Mr. November (Vancouver Vice Hockey Book 4)

by Melanie Ting

  She shook her head. “They’re too much. It’s like I’ve never had a date before. And you can ignore everything Camille said.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’d really like it if you came to a game. I’ll get you two tickets and leave them at the box office.”

  “Really, you don’t have to do that.”

  Marty smiled. “No, it’s a good thing. They want us to get more people out to games. We’re not selling out or anything, so you’d actually be helping the team.”

  Elaine tried hard to be grateful, but she was thrown off by the feeling that this date had gotten off to a bad start. She had wanted to keep Marty to herself until she knew how she felt, but now she’d be subjected to a third degree once she got home. If only he’d met her there as she’d wanted.

  They went to a nearby coffee shop. Neither was hungry, so they both got coffees and sat at a table by the window.

  “So...” he began. “Sounds like you had a busy day.”

  “Well, actually, things were normal until Camille called and begged me to pick her up from downtown. I was at work, and by the time I fought the traffic both ways, I ended up being late. I hate being late. And I didn’t have time to get ready or anything.” She had planned a whole outfit for tonight and wanted to take a shower and do up her hair. And now she was stuck in the same grey pants and sweater she’d worn to work. She felt slightly grungy.

  “You look great,” Marty assured her, but she shook her head.

  After a short silence, he tried again. “Where do you work?”

  “I’m an accounts receivable clerk at a manufacturing firm.”

  “Oh. I thought you were a student. I remember you saying something about class.”

  “Both. I go to school part-time. I’m studying to get my C.P.A.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Chartered Professional Accountant.”

  “Wow, you must be smart.”

  Finally, she smiled a little, but she shook her head.

  Poor Marty struggled to introduce a few other topics, but nothing seemed to stick.

  Elaine realized that she was being bratty, so she made an effort. “What’s your family like?”

  “Oh, I grew up just outside Saskatoon. My mom worked full time, so I spent my summers at my grandparents’ farm in Rosetown. That was great.”

  “You have a single mom, too?” Elaine asked.

  He nodded. “I never knew my dad at all. Not that it mattered though; my mom did it all.”

  It struck Elaine as odd that someone as masculine as Marty was raised by a woman alone. She always believed that she wasn’t as comfortable with guys because there were so few in her family, and even her cousins were mostly girls.

  She had hardly drunk her coffee, and it was cold now. The rain outside was coming down even harder, and she still had some homework to do.

  “Marty, I’m sorry. I’m kind of tired and not in the best mood tonight. Maybe we should go.”

  “Okay. Whatever you like,” he replied. But he looked disappointed. There was no way that this date could be rated a success.

  They drove home in silence. He parked in front of her townhouse complex. She put her hand on the door handle and turned to face him.

  “Thanks, Marty. Again, I’m really sorry. It’s all on me. Maybe we should have rescheduled or something....”

  “You know, it’s fine. I had fun with your family. I think you look beautiful—whether you had time to get fixed up or not. And I like hanging out with you even if we don’t talk that much.”

  She smiled a little at all his reassurances.

  “We could try again after the game on Friday,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll walk you up to the door,” he offered, but she shook her head. Elaine was sure that someone was watching from behind the lacy curtain.

  Then Marty put a hand on her shoulder and turned her towards him. He leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was soft and tender, but the bristle of his stubble rubbed roughly against her chin. She inhaled, and his skin smelled like pine trees and cinnamon. As the pressure of his kiss increased, she had a dizzying sense of the strength beneath his gentleness. That seductive maleness touched her again, and she felt a moistening in her panties and a crazy urge to jump on top of him and make out like a horny teenager. His tongue darted out and touched hers, then retreated. He stopped kissing her and released his grip on her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes wide. She put her hand up and touched her mouth. Marty was watching her, but his expression was unreadable in the dark car.

  “Well, um, good night,” Elaine said. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  She fumbled with the door handle so much, that Marty had to reach over and undo it for her. Embarrassed, she stumbled out and made her way to the front door. She could hear the purr of the idling car and knew that Marty was watching to make sure she made the short distance safely. She had an urge to turn around, jump back in the car, and tell him to head somewhere where they could make out in privacy.

  But that would be ridiculous.

  9

  Fight Night

  “What could be more Canadian than this?” Camille declared happily, as the sisters sat down in the arena. Their seats were good ones, very close to the ice.

  “We’ve seen hockey before,” Elaine scoffed.

  “Yes, but not when one of our boyfriends was playing. Now, you’re dating a pro hockey player. We will cheer everything he does. Oh, I hope he scores a goal.” She cast a dismissive look over Elaine. “You should be wearing his jersey, that’s what hockey girlfriends do.”

  “Step down, sis. Marty is not my boyfriend. This is only our second date.”

  Elaine scrunched her nose. The talking part of their first date had been pretty bad. They didn’t seem to have a ton in common. But the kissing part of their date had been off the charts. Maybe because he was an athlete, he was better at physical things.

  Unfortunately, Marty’s polite manners and flowers had made a huge impression on her mom and aunties. They kept asking when he was coming over for dinner. But she was determined to make up her own mind. If this date did not go better, there was not going to be a third one. Pursuing a purely physical relationship that had no future wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

  The players began to warm up. They looked kind of beautiful as they flew around the ice in their black uniforms. Elaine pointed out the ones she recognized from the calendar shoot.

  “That’s Marty’s roommate, Nate. Number 29.”

  “The guy who adopted a cat just to go out with you?” Camille sighed. “I wish I was as beautiful as you.”

  “You are beautiful. And anyway, with him it wasn’t about my looks.”

  “What else could it be about?”

  “He’s got Yellow Fever,” Elaine said.

  “Euw. I hate that so much. When you meet a guy and he’s like ‘in love’ and he hardly knows you. It’s so objectifying.”

  “Besides, if a guy thinks he’s getting someone sweet and submissive with us—he’s in for a big surprise.”

  They both giggled.

  “How did you find out?” Camille asked.

  “Well, I was a little suspicious in the first place, because he was coming on so strong. But while I was there, I met their landlady, and she mistook me for Nate’s girlfriend. That settled it for me.”

  Camille nodded. “I have a whole routine to check the guys out. Like, show me photos of your last girlfriend. Or I check out their photos on Facebook.”

  “Totally. Even if they always want to eat at Asian restaurants, I’m suspicious.”

  The younger sister shook her head. “And then when you break things off, they’re always like, ‘What’s the big deal? Some people like blondes, and I like Asians.’“

  “Vancouver is the worst place for—”

  A guy slid into the seat beside Camille. “Sorry to bother you ladies, but my friend and I were wondering, are you Thai? We were just in Bangkok, you two re
mind us of the beautiful women there.”

  Camille scowled. “No, we’re both Thai-ered.”

  He looked puzzled. “What?”

  “Tired of being bothered by guys like you.” She pointed to Marty who was firing a hard shot at the net. “That’s her boyfriend. So, unless you want to end up in a bowl of Pad Thai, you better back off.”

  He slunk away, and they both laughed. “You are one tough chica,” Elaine said. “But he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Stop being so exact about everything. I’m sure it makes you a better accountant, but it doesn’t make you more fun.”

  The game was kind of choppy. The other team scored early, and the Vice were scrambling to catch up. Nate scored a goal in the second period, but the score was 4-1 by then. And while Elaine was no hockey expert, Marty didn’t seem to do much. He spent more time pushing guys around than passing or shooting. And then in the last period, the game got very rough.

  Boom. The noise of bodies slamming into the boards echoed loudly and sounded painful.

  “Ouch,” they both said at once.

  “Oh, these guys must be bruised and battered afterwards,” Elaine said. “I knew hockey was rough, but this game seems way rougher than the hockey on TV.”

  Camille nodded. “They all look so big too.” Marty was already huge and when he added skates, he was a giant.

  There was a sudden roar from the crowd, and the sisters stood up to see what was going on.

  “Oh my gosh! There’s a fight,” Camille said.

  The fight was going on in the near corner, so it was hard to see exactly what was going on. But some fans started yelling, “Go, Devo. Kill him!”

  “Oh no, it’s Marty,” Elaine said. When she leaned way over, she could see Marty and another guy throwing punches at each other’s heads. Their helmets were off too. She hated seeing Marty getting hit, but it was almost worse to see him hitting someone. There was this horrible smacking sound when a punch connected. Elaine sat back down and put her hands over her face. But Camille was watching everything and gave an unwanted play-by-play.

  “Marty landed a left. Whoa, is he strong. Now the other guy is up. They’re kind of holding each other’s shirts and spinning around. Looks sort of like ice dancing. Oh, oof! Another punch! A big one. The other guy is down.” She paused. “Oh, the refs are pulling them apart now.”

  Elaine opened her eyes and saw Marty skating off. His cheek was bleeding. As he raised his hands up, the crowd became a shrieking, crazy mass. Chants of “Devo! Devo! Devo!” rang through the arena.

  “Wow, that was pretty exciting. Marty is super strong.” Camille prattled on for a while, then looked over at her sister. “Are you okay? You look totally green.”

  “I feel kind of sick. I’m going to the washroom.”

  Luckily, the women’s washroom was deserted. Elaine went into a stall, leaned over the toilet, and waited. She felt completely nauseous. Marty seemed like a gentle giant, but this was what he did for a living? He was more like a bloodthirsty beast out there. When she finally threw up, it eased the knot inside her. She flushed the toilet and went out to the sink. She washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  By the time Elaine got back, the game was almost over.

  “You were gone forever.” Camille searched her sister’s face. “Did you throw up? You always have the most sensitive stomach. I wonder if we shouldn’t have eaten those hot dogs?”

  “It wasn’t the hot dogs. It was Marty fighting. That was awful.”

  “Why? He clearly won that fight.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t like the fighting itself.”

  “What’s the big deal? Lola is a huge boxing fan.”

  Elaine couldn’t even explain her reaction. It felt like Marty was a completely different person now. He seemed so sweet, but he had this whole violent side. And he didn’t even seem to be a very good hockey player—it was like fighting was his main purpose.

  Camille took the car and went home, while Marty and Elaine went out afterwards to a little Taiwanese restaurant. He was very hyper and excited. He ordered a full meal and began to demolish it.

  “Is that all you’re having?” he asked.

  Elaine was sipping a bubble tea. “Yes. I ate at the normal time.” But her stomach still felt queasy.

  Marty talked a little about the game and asked how she enjoyed it.

  “I didn’t like when you fought,” she blurted.

  He nodded. “I know. I don’t really like fighting either. But when that guy took runs at Burner and then Tibbs, I had to do something.”

  “Why? It seemed like the game was already over. You guys were down 6-2 by then.”

  He scratched his head with his huge hands. His knuckles were red and raw. There was a fresh slash of red across his cheek and there were tiny stitches on his eyebrow. It hurt to even look at him.

  “You’ve gotta set the stage sometimes. Maybe you’re not going to win that game, but you’re showing them that you’re not going to get pushed around. They’ll remember next time.”

  Elaine stirred the orange depths of her drink with a neon straw. “Do you like fighting?”

  “Well, not really. But it’s my job, so I try to do it right.”

  “It seems pretty hard on you. Do you worry about concussions?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t think a whole ton about the future. I never thought I’d play professional hockey, so I’m banking the money while I can.”

  That was ridiculous. Elaine spent so much time planning for the future: how long it would take to get her C.P.A., what firms she’d like to work for, where she wanted to live once she was financially independent. The future was a glowing torch that helped light all the hard work today.

  “Have you never thought about what you want to do after hockey?”

  He looked down at his almost empty bowl of noodles. “I’ve got some ideas,” he muttered. But he looked too embarrassed to say any more.

  Elaine sighed and looked out the window. They didn’t have the same kind of drive and dreams. All they had in common was cats.

  After dinner, he drove her home and they hardly talked. This time, they had to park a block away, so he got out of the car and they walked to her place. Elaine stopped outside the front door.

  “I’m sorry about the fighting,” he said.

  “It’s okay, it’s your job.”

  Marty loomed over her and blocked out all the overhead light. His face was in shadow except for the light reflected on his bandaged eyebrow, and as he came closer she was torn between an urge to wrap herself around him and one to flee. Almost instinctively, she backed away.

  “Elaine, you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  “Maybe a little. It was upsetting seeing you punching that guy so hard. It was like this violent side of you. I feel like I don’t really know you.”

  “I’m not like that—in real life.”

  But he had to be, somewhere inside. Otherwise he couldn’t do things like that. The careful side of her won out. “I’m sorry, Marty. You’re a great guy, but I think it would be better if we went back to being just friends. I’m still happy to look after Knightley, of course.”

  He didn’t say anything, so she slipped away and went inside. She knew she was being a chicken, but she couldn’t look back. She hated hurting anyone, but it was better to do it now than later.

  10

  A Whole New Man

  Marty was packing for the big road trip when Jonesy walked into his room.

  “So, did you want to call Elaine about looking after the Knight-man?” Jonesy felt that the cat’s name wasn’t cool enough and had suggested they change it to Black Panther or Blade, but Marty had refused. Elaine had named him originally, and it was one link they still had.

  Marty shoved socks into the corners of his jammed suitcase. They were going to be gone for two weeks, and clean laundry would be an issue. “No. You can message her. She has our schedule, so she knows we’re going.”

  Jonesy st
retched out on Marty’s bed. Knightley jumped up beside him to get a head scratch. “Okay, if you’re not going out with her anymore, can I? What would the bro code say about that? If your buddy breaks the bro code to date a chick you liked first, and then they break up, what is her exact status? Is it like two wrongs make a right?”

  “No. You still can’t date her. Ever.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’m dating someone new anyway.” He got up on one elbow. “What happened between you guys?”

  “I don’t really know. I fucked up the first date royally, but she still gave me a second chance. It seemed like the thing that bothered her the most was my fight during the game.”

  “Really? I thought fighting got women to cream their panties.”

  “You know, the way you talk, I can’t believe you get any chicks at all.”

  “Kimi barely speaks English. She giggles at everything I say. Last week, I told her that I sprained my wrist in a game and she giggled. Next, I’ll tell her my granny died and see what she does.”

  Marty shrugged. He still felt shitty about Elaine changing her mind. “You know the worst part? She was afraid of me afterwards. Like I couldn’t separate hockey and my life. I would never hit a woman, ever, ever.”

  But he could understand how she felt. The first time he had hit a guy, it was terrible. They’d been only sixteen, and this jerk had goaded him into it. Yet when Marty actually landed a hard punch, the other player had looked so shocked and then cried—just a little, and nobody else knew. That night Marty decided he wasn’t going to fight again. But coaches kept pushing him to use his size and strength to play at a higher level. He wasn’t ever going to be the fastest, but he was tough. Eventually, he’d learned how to box and hit and then made it to the AHL.

  Jonesy snorted. “No shit. You’re a total wimp in real life. I thought you were going to cry when we had to set mousetraps for Olga.”

  “With Knightley around, we won’t have to do that anymore.” Marty remembered one night when he was a kid, and he’d heard a mousetrap snap and the tiny shriek of a little creature dying. It was brutal, and he had trouble sleeping for weeks afterwards. Then his mother had brought Cleo home, and they got rid of all the mousetraps.