“We both are.”
She furrows her brow, still smiling. “We’ll see about that.”
I mimic her kneeling lunge position, stretching the muscles I used skating in the game. Leo joins us and does the stretch, too, not saying a word.
This has become our postgame routine. Talia helps Melina prep ice tubs and massage players who need it, and then Melina continues that work while Talia stretches anyone who wants to be led in stretches.
Melina’s been pushing to get an assistant for a while now, and Talia’s presence has demonstrated the need for it.
“Butterfly stretch,” Talia says, putting her knees out and putting the soles of her feet together. “Just hold this and let it stretch your hips out.”
She smiles at something behind me and I glance over my shoulder. Bash and Lennox have joined the group. I’ve been telling everyone how much stretching with her is helping me, and my teammates are finally getting the message.
The more guys who come to these sessions, the higher the chances she can start to get paid for her work with a permanent place on our staff.
“I actually miss fart yoga.” Melina laughs. “No one tell Isaac. It’s not that I miss the farts, I just miss how happy it makes him.”
We’re at the bar we go to after games, everyone sitting in a room off the main area that the owner keeps reserved for us after home games.
The whole team came, and so did Melina and a couple of our interns. Well, the whole team except Maxim. His wife is a ball and chain who doesn’t let him go out.
“What can I get you?” our server asks.
“Start us out with ten orders of cheeseballs, ten potato skins, and ten mozzarella sticks,” I say. “Put those on my tab.”
When Bash told us this bar, which is only a couple of miles from our arena, was possibly closing because business wasn’t good, we made it our official postgame hangout spot. The owner has since decorated the bar with Crush jerseys and memorabilia we supplied, and he plays every one of our games on the bar’s televisions.
He wanted to change the bar’s name to “Crushed”, but of course, our team attorneys ruined it for bullshit legal reasons. So it’s still called The Lucky Duck.
“Guess you’re hungry,” Talia quips after we order drinks.
“We take turns getting apps for everyone.”
“Are you tired? You played twenty-seven minutes.”
I shake my head. “That’s about my usual.”
“How’s your left shoulder?”
I furrow my brow, amused. She was paying very close attention to me tonight. I got boarded hard in the second period and my shoulder took the brunt of the impact.
“It’s good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep, I’ll rest it in Hawaii. What should I pack other than my Speedo?”
She considers. “I think ... that should cover it. Maybe some sunglasses?”
“I’d fucking love to show up at Macintire’s wedding in a Speedo.”
She rests her chin on her hand, her face turned toward me. “We’ve established why I have a voodoo doll collection of him, but what do you have against him?”
I bristle, remembering when that fucker was my teammate. “Too much to get into right now.”
We’re in a room with more than twenty people, but I don’t see anyone but her. I can’t fucking wait for our trip. I booked us both in first class, even though Turner had already bought her a ticket, because I wanted to sit next to her on the flights.
Our drinks arrive, and she takes a sip of her unsweetened tea. I’ve noticed she doesn’t drink alcohol when it’s an option since the night we met. Though I usually get a beer when we come here, I’m having water. I didn’t want her to be the only one not drinking alcohol.
