Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
From his locker, Matt hoots. “Bizness in front, party in the back, yo.”
Conor just gives that easygoing shrug of his. Even being informed he’s rocking a mullet doesn’t faze this guy. I wish I could bottle up his confidence and sell it to pimply-faced teenage boys. We’d make a killing.
“You should cut it,” Jesse advises. “It’s a lady-boner killer.”
Con rolls his eyes. “First off, there’s nothing I could ever do that would kill a lady’s boner.”
He’s probably right about that.
“And secondly, I can’t cut it. Otherwise we’ll lose the game.”
“Shit,” Jesse says, paling. “You’re right.”
Hockey players and their superstitions. Looks like Con ain’t getting a haircut till April.
“Jesus Christ, what is that stench?” Coach demands from the doorway. He strides into the locker room, his nose wrinkled in repulsion.
I exchange a look with the guys. I don’t smell anything, and everyone’s blank expressions say they’re equally stumped.
“It smells like a sulfur factory exploded,” Coach growls.
“Oh,” Bucky realizes. “Yeah, that’s Pablo.”
“The egg?”
I can’t help but snicker. “Yup yup—”
“Don’t fucking say yup yup, Davenport.”
I ignore him. “—because that’s what happens when you ask someone to take care of an egg for like five months. It goes rotten. We’re all used to the smell now.” I glance at Bucky, who’s pulling Pablo Eggscobar out of his locker. “I thought you were keeping him in that zippered pouch to try to contain the stink.”
At the current moment, Pablo is wrapped in numerous layers of cellophane, his pink drink-cozy stretched tightly around the plastic bundle. You can’t even see his little pig face anymore because the odor-suppressing plastic wrap is an inch thick.
“I took him out because I felt bad for the guy, always being locked up like that. He’s not a criminal.”
Snorts and chuckles ring out in the locker room. Coach, however, is not amused.
“Give it to me,” he orders, sticking out a meaty paw.
Bucky looks alarmed. He checks with me as if to ask, should I?
I shrug. “He’s the boss.”
The second Coach has our team mascot in hand, he marches over to the wastebasket by the door and unceremoniously dumps Pablo in the trash.
A strangled cry bursts out, courtesy of Bucky, followed by a widespread hush that lends a spooky air to the room.
I feel like the wind was just knocked out of me. Pablo’s been a part of us for so long that I don’t even know what to say. My teammates’ stunned faces confirm they feel the same way.
Coach Jensen crosses his arms. “Congratulations, you passed the absurd task I didn’t want to assign or think you’d remember to carry out. But—” His voice becomes gruff. “—you all showed some real teamwork and responsibility passing that egg around. And I’m a man of my word—I spoke to the dean and he said we might be able to make something happen with the pig.”
Bucky looks ecstatic. “Seriously? We get the pig? Guys, we did it.”
“Pablo the Pig,” Jesse says slowly. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it. We need a new name.”
“Pablo Pigscobar,” Conor and I blurt out in unison, then turn to each other, grinning.
“Oh Jesus,” Matt says with a wail of laughter. “That’s it, everybody stop talking. Nothing you say could ever top that.”
The rest of the team is cackling their asses off. Even Coach’s lips are twitching. But then he claps his hands to signal that Happy Time is over, and everyone resumes getting ready.
I’m about to slide my chest protector over my head when my phone buzzes. I peer into my locker to see an incoming call from Garrett.
“Hey Coach,” I call out. “Your favorite child Garrett Graham is on the line. Mind if I take this?”
He glances at the clock. We have thirty minutes before the puck drops. “Yes, but make it fast, Davenport. And tell him that was a brilliant play at the end of the third during yesterday’s game against Nashville.”
“Will do.” The locker room’s too damn loud, so I step out into the hallway, where I nod at the security guard standing there. Briar takes the protection of its athletes seriously.
“G,” I answer, raising the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“Hey, glad I caught you. I was worried you’d already shut your phone off.”
“Aw. Calling to wish me good luck?”
There’s a snort in my ear. “Nah, you don’t need it. BU doesn’t stand a chance.”
Damn right they don’t. They’ve been our toughest competitor this year, but I’m confident we can beat them. Granted, I would’ve preferred playing a softer opponent. Like Eastwood College, who, just as I suspected, couldn’t pull their shit together despite their amazing goalie. Kriska can stop a thousand goals, but it won’t help if his forwards aren’t scoring any on the other net.
“Anyway, I’m with Landon in his office right now. He’s headed for LA tonight and will be gone for two weeks, but he wanted to touch base with you before he leaves.”