Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“I got my cat,” Kirby interjects, “brought her home, filled the litter box, and put her in it. Boom, bang, done. Bought a cat condo thing and she never used that motherfucker. Collected dust until I gave it away. Comes to me when she wants pets, which is rare but when she does, it’s cool. She basically runs the house and we just live in it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, “but I’m pretty sure I want a dog who can lie on the couch with me. They understand you when you talk to them. Cats just look at you. You can’t tell a cat, ‘Hey, let’s go for a walk.’”
“You can,” Kirby counters and he sounds insulted, “she just ignores you; it’s perfect.”
“What kind of dog were you thinking of getting?” Jaxon asks me and I shrug. “What if you meet a girl and she’s allergic to dogs, or better yet, she hates them?”
“Then I don’t date her.” I chuckle. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be dating for a while.”
“You say that now,” Kirby says, “but eventually you are going to date, and when you bring her home and she’s sneezing and shit, then you have to decide ‘do I keep the girl who keeps my bed and other parts of me warm at night, or do I choose the freeloader who sits when I tell him to?’”
“You really have a way with words.” Jaxon pushes his shoulder. “You should be a motivational speaker.”
I laugh at them. Coach comes out and blows his whistle and then sets up the play. “Okay, we’re going to warm up our legs a little,” he says and I think everyone has the same reaction to that when a few of us groan out and a couple look up to the ceiling. “Forwards, you are going to start at the corners of the ice, opposites sides. Skate up to the other blue line.” He draws on the board in front of him. “Go around and come back to where you started from. Someone will give you the puck from center ice,” he says, “then you bring it into the zone.” I look at the play, thinking that it’s too easy. “Defense,” he continues, “you will start at the same sides as the forwards.” He writes D right on the line. “Go around this circle.” He motions to the circle right next to where we start. “Then skate up and try to get the puck from the forward who is coming back to you.” He drops the marker that is hanging on a string before he blows his whistle.
I skate over to the side and go in a circle as we watch Lane in front of us go. “Go, go, go.” Zane, the assistant coach, is skating with him to the other side, pushing him to go faster. I’m up second, Patrick is behind me with Joel, and Jaxon is watching. Kirby is the first defenseman to do his drill as he skates to center ice to try and intercept the puck. He keeps pressure on him and only when he comes across the blue line and into his zone does Kirby really put on the pressure. He totally sees Lane trying to fuck him up by going left, but still staying right, and he outstretches his stick and knocks the puck off his stick. Lane tries to turn his back toward him and grab the puck back, but Kirby moves the puck from his stick to between his legs and catches it behind him with his stick, making the defense line cheer.
“That was good!” I shout. “You should try that in a game when it counts!”
He looks over at me and gives me a chin lift while holding up his middle finger. “Let’s see you do better.” I look over and see I’m against Jaxon, and I inwardly groan. He’s the best defenseman in the league. His game gets better and better every fucking year. He’s a beast and has the hardest shot in the league, after his father, who retired.
“Don’t worry,” Jaxon goads, “I’ll go easy on you.” He smirks as I hunch down and wait for the whistle to blow before taking off. I skate down the ice, turning around and grabbing the puck effortlessly as it hits the middle of my blade. Jaxon doesn’t even try to skate to me, instead waiting at the blue line for me to skate into his zone. He moves his skates backward, his eyes on mine, not my stick, not the puck, knowing I’m going to have to look right and left before I decide what my play is going to be. That’s why he’s so good, he can feel the play coming. I look left and right then left again as I get closer to him. I fuck him up when I go right then deke left, taking the look to the left, but shooting right and he goes left as I shoot the puck toward the net. The puck is saved by the goalie, but now it’s the forwards who celebrate. “That was good; better if you found the back of the net,” he teases me, “but I guess you are saving that for the game.”