Team Player

by Adriana Locke

  Even though I’m apprehensive and careful of my personal life and the decisions that affect it, I can’t help but think about Rachel and what it would be like to take her out on a date. I really want to see what makes her tick, why she would stop to talk to a guy in fairy wings and a tiara.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to get off the phone now and just call her before I tell myself not to bother.”

  “You know, you’re really losing that alpha card you like to slap down in the locker room. If only the guys knew about this conversation . . . that and the tiara.”

  “And if you want me to continue to bring my mom’s homemade brownies to the stadium for your eating, then you’d better keep your damn mouth shut.” The threat rings truer to my personality than the indecisive man I’ve been over the last few minutes.

  “Don’t take my brownies . . . you animal.” He chuckles at the exaggeration. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Damn right it is.”

  I say my goodbyes and hang up. Keeping my phone in my hand, I scroll to Rachel’s name in my contact list and stare at it, willing the universe to telepathically send me an opening remark full of swagger that will make Rachel all fucking swoony and needy to go out with me.

  But I get nothing. I’m drawing a blank.

  Maybe it will just come to me . . .

  Before I can lose the courage, I press dial and put the phone on speaker do I don’t have to hold it up to my ear.

  The phone rings three times before she picks up. “Hello?”

  My breath catches in my throat and my voice comes out as more of a squeak than the voice of a manly hockey player with a set of abs that would put any body builder to shame.

  “Hey.” Clearing my throat, I try again. “Hey Rachel.” There, that’s better.

  “Is this Wanda?” She asks in a teasing tone, a tone that puts me at ease.

  “Why in fact it is. Were you impatiently anticipating my phone call?”

  “On the edge of my seat.” There is a teasing lilt in her voice. “So tell me,” Her voice drops to a low, sexy tone, “What are you wearing?”

  “Asking what I’m wearing already? Seems a bit forward, don’t you think?”

  “Never.”

  Laughing, I look down at my red, faded sweatpants and say, “Do you really want to know? I kind of expected to start this conversation out a little bit differently.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. Don’t get shy on me now, Calder.”

  Chuckling, I answer with a hint of “seduction” in my voice, because I have to make sweatpants sound sexy somehow. “I’m wearing what I would describe as a sensual red sweatpant, a little racy, with no shirt, and no socks . . . eat your heart out.”

  She’s silent for a second before she asks, “You didn’t dress up for this phone call? I wore my blue sequined ball gown with white, glittery tulle, and you show up in a pair of ratty old sweatpants. What’s that about?”

  Even though I know she’s kidding, I still feel a bout of sweat form on the back of my neck. I knew I should have worn something nice, like jeans and a button up . . . although, that seems pretty dumb to dress up for a phone call, now that I really think about it.

  “Blue glittery ball gown with tulle, huh? Does that dress come with a pumpkin carriage as well?”

  “Are you calling me Cinderella?”

  “Well, I mean you have the blonde hair and the ball gown, just need to prepare myself in case you decide to run out on our date at the stroke of midnight.”

  “Oh no need to worry about that,” she deadpans. “I never stay out past nine-thirty.”

  “Really?” That seems odd.

  “No,” she laughs. “But on school nights I call it an early night because I need my sleep when my days call for wrangling children. It’s exhausting.”

  “Wrangling up Shea is exhausting, I can’t imagine multiple kids. Does that mean you’re a teacher?”

  “I am. Kindergarten. Want to show me how you can count to fifteen and then backwards? I’ll give you a scratch-and-sniff sticker if you nail it.”

  Chuckling, I start to relax. Talking to Rachel seems almost too easy.

  “Scratch and sniff, huh? That’s one hell of a prize.”

  “Root beer is the favorite amongst the kids which I have low stock in, so don’t even try to ask for one.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I pause for a second before asking. “So about that date?”

  “Yeah, about that . . .”

  “When are you available?” I think over my schedule and cringe to myself when I recall all the nights I DON’T have off. This is going to be difficult.

  “You tell me . . . Calder Weiss.” Oh shit, she knows who I am.

  “Do some Googling when you got home?”

  “Talked to my dad actually. Told him I met a guy outside the toilet and he was wearing a tiara and his name was Calder. I said you were positively irresistible.”

  “Hell, you told your dad that?”

  “Of course. I tell him everything. But in the midst of me describing the beauty that was your fairy wings and how they bitch slapped me, he interrupted me and asked for your name again. When I told him, he asked if your last name was Weiss and I told him I had no clue, which then spurred him to send me a text message with a picture attached and guess what? The picture was you.”

  “Imagine that.” I chuckle.

  “I asked him how he knew who you were, and can you believe he went on and told me you’re some professional hockey player with a knack for ramming full-grown men into walls with what seems like zero effort?”

  “Oh believe me, there is effort involved. They’re not as light as they seem.”

  “Shocking.” She laughs. “So, you’re kind of a big deal in the sports world. Now that I think about it, before we went on winter break, I saw some kids wearing Brawlers jerseys with Weiss on the back.”

  I smile to myself. Knowing I’m a role model for little kids will never get old, it’s why I try to conduct myself in the best way possible, especially when it comes to my daughter. Setting a good example is one of my top priorities, besides taking care of Shea.

  “I wouldn’t say big deal, but if you’re looking for an autograph, don’t think I’m just going to hand you one, you’re going to have to earn it.”

  “Oh yeah?” There is humor and intrigue in her voice. “And how do you expect me to earn that precious autograph of yours?”

  “I have a night off this Friday, go out with me.”

  “Mmm . . . I like how forward that was.” She pauses and I hold my breath. “I think I can move things around so I can go out with you.”

  “Yeah? You can clear your schedule for me? I feel honored.”

  “As you should.” God, I like her. “Okay, so text me the details and if you really like me, don’t wear those ratty sweatpants on our date.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good, see you Friday.” Her voice drips with promise.

  “See you Friday, Rachel. Have a good night.”

  I hang up and rub my fingers up the side of my jaw while staring at the wall in front of me that’s covered in pictures of Shea from birth up until now. Frolicking in meadows, jumping in puddles, sitting in buckets, all personal photos I’d taken of my little girl. There’s a bright, beautiful smile on her little, cherub face, a light in her eyes that would make any father proud. I’ve done well raising her, I’m not ashamed to say that, especially given the challenges of my job and schedule. I’ve pulled in every resource I had available to me and spent countless hours making sure Shea has a normal life, despite being raised by a single parent.

  I’m tired, I’m spent, and I’m lonely.

  Shea is thriving. She’s kind, and sweet, and so goddamn funny—I created that. I’ve given her everything in me, the last five years of my life belonged to her and the Brawlers. I think it’s about time I give some time back to me. I think it’s time to do something for myself.
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  Snagging my computer from under the couch—not the best storage place, I know—I start searching for date ideas for Friday. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I want to impress Rachel, and since I’m out of practice, I’m going to need a little Google magic to help myself out.

  Chapter 3

  CALDER

  Rachel: Have you ever been slapped in the back of the knees with a hockey stick?

  Calder: No, but the hamstrings, calves, and ass, yes.

  Rachel: Did the ass slap hurt? I would think it would actually feel more kinky than painful. If I was slapped by the blade of a hockey stick, I would probably welcome another one < - - too much?

  Calder: LOL. Never too much. I appreciate your honesty. Question, did you have to look up the term blade?

  Rachel: Are you stalking my internet search history? If so, please ignore the searches on there for resale value of Beanie Babies.

  Calder: I heard the tie-dye rooster is going for a thousand dollars.

  Rachel: Seriously???

  Calder: No.

  Rachel: You bastard! The date is off!

  Calder: No it’s not, there’s no way you can get out of it now. You’ve committed, there’s no turning back.

  Rachel: Damn it. You’re right, there’s no possible way I could stand you up . . .

  Calder: Don’t even think about it. You already gave me your address. If I have to, I will camp out on your lawn until you come out for our date.

  Rachel: Challenge accepted.

  Rachel: Do you eat breakfast every morning? Are you one of those guys who eats half a dozen eggs, downs a rainbow sherbet flavored protein smoothie, and grabs a Power Bar on the way out to your gym session?

  Calder: If I said you were almost one hundred percent accurate with that assessment, would you cancel our date on Friday?

  Rachel: Yes.

  Calder: Then nope, don’t eat breakfast every day, but when I do, it’s about a donut for each finger. I dangle them like rings and nibble away at them in the morning, just to feel whimsical.

  Rachel: That’s my kind of man.

  Calder: Have you ever gone skydiving?

  Rachel: No, have you?

  Calder: No, but I think we might on our date.

  Rachel: You’re joking right? You’re drunk right now and have lost your damn mind. Tell me you’ve lost it, that you are truly certifiable at this moment right now.

  Calder: Sober as sober can be.

  Rachel: The date is REALLY off now.

  Calder: I thought you had some adventure in you, maybe I read you wrong.

  Rachel: Oh don’t get me wrong, there is adventure in me, but I like to keep it to a minimum. Jumping out of a plane with a guy I met outside a place where humans deposit their excrement doesn’t scream “best idea.”

  Calder: Jumping out of planes with strangers is America’s new favorite pastime.

  Rachel: Lies! America’s new favorite pastime is taking pictures of their food and letting it get cold until they get the exact shot they want. Cold fries is America’s favorite pastime, not plane jumping with bitch-slapping fairy men. Nice try, Weiss.

  Calder: So I’m assuming that’s a no to the skydiving.

  Rachel: That’s a hard no.

  Rachel: Are you taking me to one of those wine-and-paint places? You know, where you get drunk and accidentally paint a nude-colored, phallic-shaped tree rather than what the instructor is teaching you to paint?

  Calder: I take it you’ve been to one of those places before?

  Rachel: I have two penis trees hanging above my fireplace. I named them Rueben and Jerry.

  Calder: Are they . . . lovers?

  Rachel: Who? Rueben and Jerry? Are you insane? Of course they’re not lovers, they’re brothers. God, what is wrong with you? Is that what you’re into, incestual dick paintings?

  Calder: I can’t believe I gave myself away and you figured it out. God, I love some good brother dick-on-dick action . . .

  Rachel: Okay, our date is REALLY, TRULY off now.

  Calder: That’s what you keep saying, and yet you continue to talk to me.

  Rachel: Consider it a sick fascination.

  Calder: Thoughts on laser tag?

  Rachel: Thoughts on spending Friday night alone?

  Calder: Noted.

  Rachel: How many times have you searched “Fun dates in Philly” on the internet this week?

  Calder: About seven.

  Rachel: Impressive, I would have guessed twice that amount.

  Calder: I rounded down.

  Rachel: How far did you round down?

  Calder: Little less than half.

  Rachel: That sounds about right. Are you having a hard time coming up with something?

  Calder: The hardest. There aren’t many places that seem suitable for your ball gown-wearing self, who needs to be home by nine-thirty or else you turn into a ragged chambermaid.

  Rachel: Don’t forget pumpkin carriage parking, it’s important that’s added into the mix.

  Calder: Believe me, I’ve called two places already asking if they valet pumpkins.

  Rachel: Any luck?

  Calder: No, but I have received a few numbers for psychologists.

  Rachel: Can you pass those along? From the sound of it, I might need to talk to someone after this date. . .

  Calder: As a parting gift Friday night, I will hand you a laminated card with their numbers.

  Rachel: A man who laminates, now we’re talking.

  Calder: Hang up the ball gown and pull out your casual attire. I have our date planned and it doesn’t require you to drown yourself in tulle.

  Rachel: What about pearls?

  Calder: No.

  Rachel: Sweater set?

  Calder: I would prefer something not so . . . stuck up.

  Rachel: Let me guess, you’re hoping for something along the lines of skinny jeans, tight shirt, heels, and a form-fitting leather jacket?

  Calder: Now you’re talking.

  Rachel: Too bad for you I’m ironing my peasant dress as we speak in preparation for Friday. And if you’re lucky, I might just don my bonnet.

  Calder: Okay, I think it’s my turn to cancel the date.

  Rachel: DON’T YOU DARE!

  Calder: I don’t know . . . a bonnet?

  Rachel: They’re very fetching.

  Calder: Yeah, I think I’m busy Friday night . . .

  Rachel: (Rubs hands together) Are you ready for tonight?

  Calder: I thought we cancelled.

  Rachel: Please, if I can look past your fairy wings, you can look past my bonnet.

  Calder: I guess that’s fair. But for the record, I’m going to be sans tiara and wings tonight. Wanda will be nowhere near this date.

  Rachel: But how on Earth am I supposed to recognize you then?

  Calder: I’ll be the guy in the navy-blue button up and dark jeans.

  Rachel: Aw, you already picked out what you’re going to wear.

  Calder: After our phone call wardrobe mishap, I figured I better have an outfit picked out ahead of time, with a few backup options, just in case. I don’t want to disappoint again.

  Rachel: Smart man . . . oh shoot (snaps fingers) looks like my bonnet is still at the dry cleaners. What a shame.

  Calder: Oh no, how can we possibly go on? < - - said with all the sarcasm I could possibly muster

  Rachel: I can feel the disappointment from here. Alright, Wanda, I’ll see you tonight. Can’t wait. :)

  Calder: Me neither.

  Chapter 4

  RACHEL

  I take one last look in the mirror before I head to the front door of my apartment. Hair is in place, makeup is on point, and my boobs look amazing. I’m wearing a high-cut shirt, but it’s incredibly tight, perfectly framing my boobs under my snug leather jacket.

  I’m nervous.

  Yup, jittery, sweaty nervous. The worst kind.

  I’ve been nervous since this morning when I was texting Calder. Knowing that I’m going out on
a date with him tonight, with his charming sense of humor, it sets a ball of butterflies free in my stomach.

  And it’s not because he’s a professional hockey player, or a celebrity, for that matter. I could care less about that.

  No, I’m nervous because he seems like a larger-than-life man with enough confidence to rock me to my core. Hell, when I met him, he was dressed up like a fairy for his daughter, in public, completely and totally owning it while peeing into a urinal. If that doesn’t scream confidence in his manhood, I don’t know what does.

  And what does confidence in one’s manhood lead to? Oh I’ll tell you . . . it leads to long, laborious, and mind-blowing nights in bed. Don’t get me wrong, Calder attracted me with his sense of humor and unabashed humility, but that confidence, that confidence I see in his texts, yeah, that’s what’s causing me to shake in my heels.

  Knock, knock.

  He’s getting impatient. But I don’t feel ready.

  I bite on my bottom lip and take a deep breath. “You can do this. Be charming, be flirtatious, and be you.”

  The pep talk feels foreign, since I really never do that, but for some reason, it has me puffing my chest forward and walking with a bit of a sway to my hips.

  Opening the door, I plaster on a bright smile and cock my hip to the side, trying to put on a little bit of a show, but all the bravado I’d mustered up seconds ago quickly vanishes the minute I lay my eyes on Calder.

  Standing before me, head tilted down, hand gripping the back of his neck, Calder is dressed in a navy-blue button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark jeans—just like he said—and a panty-melting smile caressing those plush lips of his.

  Oh hell.

  I kind of wish Wanda had showed up.

  “Hey there.” He gives me a once over, that smile growing bigger with each passing glance.

  Swallowing hard and gathering my wits, I say, “Hey.” I shift on my feet, unsure of what to do next. Thankfully Calder is smoother than me.

  He nods toward his car parked out front. “Ready? I don’t want to be late.”