A Year of Love

by Anthology

  I thought I knew Brooklyn hockey. But I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for my first live scrimmage in a small venue. The speed! The crash of the men against the plexi! The muscle and sweat!

  It’s exciting on TV, but it’s overwhelming in person.

  Now that my internship is nearly over, I finally see what I’ve been working on.

  And it’s amazing.

  Even the crowd is a bit of an education. The kids are on their feet with excitement. The cheers are deafening. And when the guys skate off after each period, there’s a line of children waiting at the edges of the chute for a fist bump. One little girl is decked out head to toe in Bruisers purple. She’s onto something, too, because she’s getting more fist-bump action than the other little kids around her.

  As the third period begins, I realize that I’ve only taken sporadic video. I’ve been too enthralled to think much about the social media possibilities. But now there’s nineteen minutes on the clock, so I have to think fast.

  I shoot some slo-mo video of faceoffs, which will be fun. But Georgia said to try something about myself. That’s still an uncomfortable idea, though, until I realize I can take a page out of the children’s book. I can set up a shot of me interacting with every player on his way off the ice.

  It’s unoriginal. But it’s the best idea I’ve got at the moment. So I peel myself away from the game and put my plan into action.

  By the time the final buzzer rings, I’m positioned in the hallway, my phone taped to a light fixture on the opposite wall. And—thanks to a cardboard Gatorade carton that I carefully repurposed with markers and hockey tape—I’m holding a hand-lettered sign that reads: SUMMER INTERNS LOVE FIST BUMPS.

  I probably look ridiculous. But I actually don’t mind. Hockey is glorious, and I’m here to celebrate it with the people of TikTok.

  It seems to take forever until the first hockey players are clomping toward me in their skates. I hold my sign in one hand and keep my fist bumping hand free. And it works! O’Doul gives my fist a bump on his way past, and so do the goalies—Mike and Silas.

  After that, it’s a blur of hockey greatness stopping in front of me. With wet hair, and helmets under their arms like astronauts, almost every one bumps my fist and grins as he passes by.

  This is amazing. This is better than the internship at Goldman Sachs. What was I even thinking? I’m wearing a wide smile, and I know this video will be a success, because I finally did what Georgia had asked.

  Just have fun with it, she’d said. Look at me having all the fun!

  Trevi bumps my fist. “Nice goal!” I call and he smiles. Then come Castro, Crikey, and Drake. Bump. Bump. Bump.

  More than a dozen players pass me before I spot Wilson. His face is flushed from exertion and his hair is a mess. But I still get a big smile as he approaches.

  And this is the moment I turn my sign around so that the reverse shows.

  If this works, it will make a cute little plot twist in my forty-five second video. Of course I picked Wilson for this, because he’s such a good sport that I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’ll go along with it.

  Okay, eighty percent sure. Maybe sixty percent. The closer he gets, the more exposed I feel. This was a dumb idea. And now it’s too late to do anything about it. His eyes lock onto the sign, which now reads FREE HUGS.

  Except I’d forgotten that the players would be holding a stick and a helmet. And this is a narrow corridor, so stopping to hug me will hold up the line.

  Oops.

  But it’s too late. Wilson looms over me and I brace myself for him to just walk past. I mean, I can just trim the video before this disaster, right?

  But then Wilson drops his gloves and his stick—actually drops them right on the floor with a smack. And he presses his helmet into his teammate’s hands.

  All my blood stops circulating, because I think I’m about to get a big, sweaty hug from the player who makes my heart beat faster. And, wow. I’m a little nervous, and a little turned on. I could almost shout my body is ready!

  But thank goodness I don’t, because it’s already happening. I’m suddenly airborne as powerful arms scoop me up off the floor. Oh, wow. This is quite a hug. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, bracing myself for the disappointment of it ending.

  Except it doesn’t. Bright eyes loom closer. They’re focused on my mouth, of all places. That’s when the possibility of Wilson’s kiss lights up inside me—the kiss I could have had last night, if I hadn’t stupidly turned him down.

  And just the idea is so overpowering that I actually go a bit limp in his arms.

  My back hits the wall. And then it happens in slow motion. Generous lips find mine. Wilson’s kiss is firm and thorough. I can’t help myself. I part my lips beneath his, tilting my head up for more.

  Wilson lets out a sexy grunt, and when his tongue slips onto mine, I feel it everywhere. He tastes like salt and hungry man. The kiss goes deep and wild. Or maybe that’s just me. I lock my arms around him, one hand in his damp hair, and I hold on for dear life.

  Someone lets fly with a loud cat call. But I’m too deep in the moment to wonder if I’m the heckler’s target. I’m too busy trying to devour Wilson, just like he’s trying to devour me.

  But then it’s suddenly over. My feet find the ground again. And I become aware that numerous people are staring at us.

  And—oh my God—there are players everywhere in this crowded hallway. My face is already burning. And then I spot my phone a few feet away, watching me with its wide-open eye.

  I just got that kiss on camera. And I’m supposed to have a video—a G rated video—ready to upload in the next hour.

  “Easy, Stacey,” Wilson says with a chuckle. He cups my cheek in his giant hand. “Have a beer with me later, yah? At the luncheon?”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  With a wink, he turns to clomp off toward the lockers with his teammates.

  And I want to die of embarrassment all over again. I just mauled him. On camera.

  I’ll probably be fired by suppertime.

  4

  “Okay, this was a really cute idea,” Georgia says. “Good effort. But I’m not sure about the ending, though.”

  “Mmh?” I ask, shoving a strawberry in my mouth so that I won’t have to speak.

  We’re standing on an ocean-side patio, outside a classy beach club where lunch will soon be served. I don’t see Wilson anywhere, but that’s probably because I’ve been looking at either Georgia or my shoes since I arrived five minutes ago.

  It’s better this way. I don’t want to see the smirks on people’s faces.

  Especially Wilson’s. He kissed me to make a cute video. I transformed into a horny octopus.

  Who does that?

  “Stacey, the video ends so abruptly,” Georgia says with a frown. “You flip the sign—so cute and clever, by the way—and then Wilson goes to hug you. But then it just cuts off. Did you have a technical problem?”

  I make a noncommittal noise that would best be described as “hermmm.”

  “So… what’s with the quick edit?” she asks pointedly.

  “Um, hmm,” I say, nodding awkwardly. “Maybe, I, um…”

  I’ve got nothing.

  “Can I see the raw video?” she prods. “Maybe we could smooth it out together?”

  “Well…” I clear my throat a couple of times. “There was more of this footage. But it went, uh, in an unexpected direction.”

  “What direction is that?” she asks sweetly.

  My face is permanently red now. It just is. When I arrived for lunch, the doorman asked me if I had a sunburn.

  No, that’s just sheer embarrassment, I’d told him, and he’d laughed as if I was kidding.

  I wasn’t.

  Leo Trevi pokes his wife in the arm. “Honey, come on. Let her off the hook, okay? She looks like she’s going to spontaneously combust.”

  That’s when Georgia cracks a huge smile. “Okay, can I please see the video? Pretty ple
ase? It’s all anyone will talk about. I’m dying here.”

  Oh my God. They’re both grinning at me. And when I look over both shoulders, I see more of the same. “Can’t you just fire me instead? Preferably right now?”

  “Why?” Georgia yelps. “We don’t fire people for kissing around here. There’d be nobody left to work for the team. Show me the video and I’ll write you a great recommendation.”

  “Georgia,” Leo says, laughing.

  “I was going to write it anyway!” Georgia says.

  “Sure.” I blow out a breath. “Whatever. It happened.” I open up the other edit I made—the one with the kiss—and I show it to her. “But it’s practically a porno.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” she says as I hand over the phone. “It’s just a k—” She leans closer to the screen. “Oh my. Wow.” She pinches the front of her blouse in two fingers and airs it out a little. “The boys weren’t kidding about that kiss. You two were smokin’.”

  My face burns hotter. I wonder if it’s possible to actually create your own sunburn. Like—torch yourself. I might be the first person to manage it.

  “Whew!” Georgia fans herself. “Okay, so I see why you cut it. But what if I put two seconds of slow-mo in there when he reaches for you? And then maybe a graphic sticker of a kiss, covering up your faces?”

  “Could you do that?” I practically whimper. “I don’t want to watch that video again.”

  “Why?” She looks genuinely concerned. “I mean—you, uh, were okay with that kiss, no?”

  “Oh I certainly was,” I say in a low voice. “But I don’t usually lunge at hot guys in public.”

  “Hey, Wilson definitely did the lunging,” Leo says with a chuckle. “There he is now. I think he’s looking for you.”

  Uh oh.

  Oh boy.

  “Go. Shoo,” Georgia says. “Eat some lunch. I’ll finish the video and bring you the phone.”

  “Thanks,” I say weakly. Then I glance toward the ocean, wondering if I could maybe swim away from here.

  That’s when I spot the boathouse, off to the side of the patio. That’s my escape route! Quick as a slapshot, I dart toward the safety of its clapboard walls. I slip around the exterior until I come to rest there, breathing hard, the blue ocean rolling calmly in front of me.

  There. This is fine. I’ll miss lunch, but hunger is better than public humiliation, right?

  “Stacey,” says a very masculine voice. “What are you doing over here?”

  I turn and meet Wilson’s smile. And, wow, he looks tanned and healthy in a crisp white shirt and mirrored aviators.

  Wow.

  He’s still waiting for an answer.

  “I, um…” I take a deep breath. “Just, uh, looking for a peaceful spot to hang out.”

  “Interesting,” he says. “Because it seems like you might be avoiding me.”

  “Well…I…um…” Get it together, Stacey. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  He lifts off those sunglasses and studies me with bright, inquisitive eyes. And we both know I’m lying. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I was inappropriate in the hallway. I didn’t mean it to get so out of hand. But you kind of kissed me back, and I lost it a little.”

  “I definitely kissed you back,” I correct. “I mauled you like a hungry tiger, and the whole world saw!” I lift both hands to my eyes, as if that could even help. “You were just being silly. But I lost my mind. I even filmed it. God.”

  His chuckle is warm. “Well you don’t seem as happy about it now as you were then. So I apologize.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I mumble. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

  He clears his throat. “Huh.”

  “What?” I drop my hands but I still can’t look him in the eye.

  “Look, Stacey,” he says. “I think I’m going to have to spell this out for you. I think you’re cuter than a herd of puppies, and I’d like to see more of you.”

  “You do?” I nearly get whiplash from turning to look at him. “How much more of me?”

  He laughs. “I’m afraid to answer that honestly.”

  Now I realize I’ve said something dumb again. “I meant…That’s not what I meant!”

  He laughs harder.

  “Wilson!” I nudge him with my elbow. “Don’t laugh.”

  “But why?” He props his big face in one of his hands. “I’ve got a fun job. You’ve got a fun job. We’re standing on a beach in the sunshine. And you have freckles on your nose. I just spent three days wondering how they taste.”

  “You…did?” I gasp. Because I never was cool.

  “Definitely. And I’m not laughing at you. I never would. I laugh because life is good, Stace. It’ll be even better if you let me take you out to dinner.”

  “Wow.” That’s my brilliant response.

  “So what do you say?”

  “I…I’d love to have dinner. Once my internship ends, of course. The summer intern isn’t supposed to chase after the players.”

  He frowns. “When does your internship end?”

  “Friday.”

  A smile splits his big face. “You don’t say?”

  “Yeah, four days. And then I go back to school. At NYU.”

  “NYU.” He perks up even more. “You live in New York.”

  “Actually, I live in Carrol Gardens.”

  That’s in Brooklyn, just a subway ride away from the Bruisers headquarters. He beams. “How about Saturday?”

  “Hmm?” I’m busy admiring his smile, and the way his whiskers glint in the sunshine.

  “Your internship ends on Friday. We’ll go out on Saturday.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. “That sounds nice.”

  “So…” He clears his throat. “Is anybody lookin’?”

  “At us?” I glance around. “No. Why?”

  “Just checkin’. And you’re not filming this?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Good,” he says.

  Then, before I even know what is happening, he leans down and gives me a slow, gentle, kiss.

  It’s so nice that I make a sound against his mouth—half sigh, half groan. He tilts his head and kisses me again.

  But just when I’m really enjoying myself, he pulls away.

  I blink up at him, a little dazed, and hungry for more.

  “That will have to hold me until Saturday,” he says. “Still hate your job?”

  “Not anymore,” I whisper.

  “Good to know. Text me your address, yah? I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday.”

  “Seven,” I repeat.

  “Yah, my new favorite number.” He winks. “See you then.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading "Training Camp!" You can find all the Brooklyn hockey novels at https://sarinabowen.com/brooklyn-bruisers. Or catch up with Sarina in her Facebook group.

  Copyright © 2021 Tijan

  All rights reserved

  Published by Tijan

  Edited by Elaine York

  Betaread and proofread: Crystal R Solis, Kara Hildebrand, Serena McDonald, Amy English, Kimberley Holm, Chris O’Neil Parece.

  No Drama, Seriously is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  End Of August

  I wanted no drama. Period. That was it.

  That was my entire goal when I went to college at Grant West.

  No. Drama.

  There were other obvious goals, like getting passable grades, but my bar was low for that too. I just wanted to graduate. I was going into nursing, and as long as we passed the exams, got some work experience, i
f I got an A or a C, it didn’t matter. I was hoping for better than a C, obviously, but I’d be happy with a B-. Also, because I wasn’t totally unrealistic, I knew I’d have socialization and sexual needs that would also have to be fulfilled.

  I only wanted a few good, reliable ones. And I’m realistic there too. Finding good friends, like truly great friends, is like finding a rare gemstone out in nature. It’s near impossible, so I was figuring a few passable friends would do. Each could have a purpose. One to always eat with. One who was good to talk to me, and bonus points awarded if the conversation would be more about them and they wouldn’t care to ask me about myself. Maybe a couple to head out to parties with. Maybe one or two to study with, and after that, I couldn’t think of any other reason I’d need a friend for.

  Maybe I’d find one I could trust, but again…realistic expectations. I doubted that would actually happen.

  As for my sexual needs, it was just that. Literally.

  No boyfriend. No dating. I was open to finding a guy as an acquaintance with benefits sort of thing, but that was it. I didn’t want to see the guy outside of the bedroom. I didn’t want to know his friends, his hobbies. I didn’t want to deal with his emotional or academic woes. If he wanted to hook up with others, fine…just get tested and keep it wrapped. If he had a girlfriend, obviously it was a no-go with me then.

  I mean, my needs and requirements were pretty basic. That was all I wanted, and I had my mind made up when I arrived at my dorm.

  Going down the hallway, I was aware of the difference already between me and other girls on my floor. They were showing up with families, little brothers, maybe big brothers, cousins. Sisters. Dads. Little dogs were running around, and everyone was hauling their chairs, microwaves, clothes, even things mixed in with glittery and sparkly things. Fuck. Someone had a pink, bedazzled lampshade.