“Mine,” leaves my lips in tandem with me winding an arm around the small of her back.
His hands fly up in surrender. “Understood.”
“Good.” Resuming my carefree nature effortlessly occurs. “Mind if I borrow the mic for a min?”
“Make it do what it do, Groffee,” R3VERS3 cheerfully states, abruptly shorting out the music.
With Gilly still in my grasp, I grab the object, rotate us around to the face the group, and enthusiastically grunt our team war cry, “Ra.”
Everyone in attendance echoes the sentiment.
“Jus’ pausin’ the tuneskies to let everyone know the fajita buffet is set up back by the outdoor open bar forallof the Dragon fam in attendance. Eat and drink as much as you want, the tabs for both are on me.”
“Es-tu honnête?” Matej “Matty” Horák, our Czech forward, questions from the pool stairs he’s occupying with what I’m assuming is his older brother.
“Yup,” I cheerfully answer, proud I know enough of his native language to answer, “total truthskeis, bud.” Returning my focus back to the congregated crowd occurs next. “DJ R3VERS3,” my thumb kicks backward, “is up for playin’any musicfromanywhere,” an extra welcoming grin is presented forthose from other countries, “as long as it wasn’t made in the last decade.”
“Boooooo,” chirps one of the Lagunas brothers aka the Goonie Tunes.
“I also had our latest rookie who I witnessed firsthand dominate camp – Corbin Hale – get me in touch with his sister’s travelin’ hula company – Hula At Your Girl – and hired them to host some teachin’ seshes from now ‘til five. You can find ‘em set up to the left underneath some of the taller palms next toSal Seashell – my favorite ukulele player who strums ameannnnnnJimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.” Light chuckles encourage me to wrap up the announcement. “Whatever you do today, jus’ do it the Dragon Way. Work hard.”
“Ra!” they chant in return with a pound to their chest.
“Play hard.”
“Ra!”
“F…inish that phrase when there aren’t hatchlings around, aye?”
Loud laughs act as an easy segue for R3VERS3 to resume playing music, this time dropping the beat of “Summertime” much to my approval.
“Classic,” I praise during my returning of the mic. “Maybe throw in a little Mungo Jerry ‘In the Summertime’ or Otis Redding ‘(Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay’ jus’ for funskies.”
“Those are two very different vibes, man,” R3VERS3 openly chortles while nodding. “Mad respect for both.”
My grin of appreciation continues when Gilly beams up at me, “I honestly don’t know what impresses me the most. The fact you can understand a bit of Czech, that you went out of your way to make Hale as much as his family feel welcomed, that you have a favorite ukulele player, or that you know who Mungo Jerry is.”
“Can’t be the last one.” I teasingly wink. “That’s jus’ me livin’ up to the amazin’ nickname you gave me.”
Giggles gracing my ears again convinces me to lean over to capture them with my mouth only to unfortunately be interrupted by Jazon “Hedgie” Hedgecomb investigating, “You really organized and paid for all the extra shit?”
Masking my disappointment over our interrupted kiss is done by simply gripping her waist tighter. “Yeah.”
“Pochemu?” Grunts Igor Alexeyev, our team captain, in Russian, large pale arms folding firmly across his chest. “You lose a bet?”
“No.”
“Need better press?”
“No.”
“In arbitration?”
“No.”
“Dude can’t just be doing something nice to be nice, Cap?” Patrick Peck, our black hair and blue-eyed center, I feel will someday where the C on his chest, cautiously questions, fingers tangled with his long-legged, golden caramel-skinned, fiancée, Neena Stiles.
“Nyet,” grumps the man we often answer to on the ice as well as off.
