Hattie was done with the ceremony, though. She barked and jumped up, sniffing his glove, making us hold the plaque at an awkward angle.
“What is your dog doing?” Eli asked.
“Hattie down. Get down. Want a treat? And she’s not mine, but you can adopt her.”
“Just hold the plaque steady and level, will you? I haven’t got the shot yet,” the photographer complained.
Hattie ignored my treats and growled. She jumped again and licked his glove all over.
“Hey, make her stop.” Eli frowned.
“Hattie. Down. There must be something smelly on your glove. She can’t get enough of it,” I complained.
Suddenly, some of his teammates laughed behind us.
“Initiated,” one of the guys shouted.
Another said, “I think your glove has had a round in the supply closet, Cap.”
Hattie suddenly chomped on the glove, as if she intended to eat it.
Eli groaned. “Oh, no.”
“What is going on?” I hissed.
“I think the guys pulled a prank on me.”
“The C stands for more than just captain,” another teammate yelled.
“What does that mean?” I demanded. “Hattie, no!”
The usually mild-mannered dog growled, clamping its jaws fully around the glove, fighting to get it off of Eli. I took a big whiff. “Wait. Does your glove smell like sex?” I grimaced, finally getting the horrible joke.
“Fuck!” Eli’s face went scarlet and was in a tug-of-war with Hattie now. The crowd laughed as if we were a comedy act for the night. “It’s not mine, I swear.”
I recoiled. “Sure. Just get it out of Hattie’s mouth!”
“I couldn’t find my glove before coming out here, and finally someone handed me this one, and I didn’t have time to spare to get on the ice. You see, one guy was doing his girl in the supply closet of the locker room, and he must have been using my glove. I think in prank terms, the C stands for?—”
“Please stop. I get it.” I squinted my eyes.
Finally, Hattie tore the glove off and ran away down the ice, chewing and shaking her head with it in her mouth, all fun and games to her. Mortifying to me.
The team roared with laughter, chanting “Initiated. Initiated.” They took off after Hattie and chased her around the rink a few times. The crowd went nuts, laughing and pointing.
“Damn college kids,” the rink official complained, rolled his eyes, and carried the mic off the ice.
The refs finally blew their whistles, and eventually things got back under control. I was able to coax Hattie off the ice with the treats, and I swore I’d never show my face at a Tigers’ game again.
As I left the ice, Eli skidded to a stop, sending shavings of it at my feet. “The glove wasn’t mine, I swear,” he shouted, eyes locked with me. “I just got named captain. The guys were messing with me, that’s all.”
“This has been the weirdest night. I cannot believe this happened.” I dragged Hattie away, cheeks burning.
The next day, when I parked at the animal shelter to report for my volunteer duty, Eli surprised me, waiting by his car for me.
He jogged up. “Hi. I was hoping you’d be here today. I wondered if we could go for a coffee?” His thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he leaned against my door frame, too darn cute for me to resist. “I can’t have you thinking I’m that weird guy with a sexed-up glove.”
“I absolutely thought you were that guy wearing a sexed-up glove.”
