 7:00AM. He was cool about it, dropping everything to help me get back inside my unit. I barely had time to shower and get dressed before Caleb was knocking on my door, ready to drive me over to the arena.

“Here,” I say, hurrying back over.

He holds out his free hand and I give him my spare key. “What the hell is this?” he mutters, looking down at it like it’s a live tarantula. “A little forward don’t you think, Hurricane?”

“Ha ha,” I say drolly, closing the door behind me. “Look, you’re literally the only person I know in this city, okay? We work together and now we share a wall. For now, you’re my person. The moment I find someone to relieve you of this heavy responsibility, I’ll take the key back, thus sparing you the continued horror of being associated with me.”

He frowns, closing his hand around the key. “How do you know I won’t use my newfound power for evil?”

I snort, snatching the travel mug out of his hand. Of course, the one thing I forgot at Target last night was coffee. I need a fix more than I need air. I take a sip of his and instantly regret it. “Blegh—holy shit, that is so sweet.” I shove the travel mug back at him while he laughs.

“No one asked you to try it.”

Gross! Now I want sandpaper for my tongue to scrub this taste away. “What kind of psycho drinks peppermint mocha in the middle of summer?”

He just keeps laughing, leading the way towards the stairs.

“I take it back,” I call.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“A guy who drinks peppermint coffee can’t be trusted with my key.” I hold out my hand. “Give it back, please.”

He just keeps walking. “Too late, Hurricane. It’s my key now. And if you think I won’t use it to go in there and rearrange your seashell collection whenever I want, then you clearly didn’t think this through.”

“I hate you,” I mutter, dropping my hand to zip my backpack.

He just grunts.

I guess this is our new friend language. Insults and grunts.

I sling the backpack on my shoulder, following behind him. His movement pulls my focus from my phone. He’s got a definite hitch in his step this morning, favoring his left leg. “Hey—are you—you’re limping. You okay?”

His shoulders stiffen and he doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, m’fine. Knee is just tight.”

I purse my lips, watching him work his way down the first set of stairs. My physical therapist alarm dings as I evaluate his posture and gait. He’s in pain. Was he limping yesterday? I don’t think so…

I gasp. “Oh god, was that from last night? Caleb, did I hurt you? You know we can take the elevator—”

“No,” he grunts again. “Leave me alone.”

Great, now you’ve pissed him off.

Apparently, it’s going to be one step forward, three steps back with this guy.

We get out to his Jeep and the first thing I notice is that he’s got the soft top on it. I’m secretly grateful. I love a windy Jeep ride as much as the next Cali girl, but I was kind of hoping to make a good impression today. And Jeep hair and sex hair make pretty much a perfect circle.

I was ready just in case. My hair is up in a styled high ponytail. Add one more thing to my missing shopping list: contact solution. I’m out, so instead of wearing itchy contacts all day, I had to opt for my glasses. They’re cute enough—thick black frames that Tess says make me look like a brunette Elle Woods.

Well, Doctor Elle, because I’m wearing a set of navy scrubs. I’m not sure what the uniform will be, but a doctor can never go wrong with scrubs.

“Any chance we have time to stop for coffee?” I say as we both get in.

“There’s coffee at the practice arena,” he replies, still acting surly. “Usually, a breakfast spread too. It’s for players, but they never eat it all, and no one cares when staff picks at it.”

As soon as the Jeep starts rolling backwards, my phone dings with a text. Scott Tyler is the newly appointed team doctor for the Rays. We talked on the phone twice the day I won the fellowship. He’s chipper and he used the word ‘cool’ a lot. A major change from stoic Doctor Halla.

DR. TYLER (8:13AM): Welcome to Jax! My kiddo has a dentist appt this am, so I’ll be in a bit later. Have Sanford take you to see Vicki. Then shadow Avery til I get in

I purse my lips, glancing over at Caleb. I’m trying to gauge his lingering level of grumpiness. He seems calm enough, sipping his gross coffee with his eyes on the road.

“Doctor Tyler just texted,” I say.

No response.

“He’s delayed this morning,” I go on. “Says you should take me to see Vicki. Who’s Vicki?”

“Operations Manager,” he replies. “She’s a real ball-buster.”

“And who is Avery?”

“Head of PT.”

I run down the growing list of names and positions in my head. Right, Todd Avery is his name, I think. “And is he a nice guy?”

“I don’t work with him much,” Caleb replies. “He’s tough. Has a bit of an attitude. Guys don’t have much to say about him yet. We don’t really have any major injuries yet though, so ask me again in a month.”

Right, brand new team. New staff. Clean slate. Everyone is untested, not just me.

“Doc Tyler is popular though,” he adds. “He’s got great energy. And the first thing he did was make the dietitians up the guys’ daily carb intake. That went over well.”

I smirk. It’s a clever way to gain loyalty. People don’t bite the hand that feeds.

I relax back into my seat. “So, what do you think of the team so far? Do we have high hopes for a good first season?”

He shrugs. “First seasons are always rough. The guys have to figure each other out. They can practice all they want, but the only way forward is to just play the game. They need experience. Real experience playing as a team when it counts.”

“Hmm, trial by fire,” I say. “Or in this case ice.”

“Exactly. You can see the arena now,” he adds with a point.

I peer out the front windshield, unable to hide my smile as the unmistakable silhouette of a brand-new arena comes into view.

“They’re still finishing construction,” he says, needlessly pointing to the pair of cranes. “But the practice center is off to the left over there.” He points towards another smaller complex. “The center is finished and all the support spaces, the gyms, the offices. First ten games of the season had to be switched to away so they could finish up the new arena. The travel will be brutal, but the tradeoff is then we’ll be home for like a month solid. That pretty much never happens.”

I sit back again, fighting the buzzing of nerves rising in my stomach. It feels like the first day of school. “So, tell me about the guys. Any divas I should know about? Bad blood? Feuds?”

He glances over at me with a frown. “Did you do any research before taking this job?”

“Nope,” I reply cheerily. “No time. I was waitlisted for the Barkley Fellowship, and I only found out I was getting off the bench exactly…” I check the time on my phone. “Yep, 48 hours ago. In that time, I’ve been a little preoccupied with packing up my entire life, getting stuck in airports, hunting down bags, getting locked out on my own balcony, and dealing with your grumpy ass,” I add with a side glare. “So no, I can honestly say I don’t know a damn thing about the Jacksonville Rays. I can’t name you a single player. I didn’t even know the team existed until they told me I was moving here. But I’m a quick study.”

He huffs a laugh. “Jeez. Talk about your trial by fire.”

“Right?” I add with a grin. “So, maybe my new key-wielding wall mate can help a girl out…give me the deets. What’s the skinny? What’s the haps? The dirt?”

He groans. “Please stop.”

“Talk, or I keep going,” I tease. “The 411, the gossip, the—”

“Fuck, stop,” he growls. “God, you’re worse than a chihuahua.”

“And I haven’t even had caffeine yet,” I reply with a smile.

He sighs, his hands flexing on the wheel. “The guys are cool. Some have worked together before, like Karlsson and Langley. They’re the first-string wingers. They’ve got a good rhythm. The goalie is dynamite. He was the first guy the Rays signed. Mars Kinnunen. They call him the Bear.”

“Oooo, why do they call him the Bear?”

He smirks. “Meet him and find out.”

“And defense?” I know enough about hockey to know how important the defensive players are. They typically work in pairs, and some players can go for years skating with the same guy if the chemistry is good.

“Solid,” he replies. “More solid than offense. Today they have an exhibition game.”

I nod. We’re pulling into the training complex now and I lean forward, excitement humming through me.

“My buddy is on the team,” Caleb goes on as we drive into the dark parking garage. “He was the first defenseman they signed.”

I glance his way, slipping my sunglasses off and trading them for my regular frames. “That’s so cool. And now you get to work together?”

“Well, you asked about divas,” he says. “Just know that you’ve been warned.”

“Uh-oh. What’s his name?”

“Compton,” he replies. “No. 42, Jake Compton. Be sure to give him hell. I guarantee he’s earned it.”

He pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine as I laugh. “Okay, will do. Jake Compton is officially on my naughty list.”