TORIN
I’m watchingthe game when Hugo makes a spectacular block, sending both the puck and the player sliding backwards. The player manages to keep his footing, but only barely.
Hugo’s already following the puck, pushing it down the other end. We’re in the last few minutes of the game and it’s 0-0. Minnesota is awickedgood team. They’re wildly awesome. Like Canada, Minnesota breathes hockey. I was there for a game near the end of the season once with the team. They’re a whole different kind of wild.
I grip the railing at the top of the arena and lean forward. I can’t really see the puck from here. Not having my seal head on probably wouldn’t make much of a difference in that. But I can follow Hugo as he races down the ice. I can see how the other team and ours are racing to catch up.
Noah speeds behind him as Hugo heads around the net. Just as he crosses the midline and Minnesota’s goalie and players twist to follow him, Hugo backward passes the puck to Noah.
The side of the net is wide open and Noah makes an easy goal while only one of Minnesota’s players tries to defend it last minute, having realized they’d misjudged.
The buzzer sounds and the crowd screams.
I raise my hands in the air and jump around. I try to make a big deal about every goal we make so it doesn’t looklike I’m only cheering Hugo. Or Hugo related events. I’m not sure anyone would truly catch on to that fact, but either way, I try not to make it overly obvious.
“Surry tail shake,” someone yells.
Even though no one can see me, I flush inside my costume. With my hands fisted, I place them on my hips and stick my ass out, shaking my tail. I jump up, do a quarter turn, and repeat. This happens for a full revolution. When I complete it, those around me cheer as if I just did something special.
That’s okay. I appreciate being part of the experience. It’s nice that they’re excited to see me and watch me make a fool of myself within my costume.
“Surry.” I turn at the voice. It’s one of the exec staff that’s out managing during games. The game is wrapping up, which means my job is almost finished for the night. “Shirt cannon?”
I nod and follow him down the stairs and toward the visitor box. One of the security agents opens the gate behind the box and we step down into the back where the visiting team’s chute leads through. There’s a door to the side and the man picks up a handful of shirts before handing me the air gun especially designed for shirts.
It’s a good thing they don’t ask me to throw. My aim and strength are shit even without the restrictions of a costume and a head that’s five times as big as my own.
We don’t go onto the ice; instead, we walk along the path between the boards and the first row seat. The crowd splits their attention between us and the last few minutes of the game. I glance back, peeking at the time and the score. 4:38 and we’re holding the 1-0 lead.
Turning back, I accept a shirt from the guy and stick it in my gun. The section I’m standing in cheers. Another peek over my shoulder says that they’re not cheering for anything on the ice. So it must be for me.
I tease the crowd, moving my air gun around until I choose a person at random. Whoever gets it truly is random because even though I might aim for a specific person and the shirt makes it there, at least half the time it’s stolen by someone else.
The girl with the neon pink shirt is my target. I point at her andshe raises her hands in the air. After a quick pump of the air canister at the bottom, I aim, give her an iffy hand gesture, and then shoot. I’m both surprised and pleased when she shoves a guy who tries to get in front of her for the shirt out of the way and she picks it from the air.
The guy is pissed, but I’m grinning inside my mask. I give her a thumbs up and then point at the angry guy and give him a thumbs down before he gets my tail flipped at him. Doing one better, I slap my tail and point at the guy.
I receive a glare, but the crowd loves it. They’re cheering and jeering, depending on where they’re looking.
We make our way around the arena, stopping in every second or third section to shoot out a shirt. I keep one eye on the game and nearly stop breathing when the puck goes straight for Winslow’s face. Thankfully, he has a mask. And also thankfully, his reflexes are better than a cat’s. He stops that shit like it was nothing.
Thankfully, my job is easy. I get through the shirts and hand off the gun. Then I spend the next hour waving people out. Now that I’m free, I allow myself permission to think about Hugo.
Our season is going pretty well. We’ve officially won more games than we’ve lost now, even if only by one. But even better than the high of the start of the season is the feeling that there’s something growing between me and Hugo.
Yesterday morning was the one and only time we showered together. And jerked off together. I was terrified it was going to be awkward and maybe it would have been with literally anyone else, but as soon as we got out, Hugo hugged me tightly. No words passed between us.
It was as if we hugged all the awkwardness away and he didn’t let me go until we were both convinced that everything was going to be the same as it’s been going. Which is perfect. Amazing. I look forward to moments with him more than anything else. More than I want to breathe.
Hugo walks me to my car tonight. He invited me to go out with his friends and I declined. He offered for me to sleep over, but I really do need a change of clothes. Even though he’s been washing these, I’ve been wearing the same clothes for days now! He evenoffered to drive home with me so there’s no chance of me getting too tired.
I don’t know why I’m so insistent that I go home. It’s dumb and I’m going to regret it immediately. He hugs me when we reach my car and I try very hard not to sink into him.
“If you get too tired, you can always turn around,” he says. “I promise I won’t be out long.”
“Don’t hurry. You deserve to enjoy time with your friends. You made the one and only goal tonight. That needs to be celebrated.”
Hugo sighs heavily. “Yes, but… Promise me you’ll be okay driving.”
