The Tao of Hockey (Vancouver Vice #1) (4 page)

A
s the days passed
, I got used to Tony’s training program, and my initial exhaustion cleared. I was still pushing my body to new limits, but my stamina was building up and I could recover faster. Tony was a real stickler for details. He watched me doing deadlifts and then pointed out exactly how I needed to position my wrists as I was lifting and what position my feet should be in. He believed that tiny changes in technique made huge differences.

“You have to train exactly right to maximize strength and prevent injury. You’re lucky, Eric. Your yoga background has increased your flexibility. But I’ve never met one player who couldn’t improve his core strength.”

He was the first person to call anything about my hockey career “lucky.” The fact that I was still getting to play pro was a good sign. And my fitness level and diet were at a better level than most. That was something I could thank my mom for. Guys used to laugh at my “healthy crap” diet, but now everyone was doing it.

As usual, there was bitching about the wholesome choices at lunch, but it was mainly the younger guys. The older you got, the more you realized that your body was in a delicate balance and needed proper fuel to function at peak performance.

I loved the food here. But my favourite part of lunch was when Tony weighed in with his opinions on game psychology. In fact, all the guys seemed to enjoy discussing the mental part of the game. Maybe the intensity of the program attracted guys who liked this kind of debate.

Dirk started today’s conversation off. “You know what I don’t get? Yogi here is so into meditation and keeping calm. Isn’t that the opposite of what you want for hockey?”

Reeds snorted. “Don’t worry about Yogi. He’s all zen off the ice, but put a puck in front of him and he’s a fucking menace.”

“Still bitching about that hit on Tuesday?” I asked.

“You don’t hit people in a fucking training scrimmage,” he replied, rubbing his shoulder. He was right though: I was in another zone on the ice. But that only made me feel more confident—like all the parts of my game were coming back.

Tony said, “Intensity is important. Meditation is a form of concentration that can help your mind focus.”

“‘Focus’ is a word that’s overused,” Bomber said. “Everyone wants to be more focused, but what is that exactly?”

“That’s a great question,” Tony said. “I like to think of it as stopping time.”

“Stopping time?” Dirk asked. “Like in sci-fi movies?”

“Yeah, like
The Matrix
. If you could operate out of time, imagine what an incredible player you would be. So by honing your hockey skills with repetition, you can attain a certain amount of extra time. You can pull the right shot or pass out of your muscle memory. But more than that, you have to be able to factor in the physics and human factors of the situation to determine where the puck will go next. That’s the key: how well you can predict the future.”

Bomber nodded. “Like Gretzky said, ‘I skate to where the puck is going, and not where it’s been.’”

Tony nodded. “Everyone aims to do that, but half the time they do end up skating right at the guy with the puck.”

“That’s because consciousness disrupts your focus,” I said.

“How so?” Bomber asked.

“You don’t have time to think about what you should do. You need to do it without consciously realizing it. For me, the best shifts are when I get off the ice and I can hardly remember what happened. But all my synapses were firing and I feel great.”

“You’re so weird,” Dirk said, shaking his head. “If you can’t remember how you scored a goal, how can you do it again?”

But you could never score the same goal again. Each time, the variables would shift. Maybe the next time, the ice would be fresher, or the d-man would be out of position, or the pass would be the right play. You could never predict the future, but you could prepare.

Once Tony took off to do some paperwork, the conversation got more personal.

“So, did you get a line on Cinderella yet?” Reeds asked me. He was the most interested in my pursuit of X.

“Yeah. I’m not going to make a detective anytime soon. I found out that she works as a stuntman, or woman, I should say. But I asked the only guy I know in the film business, and he won’t help me.”

“Did you look online?” Reeds asked.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a directory or something.”

I pulled out my phone and checked. One quick search and a site called Stuntlist came up. Another click on Canada West, then Women, and I was scrolling through headshots.

“Shit. Why did I not think of this?” I muttered.

“Because you’re just a pretty face.“ Reeds laughed.

“Here she is.”

Her name was Josie Ray. Ha, ha, like X-Ray. She looked different in the photo because her hair was long, but she had the same deep eyes and ripe lips. Even looking at that mouth was making mine water. She was looking at the camera without smiling, hand on her hip, wearing a tank top so you could see the muscles of her arm. You could also see the outline of her tits, although this time she was wearing a bra. As an added bonus, her vital stats were listed: 5’10”, 140 pounds.

Dirk was looking over my shoulder. “Soo-ey. When you nail her, I want all the details. A stuntwoman. Shit, maybe she’ll throw you around or something.”

“Maybe. Now I’ve got her name. But unless I’m a stunt coordinator, I’m not getting her contact info.”

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Reeds asked. “Now you’ve got her name, search Facebook or Twitter. Or maybe that Internet movie database. Something’ll come up.”

Bomber groaned. “I am disturbed that you know all this, Reeds.”

“Okay, I’ll search her out tonight.” It would give me something to do in the evening.

Josie Ray turned out to be a ghost. I found her credited on a few movies, but she wasn’t on any social media at all. Another fucking dead end. This was beyond frustrating—at least my sex life had been the one place where I had total control. But now that was turning into another failure.

J
oe’s girlfriend
, Margie, felt sorry for me. She had kids on their own in Toronto, so she worried about motherless me. If she saw my light was on, she’d pop down and invite me up for dinner. Joe didn’t seem to mind. I was burning a ton of calories every day, so I didn’t mind either.

Margie worked in the film business like Joe, except she was in the costume department. Her current job was a television series about some superhero. She was a talker, and she was telling me about her day while Joe was out barbecuing. I was only half-listening until a familiar name popped up.

“Sorry, did you say Josie?”

“Yeah.”

“Josie Ray?”

Margie nodded. “How do you know her?”

“I met her at a pub last week. But we keep getting our wires crossed, so I haven’t been able to connect with her.”

“Oh.” She gave me a skeptical look.

“Do you have her number by any chance?”

She started slicing tomatoes. “Nope. We’re not friends or anything.”

“Hey, maybe I could drop by the set. Where is it?”

“East Van. There’s a big property off Hastings Street, but it’s a closed set.”

“What time do you finish shooting?”

Margie laughed. “Gee whiz, Eric. This is the most excited I’ve seen you about anything other than food. Have you got a crush on her?”

“No way.” It was more like an obsession. “Uh, what’s she like?”

Margie was watching me with a big grin on her face. “She’s nice. Kind of a loner, but she’s a professional. Comes in and does her job. Gets it right the first time. The crew all appreciate that. I don’t think she gets that much work because she’s so tall. Not many actresses that tall.”

She continued as she poured dressing over the salad. Ranch, and way too much of it. “I was fitting her yesterday in this evening gown. She sure looked good in it. You know, I might have a photo on my phone. I was proud of that one.”

Joe walked back into the kitchen and laid a platter on the counter. “Steaks are done.”

“Did you know Eric here has a little crush on this woman I work with?” Margie asked.

He frowned. “Who would that be?”

“Josie Ray. Do you know her?”

Joe shook his head. “Does she do stunts?”

“You
do
know her,” Margie said.

He scowled at me. “How did you find out her name?”

I blushed. “Uh, I finally remembered it.”

“I don’t like it. Sounds like trouble to me. I told you, you should be concentrating on hockey and not women.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Joe. Josie’s all right, why shouldn’t he see her?”

Joe took the platter to the dining room. “Let’s eat.”

Margie followed with the salad, and I brought in the bread and corn. We talked about other things through dinner. Afterwards, I helped Margie with the dishes while Joe watched the Whitecaps game.

“Okay, thanks for dinner,” I said. “I’m off.”

At the top of the stairs, Margie pulled me aside. “Give me your number,” she whispered. “I’ll text you the next time she’s on set. If you wait by the main gate at the end of the day, you’ll see her.”

“Wow. Thanks, Margie.”

“No problem. Don’t mind Joe, he’s a grouch tonight. You and Josie would be cute together.”

When I got back to my suite, I lay down on the couch and wondered what was the best way to handle my second chance with Josie. Maybe Joe was right. She was becoming a distraction. Sometimes stuff like this took on its own momentum, and I ended up pursuing a goal for no other reason than it was challenging. That wasn’t right when it came to people. I wouldn’t go, and I’d tell Margie I had to focus on training.

My phone vibrated, and I found a message from Margie. She had sent me the photo. Josie had on a fancy wig, glittery make-up, and a gold evening gown. She looked incredibly beautiful. I wanted her so bad that I could taste it. But staring at her polished image on the phone, she seemed even more unattainable.

A
few days later
, I finished training and went to my locker. When I pulled out my phone, there was a message from Margie.

Josie’s working. Did you want to know when we’re wrapping up for the day?

Yes!!!

Shit. Three exclamation marks reeked of desperation. Then Margie sent me back a text full of heart and smiley emojis, and I had officially crossed into chick world. Maybe I should just wear pink tonight.

“What are you doing, Yogi?” Dirk asked me. “You just got dressed and now you’re getting undressed.”

“I’m taking a shower.”

Reeds laughed. “Hmmm. He checks his phone and now he’s taking a shower. Sounds like someone’s getting laid tonight.”

That was the plan anyway. I took off for the shower. When I came back, the guys were hanging around.

“Why are you still here?”

Dirk grinned. “We want to see her. Where you guys meeting up?”

“You’ve seen her already.”

“Is it that girl from the catering place?” Reeds guessed.

“Stella? No.”

His forehead creased. “Is it that physio chick, Brooke? Oh wait, I know—”

Bomber interrupted Reeder’s next guess. “If we go through every chick who has a crush on him, we’ll be here all night. Who is it?”

“Josie Ray.”

That name didn’t register with anyone except Reeds. “Oh, that long, tall drink from the pub. The one who turned you down.” He laughed. “How did you get her to change her mind?”

I combed my hair. “I haven’t yet. I’m going to accidentally bump into her, and we’ll take things from there.”

Bomber shook his head. “Like that’s not borderline creepy.”

“Yogi can get away with it,” Reeds said. “Who wouldn’t trust that angelic face?”

Dirk snickered. “Who cares if she trusts it, as long as she sits on it.”

M
argie’s instructions
were very specific, right down to a photo of the main gate, so I wouldn’t get lost. It was a huge fenced-off compound that covered a couple of city blocks. I was standing outside, leaning against a car, when Josie finally showed.

She walked out in a red leather motorcycle jacket, ripped jeans, and another one of those faded t-shirts. I couldn’t tell from here if she had no bra on. My cock rose a little just at the sight of her.

“Hey, Josie.” I waved and tried to sound casual, but considering how much time and effort I had put into finding her, this felt like a big deal.

She didn’t look surprised to see me and crossed the quiet street.

“Hey, if it isn’t The Fast and the Fucked-Up.”

“Uh, yeah. So, I was wondering if we could pick up where we left off the other night.” She liked direct, so I was going for it.

“Where was that?”

“Something about fucking our brains out at my place....”

“Nope.”

“Why not? This time we can take a taxi,” I said. I had cabbed it here.

“Where’s the blow-mobile?”

“The blo—? Oh, I left my truck at home.”

“Aren’t you the boy scout? Bet you have a pocket full of condoms too.” She threw her head back and laughed. Her laugh was low, throaty, and contagious. I laughed too. We were getting along.

Then she started walking away, and I followed quickly.

“Josie, wait. Do you know how hard I had to work to find you? You didn’t even give me your name.” I fell into step beside her.

“I know. ‘A’ for effort. I’ll let your professors at Stalker School know. Are you that desperate and dateless?”

“No. It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to start watching better movies, Ricky. See ya.”

“It’s Eric. Okay, how about dinner instead? There’s an Italian place near here.” Dinner would be better anyway, that was the way things normally went.

“If you’re ESL, I can say ‘no’ in a whole bunch of languages.”

“I don’t get this, last week you’re willing to fuck me and now you won’t even eat pizza with me.” And that kiss. She couldn’t have forgotten how hot that was.

Josie whirled to face me. “I was willing to fuck you because I wouldn’t have to see you again. But I don’t want to date you—especially now that I know what a creep you are.”

I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. I felt her warm body underneath the smooth leather, and Josie softened a little at my touch. “I can do that. I can be your fuck buddy.”

I leaned my head down and kissed her on the neck, up the curving line exposed by her short hair. And then the strong line of her jaw, up to her mouth. I felt desperate. When my lips met hers, everything I felt surged up. Her mouth was so soft and yielding—unlike her attitude. The attraction hit me like a tsunami. Surely I couldn’t be the only one feeling this all this. I could barely pull my body away from hers.

I watched for her reaction. Josie’s nostrils flared slightly, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were as dark and unreadable as ever. I was aching for her—I wanted to strip her down and kiss every inch of her hot skin. I wanted to fuck her and see her sweating and squirming under me. I wanted to make her lose control.

“Is that it? One kiss and I’m supposed to swoon?”

“Admit it, Josie. You felt something.”

She took a deep breath in and I watched the rise and fall of her tits. No bra again.

She smiled. “You’re right. I think I felt my stomach rumble.”

“So, you’re hungry. Dinner, then?”

“Man, you’re persistent. Do you sell timeshares too?”

“No, I’m a Tantric sex master.”

Josie laughed. “Whatever that is.”

I caught her hand and lifted up to my mouth—kissing the palm. I intertwined my fingers with hers and caressed her forefinger with my thumb. Her eyes widened like they did when I sucked her finger. I explained in a low voice, “It’s when we have sex for extended periods of time—like an hour or more—to achieve sexual connection on a whole new level. It’s all about prolonged orgasm for both of us.”

Growing up with a yoga teacher meant there had been lots of instructional books around. Of course, I had never actually been able to hold out for an hour, but I was more than willing to try with Josie.

She shook her head and pulled her hand away. “Sounds like a crock.”

I raised my hand. “Scout’s honour. I always tell the truth.”

Her face lost all expression. “Nobody does that, Ricky.”

“This is the truth: I think you’re totally unique. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m stalking you, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met. Sure, you’re beautiful and I want to have sex with you, but you’re also smart and funny. I’d like to talk to you and get to know you.”

She gave a skeptical half-shake of the head. “You’re crazy.”

I waited.

“Okay. I have to eat. So, where’s this Italian place?”

This huge grin from spread across my face. Finally, yes.

“
S
o
, do you see anything you like?” I asked.

We had walked to Campagnolo Roma, this Italian restaurant that Bomber recommended. I had also looked up Mexican, Vietnamese, and vegetarian places in the neighbourhood—just in case. I felt as nervous as if this were my first date. Except I wasn’t nervous on my first date. It was a movie when I was thirteen, her name was Aggie, and we made out in the theatre.

But Josie was so hard to predict. She could get up and leave the restaurant on a whim, and I’d never see her again.

“Mmm, I think I’ll have the pizza. It looks good.” She looked over at the dinner on the table beside us. The guy eating the pizza offered her a taste, which Josie declined. I resisted an urge to insert myself between them and declare that she was mine and nobody else should look at her. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Yeah, I might have that too.”

I ordered mineral water and so did Josie. Then salads and our main courses. There was a short silence afterwards.

“So, how did you get into the stunt business?”

“I was doing stupid mountain bike tricks on Mount Seymour. This guy from a movie was hiring extras for an extreme sports scene, and I got picked. I met a stunt coordinator on the set, and he asked if I’d be interested.”

She started eating a breadstick and looked around the restaurant.

“I guess it takes a lot of training.”

“Yeah, for sure. Depends on the movie.”

“What kind of training have you done?”

Josie blinked at me. “Do you think we could skip this whole what-I-do-what-you-do crap? And talk about something real instead.”

The pizza guy at the next table had a slight smirk on his face. He probably figured he’d move in on her once this date went down the drain, which looked like it might be happening in the next five minutes. I desperately tried to think of something different to say.

“Okay, let’s talk about what your spirit animal would be.”

“My what?”

The pizza guy actually snorted out loud. Fuck you, buddy.

“Your spirit animal. We all have animal guides who appear to help with the problems or opportunities in our lives.”

“How do we find them?” Josie leaned forward and looked interested for the first time all night.

“Well, the best way would be for you to do some kind of physical journey, like a long meditation or a vision quest. An animal might appear to you in a dream.” She looked dubious about this.

“But the most important thing is being conscious of what’s around you—like animals reappearing in your life. Take a lion, for example. You might see a lion photo on the side of the bus, or when you turn on the TV an African nature show might be on.”

“I don’t have a TV,” she said.

“On your laptop. Whatever. Notice what’s around you and be sensitive to the signs.”

Josie cracked a new breadstick in two. “There is one thing that keeps appearing in my life repeatedly and unexpectedly.”

“Really, what?”

She pointed the breadstick at me. I laughed, and Josie smiled.

“If I had to guess, I would say your spirit animal is an owl,” I told her.

“An owl? I think I’m more the lion type.”

“A spirit animal doesn’t mean an animal you identify with. It’s your guide animal.”

“What does an owl say about me—that I stay up all night?”

“No, it says that you’re smart and knowledgeable, but you’re watchful. You like to look around and take stock of things before you act. Maybe a little detached.”

She closed one eye. “Hmmm.”

“Is that a good ‘hmmm?’”

“Yeah. You may be on to something.” Then she added, “Hey, you know what? One morning last week, I was out biking near Lost Lagoon, and these tourists had been attacked by baby owls. This woman said that the owls had actually torn out some of her hair and her scalp was bleeding.”

“Did you see the owls?”

“Yeah, they were sitting up in a tree. They looked so cute I couldn’t believe they were bloodthirsty killers. I read up on them and found out that they just have crappy vision so when it gets light out, they can’t tell prey from the top of someone’s head.”

“I rest my case. Your spirit animal is an owl.”

“Two killer owls do not make a case. Anyway, what’s your spirit animal?”

“A butterfly.”

Josie laughed loudly. I joined her, even though I suspected she was laughing at me.

“Why is that so funny?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. You’re this huge guy, and butterflies seem so dainty and feminine. It’s the typical first girl tattoo.”

I winced. Was she psychic? Maybe she was talking about herself. No tattoo on any visible body parts, but I was willing to do a full body inspection to make sure.

She had seen me checking her out. “I have no tattoos. I hate needles or anything medical at all.”

Our pizzas and salads arrived. Josie dug in and began to eat. The way she ate was hot—she attacked her pizza with enthusiasm and then licked her fingers.

“Mmmm, I was hungry,” Josie said after three pieces of pizza.

“I guess putting your body in danger does that. Fear makes you hungry.”

Josie’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Actually, they say fear is a powerful aphrodisiac. But maybe you’re different.”

I swallowed. Was this evening going to end up in my bed? Because I would be A-OK with that. The guys next to us got up and left. Pizza guy cast one sad glance back at Josie, but she didn’t even notice. Clearly, our date was getting better all the time.

“Tell me more about your butterfly buddy.”

“Well, a butterfly means change and transformation. Which makes sense since I’m going through a lot of life shifts now.”

“You sound like a personal coach or guru.”

I got that a lot. “I spent some time in the desert studying with a shaman.”

Josie smiled. “You know, you’re not at all like I expected you’d be.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I had you pegged as a jock.”

“Well—I do play hockey.”

“For a living?”

I nodded.

She visibly recoiled. “So, you’re like some gazillionaire hockey player?”

“No. I’m not in the NHL. There are other levels, you know.”

“I didn’t know.” She didn’t ask me any more questions, and I wondered if going on about hockey was more “what-you-do” crap. But most women found hockey a turn-on.

“I played in Switzerland last year. But I’m hoping to play here at home this year.”

“How was Switzerland?”

The first word that came to my mind was “lonely,” but that sounded wussy. “Great. Mountains. Cowbells. Fresh air.”

“All the stereotypes. How was the chocolate?”

“Okay, I guess. I only had it a couple of times. I eat pretty clean and avoid refined sugars.”

“Did you want dessert or coffee?” Our server showed up exactly at that moment with little menu cards.

Josie took one and glanced at it. “I’ll have the chocolate cake and an espresso. He wants to know if you have anything tofu-based.”

The server began to stammer, and I ordered an herbal tea. I had this weird feeling that Josie only ordered dessert because I said I ate healthy.

Once the chocolate cake came, she ate it slowly and deliberately. “This is soooo good.” She inserted a forkful of cake in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then stuck the tip of her tongue out to lick her lips and even the fork. Fuck. She must know what watching that tongue was doing to me. If not, she would find out once my boner raised my side of the table.