Hockey Is My Boyfriend: Part Two (3 page)

Then I looked closer, it was my stick bag she had picked up. Oh, yes. Sometimes life handed you an opportunity and you had to take it.

“
E
xcuse me
, I think you’ve got my stick bag.”

The voice was very deep and came from right behind me. I turned and crashed right into the chest of this young guy. Except for the frown on his face, he was kind of cute, with wide brown eyes, light brown hair and curling lips. But he looked young. No actually, he was a weird combination: his face looked about fourteen but his body looked like a man’s. He was tall, over six feet, and from what I could see through his clothes, slim but built.

“Don’t think so.” I replied. These old Bauer stick bags were pretty common, but mine was pretty beaten up, and I thought I recognized its war wounds. I flipped it over, looking for the luggage tag, but it was gone.

“No tags,” I observed. “Only one way to make sure.” I unzipped the bag, to reveal five Easton Stealths. Probably worth more than all my hockey equipment combined and definitely not mine.

“Whoa, nice twigs,” I said, handing over the bag. “Sorry about that.”

He raised his eyebrows in a skeptical way.

“What?” I exclaimed. “Did you think I was trying to steal your sticks?”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

“Oh, come on! As if I could tell you had good sticks in that old bag. Plus my stick bag looks exactly like that. Get real.” I was working up a good head of steam. “Besides, I have my own stick preferences. I wouldn’t even use your sticks.”

Well, I might if I could afford them, but he didn’t know that. The next special handling load arrived. An identical Bauer bag came sliding down the ramp.

“See, there’s my bag. Doesn’t it look exactly the same?” I pointed and turned around to find the guy laughing at me.

“Doesn’t take much to get you goin’.” He snickered.

“Oh, funny.” Maybe I did tend to fly off a little.

“Besides, you look cute when you’re mad.”

So original. “Not true,” I replied. I nestled the stick bag into the top of my hockey bag and got ready to go.

“No?” he asked.

“No, I look cute all the time.”

I took advantage of his stunned silence to take off. But I had a sneaking suspicion someone with hockey gear in July might be headed to exactly the place as me.

Burt Iverson had sounded a little wary when he interviewed me on the telephone. Deirdre gave me a glowing recommendation, but Burt wondered why I couldn’t find a hockey job closer to home.

“Lake Carswell sounds like a great camp, and I’m looking for a new experience,” I replied. No need to mention that I had applied to every hockey camp in B.C. and not even gotten an interview.

“Well, you don’t keep a camp running for twelve years without doing something right.” Burt cleared his throat. “Guess we’ll give you a try. It’s the first year we’re having girls, and we need someone to smooth out those ‘girly problems.’” He was an old-school hockey guy, so I let this go. At least he had started a girls’ section and hired me.

I ducked into the airport washroom. After travelling all day, I wished I could take a shower, but I settled for wiping myself down with wet paper towels, much to the amusement of a little boy waiting for his mom.

The New Brunswick weather smacked me in the face when I exited the airport. It was humid and hot. I took off my sweater and contemplated rolling up my cargo pants. I spotted the camp’s multi-passenger van idling and paying no attention to the no-stopping signs.

“Hi, I’m here for the camp,” I said to the driver. He was a youngish guy with a Habs cap and mirrored aviator sunglasses.

“How’s she going?” he asked with a big grin. “You must be Kelly Tanaker, eh? I’m Mark MacNeil. Trow your gear in the back and take a seat.”

I stood there and stared blankly. After two years with Deirdre, I didn’t think a Maritime accent was going to be a problem, but this guy spoke so fast, it sounded like one long, confusing sentence. I finally sorted out that he had greeted me, mispronounced my name, introduced himself, and directed me to do something.

“Okay,” I replied, after a long pause. He must have thought I was an idiot.

I went towards the back of the bus. There were two young guys in the middle and we nodded at each other. On top of the luggage, I saw a familiar Bauer stick bag. Oh great, him again.

I sat down in the middle section and looked out the window. He came bounding up to the bus, clutching a bottled water and a PowerBar.

“Thanks for waiting, Mac,” he said.

“No
problemo,
Freshy,” said the driver, swinging the door shut and taking off.

The young guy walked through the bus, looked at me, and did a big fake double take.

“I cannot believe this,” he said, grinning.

“What, that someone with hockey equipment would end up at a hockey camp?”

“No, not only did you take my sticks, but now you took my seat.”

“Does it have your name on it?” I challenged him.

He pointed, and too late I noticed his gray hoody on the floor at my feet. “Feel free to throw my stuff on the floor,” he jeered.

I picked up the hoody and dumped it on the seat in front.

“I’m sure you’ll find that seat equally comfortable.”

“I don’t know,” he said, looming over me. Did he want to sit beside me? This bus had lots of seats, no need to share mine. I plopped my pack on the seat beside me. He seemed okay, but kind of weird. Not my type.

Did I even have a type? Well, maybe like Phil: tall, dark, and fun. And this year, I had finally stuck a toe into the dating pool in Montreal. I met J.P. Denis at the rink. He was also tall, dark, and fun, but way more laid-back than Phil. So laid-back, he barely bothered to let me know he was moving back to Europe to play hockey. We weren’t that serious anyway, and J.P.’s departure hardly bothered me. We had fun while it lasted.

It took all of five seconds to relive my entire love life. In any case, I was here to get hockey experience and not to pick up guys. Especially not an L.B., I wasn’t into little boys. Besides, I wasn’t really getting a flirty vibe off him—more of a bratty little brother vibe. Although without his hoody, he looked even better.

He sat down in front of me and immediately turned around. He draped an arm over his seatback, an arm than was tanned and muscular with a bicep so big that it stretched out his t-shirt sleeve. I had time to notice this because he didn’t say anything for ages. His mouth fell slightly open, and he was thinking hard.

Finally, I felt sorry for him. “Hey, I’m Kelly Tanaka.”

“I’m Jimm—James,” he said. It sounded like he was going to say Jimmy, but wanted to switch to the more grown-up version of his name.

“Have you been to this camp before?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid. But I’ve taught there for two years now.” He paused again. “So, you’re not from around here.”

“No, I’m from Vancouver. You know, in beautiful British Columbia.”

“Yeah, I was just in Vancouver—in June.” He said that like it was some big accomplishment and not something anyone with a plane ticket could do. This guy was definitely weird. Too bad, because he was kind of cute. Maybe he was awkward because he was young.

“How old are you?” I wondered.

“How old are
you
?” he responded with a definite edge in his voice.

“Nineteen—with a birthday real soon.”

“Oh yeah, when?”

“July 21st.”

“So, then you’ll be twenty.”

Obviously a math major. “Yeah.”

My age seemed to stump him for a bit. Then he steered the conversation into a bizarre direction. “Your hair looks good like that.”

“Um, thank you.” That was something your girlfriend would say after you’d gotten it cut. Maybe they didn’t have scrunchies in New Brunswick?

There was another long pause, and I jumped in again. “I’m a winger, what position do you play?”

He snorted. “Oh, a winger. Float around near the goal and benefit from all the centre’s hard work.”

“Let me guess: you play centre.”

“Yeah. I’m on the top line at UMaine.”

That was bullshit. No way a guy this young was on the top line at a top school, although I still didn’t know his exact age. What was certain was that Jim-Jam was pretty conceited. I stopped pitying his lack of social skills and looked out the window. It was pretty, lots of green and occasional glimpses of rivers.

“So, are you the cook or something?” he asked.

“The cook? That is such a sexist assumption. I have hockey equipment, why wouldn’t I be a hockey instructor?”

He grinned, “I knew I could get you to talk if I got you mad again.”

I couldn’t help laughing; he was kind of funny in a goofy way.

“So, where do you play hockey? At a U.S. college?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I play at McGill.”

“Oh yeah? How good is McGill?”

“We’re good. I think we have a decent shot at the C.I.S. championship this year.” We came close last season, and most of our players were returning.

“Same here, last season, the Black Bears had our best—” He stopped talking and frowned. “Uh, do you like Taylor Swift?”

“She’s okay, I guess.”

“What’s your favourite movie?” What was it with all these random questions?

“
Slapshot,”
I replied.

“No way, really? I like that too. How about television, what’s your favourite TV show?”

“What is this, Twenty Questions? Why don’t we just talk about hockey? Did you watch the playoffs?”

“You want to talk about the playoffs? Really?”

“Yeah, did you not think the series momentum completely shifted when Conklin let in that goal?”

He nodded and we talked hockey for the rest of the bus ride. It saved the day.

J
immy

W
hen the bus
pulled up to the camp, Kelly was up and out of there in no time. I knew exactly how she felt; I hated being cooped up for too long. I figured our talk on the bus had gone pretty well and maybe my social skills were already improving and I could check that off my list.

Burt Iverson and his wife, Trudy, were there to greet us. They handed out schedules and room assignments. I already knew the three guys I was bunking with; most of us had known each other for years from hockey. I overheard Kelly asking about running trails.

As the last one in my room, I got the bed by the door. I unpacked, and then I headed out to have a look around. Things looked pretty much as they always did. The main lodge and cabins were a camp used by the Boy Scouts in August, and then by different groups the rest of the year. Burt used the lodge for his hockey camp; the arena for the camp was only a 15-minute walk away, through some wooded trails.

I remembered the first time I went to the camp as a kid. I was so impressed by the instructors and totally pumped at the idea of doing nothing but hockey and hockey-training all week. I heard that lately enrolment was not as good at the camp. People preferred to put their kids in camps with fancy equipment. Burt emphasized hard work and polishing basic skills, which was the most important thing for young players.

I walked over to the lodge and followed the voices to find the guys on the big deck that overlooked the lake.

“Holy jeez, check out that ass.”

“Finally, Ivy is stocking this place with some scenery.”

“
Merde
, she’s taking off her clothes. Well, her shoes anyway, Keep going,
bébé.”

“Seriously, I’m in love. She’s as hot as fuck.”

“Riley, you’re always in love. You were in love with the waitress at lunch.”

“You wouldn’t have a chance with her anyways. Outta your league, boy.”

“Who is she?”

“It’s Kelly Tanaka,” I answered, as I joined them. “She’s from Vancouver.” Kelly was stretching at the edge of the dock, completely unaware she was being watched by half the staff of the hockey camp. I leaned over the deck rail and joined the group. I could see she was sweaty after her run and she wearing only a tank top and running shorts, which was pretty hot. She was really flexible, which was also hot.

“Look who it is, boys.” Xavier LeBlanc came over and slapped my back. “Freshy! Whaddaya sayin’? You just get home?”

I nodded. “Straight from the airport. How’s she going, X-man?” Xavier was a good guy; we’d played minor hockey together.

“So, Kelly, right? How d’you know her?” Riley asked. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“We were on the same flight from Montreal. And then on the bus together.”

Dusty grinned. “Lucky dog. The only girl in camp and you’ve already got the inside track.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Steve Owen laughed. “Freshy’s not getting a sniff.” Steve-O was slick and he’d had girlfriends since grade six.

“You never know,” X-man said. “Girls’ll be throwing themselves at him now that he’s going to the show.”

I suddenly realized that might have been Kelly’s agenda. Talking to her had been easy. What if it wasn’t me getting better, but her making it easy? I guess the proof was that she lived in Vancouver and was really into hockey, so she knew me from the draft. It didn’t really matter—she was cute, but she didn’t look anything like my dream girlfriend.

Steve-O snorted. “He’s not in the show yet.”

Well, I could have been if I signed that contract in Chicago, but there was no point bragging on this stuff. I was used to this hassle when I saw guys I used to play with. Everyone measured themselves against me, and some figured the only reason I made it farther was due to luck or chance.

Suddenly, some of the guys hooted. Kelly had run down the dock and done a cannonball into the water, with water exploding everywhere. She was so free.

Everyone broke into spontaneous applause.

“10 out of 10!”

“All right!”

Kelly finally noticed us and waved from the lake. “The water’s great,” she called out. I considered going in too, but with only fifteen minutes until dinner it wasn’t really practical.

Dusty nodded. “She’s some hot out today. Maybe we should join her.”

“No way, I’m staying here for the show,” Riley said. “She’s gotta come out of the water, with her clothes all wet and no towel.”

My feelings about Kelly did another seesaw. I watched as she did some lazy backstrokes and then swam back to the dock. She hauled herself out of the lake, and the water poured off her. Her running top was purple and stuck to her tits now. Her wet shorts clung to her legs and she was perfectly proportioned with a tiny waist and flaring hips. She shook off the water.

“It’s like fucking porn,” Riley sighed. “Should be in slo-mo though.”

“Holy fuck, she’s mint,” Eric said.

Suddenly, Steve-O appeared at the end of the dock. The guy had conjured up a beach towel and offered it to Kelly. He smirked up at us as he wrapped it around her. I could see them talking.

“He’s so fucking greasy.” X-man laughed.

It was weird. On the bus, I liked Kelly and felt comfortable with her. But now all the guys were going nuts over her, it made me look at her differently. I hadn’t thought she was my type, but now I didn’t want anyone else getting near her.