The locker room after Elida Eriksson’s first session is louder than usual, which means everyone has an opinion and no one is waiting to be asked for it.
I sit at my stall and unlace my skates.
“I mean,” Barrett says, from two stalls down, “she’s not wrong about the crossovers.”
“Thank you, Barrett,” I say flatly.
“I’m just saying.”
“I know what you’re saying.”
“The hip thing was-”
“Barrett.”
He grins, because he’s Barrett and this is exactly what he wanted, and goes back to pulling off his gear. Mercer hasn’t saidanything yet, which means he probably has a lot to say but he’s saving it.
Chen appears beside me, already changed, leaning against the stall with his water bottle and the expression he gets when he’s choosing his words carefully.
“You good?”
“Fine.”
He nods like he definitely does not believe me but will not be pushing it further, which is why he’s my closest friend on this team now. One of the best things about Chen is that he knows exactly when to leave things alone.
Mercer, unfortunately, does not operate this way.
“I don’t see why we need her,” he says, addressing the room generally. “We already do skating drills. We have a strength program. We’ve been doing fine.”
“We still haven’t officially won a league yet,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Yeah, we’re closer than we were this time last year. But close isn’t enough.”
“So you’re on board with her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sounded like-”
“I said close isn’t enough. That’s true.” I stand, grabbing my jacket. “Doesn’t mean I think the solution is a figure skater running drills without sticks.”
“She seemed like she knew what she was doing,” Chen says.
No one responds to that directly because Chen is the kind of person who thinks the best about everybody - before others are ready to.
“The demonstration was good,” Ward admits, from the corner. “I’ll give her that.”
“The demonstration was showing off,” I say.
“Little bit,” Barrett agrees cheerfully. “But like, impressive showing off. Plus, she’s crazy hot.”
I pull my jacket on and grab my bag and head for the door before this becomes a longer conversation than I have the patience for.
“Drinks tonight,” Chen says behind me. “Tierney’s. Eight o’clock.”
“Maybe.”
“Russo.”
“Yeah. Fine. Eight o’clock.”
