I look at him incredulously. “You haven’t stopped eating since I met you at the airport.”
“He has three stomachs,” Jakub teases.
“And the one under his abs is broken since his stomach stays flat,” Creed mutters.
I laugh, shaking my head.
The restaurant is, shockingly, not as crowded as literally everywhere else we’ve been. Even with the half dozen hockey players already there, it’s blessedly peaceful.
Between Jakub and Ethan, they know all six of the guys. I recognize Link Jördik from Florida and Stark Meierklein from Boston. As I’m sitting at the table listening to them talk, not for the first time I marvel at how diverse hockey can be. At this table, I’m listening to Czech, Austrian, German, and… I think Imanov is Russian. The name sounds Russian. He’s hardly said anything, so I’m just guessing right now since I don’t have a clear accent to identify.
You don’t see it a lot in high school. Even on state teams, there’s mostly American kids around unless you’re close to Canada or a place with an exchange program or something. I didn’t have that. I grew up in the south. Enough said.
“I see you’ve been playing defense,” Link says to me, his Austrian accent thicker than I remember.
I nod, shrugging. “I was recruited as a diverse player, bouncing between defense and offense, though even in college I stuck to offense a lot since that’s where the need was. I think Buffalo kept me on offense once Creed arrived because they were hoping I would magick up with Ethan and Creed.”
Link snorts. “Not likely.”
Grinning, I shrug. “Yeah, exactly. We had an injury during a game last year and Coach put me on defense. I guess he was happy with what he saw.”
“It’s good,” Links comments. “We will make a good team.”
“We know who our goalies are yet?” Ethan asks.
“You could have read the email,” Creed deadpans.
Ethan shrugs.
“Fournier from Montreal and Davies from Ottawa,” Stark offers. “Good goalies. Not as good as Boston.” His German accent has faded some since the last time I spoke to him.
“Not as good as Buffalo!” Ethan says.
“No Badcock this game,” Link cheers. “We have a better chance when the goalie isn’t as big as the goal.”
I laugh. Yeah, Felton definitely fills the net.
“He’s going to love that you miss him,” Ethan says.
“Who’re the other goalies?” I ask.
“Mmm,” Stark starts. “Dayne and Gibbon for Pacific. Trustein on Metro. Drick is Central…. Those are names I remember.”
“Ohh, Azure’s here!” Ethan says. “Have you ever looked into that man’s eyes when you try to score on him? It’s like someone walking over your grave, holding your soul down and bringing a knife through your lungs all at the same time.”
“Pleasant,” I mutter.
“I do not look in goalie’s eyes,” Stark says. “They’re all a special kind of crazy.”
“I don’t know. I think Asael’s pretty cool,” I comment, referring to one of our goalies.
“Asael is weird for not being weird,” Stark says.
We laugh.
It isn’t long before the rest of the Atlantic team joins us. I hear more names dropped concerning who’s been spotted so far. Ethan keeps announcing people when he looks at his phone. Eventually, Creed leans into me and says, “He has a chat with the Gays Can Play guys. I think they’re all checking in when they get here.”
“Are they all here?” I ask.
