Archive of Our Own

January, 2000

Cody Jameson plucks his suitcase from the baggage carousel so enthusiastically that the people around him stop and stare.

He’d gotten the call this morning in the middle of practice. The guys had cheered him out the door at the news, and he’d grabbed his shit and left the practice rink without even showering. He’d had two hours to get to the apartment he shared with two other teammates, clean up, pack, and take a taxi to the Triad airport for his flight to Hartford.

Well, flights. This time of year is shit for traveling, and what was supposed to be a one hour layover at LaGuardia turned into a four hour delay. It’s now almost midnight and he’s got to be at practice in nine hours, but he’s still excited as hell.

It’s nearly 1:00 am before he flops down on the bed at the Ramada Inn — a room all to himself for the first time in god knows how long — and grins up at the ceiling. He’s spent three months playing for the Greensboro Generals, and though he’s grateful he had a place on that roster, he’s thrilled to be here now. If he can do well here, he might earn a permanent spot on the Wolf Pack’s roster. The AHL is a big step up from the ECHL. You do well here and you might get called up to the show one day.

He’s here now because Brovinsky took a dirty hit and tore up his shoulder. Cody figures he’s got a few weeks to prove himself before Brovinsky comes back and they’ll send him down again. If he makes a good impression, he’ll stay on their radar, maybe get called up the next time they need someone. Or maybe they’ll be so impressed with him that they won’t send him back at all.

He rolls onto his stomach and groans into his pillow. It’s too early to let himself think like that. He’s got to earn it first.

He manages a few hours of sleep and is up at 6:00. He scarfs down a hotel breakfast of powdered scrambled eggs, greasy bacon, and toast, and takes a taxi to the practice rink. He has a meeting with HR at 8:00 to sign paperwork, then gets a quick tour of the facility from Lorraine, the office manager. She points him toward the locker room at the end of it, and leaves him there at the door with a slight smirk on her face. Thrown to the wolves, almost literally.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

There are a handful of guys there already, in various stages of gearing up. He recognizes their faces from camp, though the names are escaping him. They all look up at Cody when the door closes. There’s an awkward quiet moment before they all say, “Heeeeey,” nearly in unison.

One of the guys stands and comes over to shake Cody’s hand. “It’s Jameson, right? Welcome to the Wolf Pack. I’m Johann Grandin.” His accent sounds Scandinavian.

“The captain, right? Thanks, man.”

“You can put your gear over there, in Brovie’s stall,” Grandin says. “We’ll tape over the name plate later.”

Cody nods and crosses to set his bag down. There’s a blue and white practice jersey hanging in the stall. He assumes it’s for him. He turns to the guy in the next stall and smiles. “Hey, man.”

“Call me Turbo,” the guys says, and grins. He’s got the start of a beard and is missing a couple of teeth. He gestures at the other guys in the room. “And that’s Brandy, and Pavs, and Tommy. And over there is Russ, Jacks, and Bubba.”

Most of them look really young, barely twenty. They were probably all high draft picks, guys who went straight into the pros instead of spending four years in college in hopes of signing as a free agent — like he did.

Oh god, he’s so fucking inadequate it’s not even funny. What the hell is he doing here?

The guys all say “Hey,” with the exception of Bubba, who just grunts. He’s fucking huge, got to be 6’6”, and appears to be made of solid muscle. Cody is immediately glad he’s on their side.

“Thanks, guys,” Cody says, and holds up a hand. He immediately feels awkward, like — what the fuck is the hand gesture he’s making, a royal wave? A long-distance high-five? He drops his hand and turns toward the stall, his stall for the next who-knows-how-long.

He turns his attention to unpacking his gear, and the guys start chattering around him. He’s used to being in the middle of the buzz in the dressing room, talking shit with all the guys, but it’s like everyone is ignoring him. And okay, he gets that: he’s the new guy, here because one of their best wingers is injured. They probably don’t expect him to stick around long.

His stomach is in knots, which doesn’t help. He takes a soothing breath, then goes in search of the bathroom. He leans his head against the inside of the stall door and counts to 60. That’s all the time he’s giving himself today to get his shit together.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror while he washes his hands, and takes another deep breath. He’s got to earn their respect, show them he deserves to be here. And the best way to do that is on the ice. He can do this. He was born to do this. It’s going to be fucking awesome.

The guys are all getting into the pads when he gets back to his stall, so he strips down quickly and pulls out his base layer shirt and pants. He digs through the bag for his jock and… it’s not there.

Shit. Did he forget to bring a jock in the rush to get here? He can’t imagine he did, but it’s not here.

There’s a distinct snickering sound to his left. He looks over to see Turbo trying and not quite accomplishing an innocent expression. “Something wrong, Jameson?”

Right. “My jock seems to have gone missing. I wonder how that happened?”

“Sucks, dude,” Turbo says.

A couple of the guys around them are grinning way too widely.

The fact that they’re pranking him is a good sign, of course. Cody forces himself to smile. “Any idea where I can get another one on short notice?”

Turbo leans over, adjusting his shin guards. “Ask George, probably. That’s the equipment manager.”

“Okay,” Cody says. “Where can I find George?”

“Just open the door and yell. That usually works.”

“I got ya, dude,” Pavs says, and heads over to a door Cody assumes leads toward the ice. Pavs opens it and shouts, “Yo, George!” He turns around and smiles broadly at Cody.

“Thanks,” Cody says, and turns back to his stuff. He gets everything else out and sorted so he can get dressed when he gets a new jock.

There’s a sound behind him, and all the guys say, “Geeoorge,” in greeting. Cody turns around.

And gapes.

George isn’t a pimply-faced kid like he was expecting. George is a girl. A girl with long, dark wavy hair and big brown eyes and an obvious girly shape even underneath the standard hockey staff uniform of polo and khakis. Cody’s not much of an expert on girls, but even he can see that she fits the standard definition of hot.

“What?” George says, in a tone that indicates she’s not planning on taking shit from anyone.

All the guys turn to look at Cody, grinning.

Cody suddenly realizes he’s completely naked. He covers his junk with one hand and tries valiantly not to blush.

George does not look amused. “New kid needs a jock, I take it?”

Cody nods his head, unable to make sound come out of his mouth.

George’s gaze slides down to the hand over his crotch and back up again. “I’ll see what I’ve got in a small.” She smirks at Cody, then turns and leaves.

The moment the door closes, the guys burst out laughing. Cody sinks onto the bench and groans. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

“Your face, dude!” Turbo says, slapping Cody’s shoulder.

“And then he’s like—” Russ covers his crotch with one hand and makes an exaggerated shocked face.

“I’m not used to seeing a chick in the locker room is all,” Cody says. He knows his face is burning, and that’s only going to encourage the guys to chirp him more.

“She definitely wasn’t impressed,” Pavs says. “And it’s not even that cold in here.”

That starts a new round of laughter.

“Wow, original,” Cody replies, and pulls on his undershirt.

“It’s almost like a girl’s never seen your junk, man,” Tommy says.

“Don’t worry, dude,” Turbo says, going back to his shin guards again. “You’re in the A now. We got real puck bunnies and everything. You’ll be a man soon.” He laughs at his own joke.

Cody makes a show of rolling his eyes, though the comment cuts a little close to home.

The door opens again and George steps through. She tosses a jock to Cody, then gives the room one more stern look before leaving again.

The guys laugh, and Cody shakes his head. He glances over at Turbo. “George, eh?”

Turbo smirks. “She’s a stone cold fox, that chick. Look all you want, but she ain’t gonna let you touch.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Cody’s eyebrows rise before he can get his expression under control. The most prominent feature of Turbo’s narrow face is his crooked, many-times-broken nose. The 1980s desperately wants his hairstyle back, and his eyebrows — correction, eyebrow — looks like a caterpillar decided to take a nap on his forehead. The idea that Turbo thinks he’d have a chance with a girl like George is like, wacked. Cody’s not usually in a position to be all that picky about who he hooks up with, but Turbo does not remotely register as attractive. Like… no. God, no.

“Probably a dyke,” Turbo says. “What a waste. You see her ass?” He shakes his head. “Baby got back, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Huh.” Cody starts pulling his pads on. Look on the bright side, he tells himself. They’re chirping you. They pranked you. They’re already accepting you, so—

“All right, let’s get out there,” Grandin says. “We got work to do to if we’re gonna beat those Rochester faggots tomorrow night.”

There’s a rousing cheer around the room.

Cody takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. It hasn’t even been half an hour yet.

Fuck.

*****

George holds up two scraps of royal blue spandex and gives Jim an incredulous look. “No. No way.”

“Georgie, honey,” Jim says, settling back in his chair. “You’re such a beautiful girl. You’d look amazing.”

“I’m not an Ice Girl,” George replies, shaking her head. “I’m on the team staff. I don’t mind setting up the nets tonight, but I am not doing it wearing this!”

“All the girls wear it,” Jim says. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal.”

“The other girls skate out, scoop snow, and skate off again,” George retorts. “I’m gonna be on my hands and knees, redrilling holes in the ice. I can’t do that in a freaking bikini.”

“You could wear knee pads.”

“I could wear pants. And a jacket. Like the guys on the ice crew wear.”

Jim presses a hand to his forehead and sighs. “It’s just a uniform. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Because it’s completely impractical!” She shakes her head. “Not to mention sexist. The guys aren’t out there in booty shorts.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Oh, okay. I see. You can’t wear the outfit because it’s sexist.” He leans forward. “Do you know how many girls try out for the Ice Girls every season? Hundreds. And we only pick eight. Every one of them would be grateful to wear that sexist outfit on the ice.”

“Good for them,” George says, “but I’m not here to shake my ass on the ice for entertainment. My job is to make sure the equipment is ready for the game, and I can’t do that wearing this.” She tosses the costume on his desk and folds her arms over her chest.

“Christ, Georgie.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Fine. Wear your usual uniform. But you’d better do a damn good job.”

“I always do,” she replies. She turns back once before heading through the door, and smiles in a way she hopes looks genuine. “Hey, Jim — thanks for understanding.”

He shoots her an annoyed look and waves his hand in dismissal.

Her jaw is still clenched when she gets back to the equipment room. God, the nerve of Jim, trying to make her wear that. The idea of being on display like that, with thousands of people — or worse, the players — ogling her ass while she’s fucking drilling the ice for the goal pegs is just…

She closes the door of the equipment room and leans her forehead against it. She’s full of anxious energy still, and she needs to burn it off before she bites some bumbling player’s head off. She glances at her watch: she’s probably got half an hour before she has to start sharpening skates for the game. That’s enough time.

She digs her bag out of the locker and grabs her skates, then heads out to the rink.

There’s someone on the ice when she gets there, a player in a practice jersey firing a puck into a net on the other end. She frowns; at this point on game days, she usually has the ice to herself. All the players are sleeping off their carb-loaded lunches in preparation for the game.

Whatever. She doesn’t care now. She just wants to skate until her thighs burn, and then skate some more.

She does a few laps to warm up, and pointedly doesn’t look at the player as she passes him. She speeds up on the fourth lap, then goes wide open on the fifth and sixth. She glides with her hands on her knees until she catches her breath again, then starts skating for real.

She goes through a series of drills, ones that push her to the limit of her ability, sharp c-cuts and pivots, crossovers deep on an edge, and then does it all backwards. She pushes and pushes, skates and skates, until her muscles burn and her lungs ache. She looks up and sees the player coming toward her, and on a whim she rushes him. She comes to a stop a foot before hitting him, snowing his skates. He stares at her with wide eyes.

Her chest is heaving, she’s breathing so hard. It gives her a moment to look at him, though. He’s the new guy, the call-up from North Carolina, the one the guys had played the standard jock strap prank on the day before. He’s not as young as she’d first thought, now that she gets a good look at him. He’s probably close to her age, about six feet tall with green eyes and a smattering of freckles on his nose. His auburn hair is curling at the ends where it’s damp with sweat, which makes him look even more lost, somehow.

He’s still staring at her.

“What?” she says, still huffing.

“You’re really good,” he says, with an air of astonishment.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I am. What of it?”

He frowns. “No, I mean… I’m just surprised.”

She groans. “Wow, a woman who can skate. Imagine that.”

“No,” he says, and his cheeks go red and blotchy. “I just… the equipment managers aren’t usually such good skaters, you know? I mean, they think they are, right? Teddy — that’s the equipment manager we had in Greensboro — he plays rec hockey, and he was hot shit on his team, apparently, but he wasn’t anywhere close to… Wow, I don’t think most of the guys on the Generals could come anywhere close to you.”

He’s right, of course. A lot of good that does her, though. “What was your name again, kid?”

“Cody,” he says. “Cody Jameson.”

“Where are you from, Cody?”

“Vancouver. Well, Victoria, actually. That’s on an island—”

“I know where Victoria is,” she says, cutting him off. “Why are you still here?”

His expression is stricken for a moment before he reins it in again. “They haven’t sent me down yet.”

She shakes her head and laughs. “No, that’s not what I meant. Like why are you on the ice? Aren’t you supposed to be napping about now?”

“Oh,” he replies, and shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep if I tried. After practice yesterday and skate this morning — I have a lot of work to do if I’m gonna make it here.”

“Look, you’re on the fourth line tonight, right?”

He frowns, then nods.

“And it’s your first game. You’re not gonna get a hell of a lot of minutes, okay? So for the ones you do get, you need to be ready.”

“That’s what I’m—”

“No, Cody.” She sighs and steps closer, looking him square in the eyes. “Go home and get some rest. Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

He stares back at her. “Okay, I… okay.” He turns toward the gate, still hesitant.

“Go, rookie.” She slaps his ass, and he startles, then skates forward.

He swivels and skates backward, and smiles. “Thanks, George. See you tonight!” He keeps smiling at her, and actually hits the boards next to the gate, only barely avoiding falling on his ass. He goes red again, then waves awkwardly before heading to the locker room.

Great, another kid with a crush. It’s not like it’s the first time.

*****

It’s Sunday, which means that the only ice time Cody can get is during public skate. He’d tried to get the rink manager to open early, but the guy had laughed — literally laughed — in his face. It’s all rec league games until 1:00 pm, then public skate until 6:00, and more rec hockey after that.

And okay, Cody gets it. The rink makes a lot of money on the weekends, and the hockey team is usually either on the road or playing at the arena on Sundays. Of course, there’s a youth basketball tournament at the arena this weekend, so there’s no ice there either. He hasn’t gotten paid yet, so he can’t be taxiing all over town to find another place. This is his only option.

He looks out at the crowd of people on the ice and sighs. It’s crowded with new skaters clinging to the boards and couples skating laps hand-in-hand. Little kids in hockey gear weave in and out of the flow, playing tag, while teenage girls with serious expressions spin and jump in the center. It’s mass chaos, basically.

He steps out on the ice and takes a few laps, swerving to avoid crashing into people. He tries to do a lap backwards, but it’s too stressful with all the traffic. He sighs and goes back to stroking with long strides, just fast enough to break a sweat.

He’d played a total of four minutes Wednesday night, and ended up with a minus one rating for his trouble. Friday night had gone a little better, in the sense that nothing bad happened during the five and a half minutes he was actually on the ice. Nothing particularly good had happened either, though, so when he was a healthy scratch for Saturday night’s game, he couldn’t claim to be surprised. At this rate, they’ll send him back to Greensboro just to give someone else a chance.

He skids to a stop, barely avoiding a collision with a pair of skaters who just went down right in front of him. He sighs and skates on, frustration building under his skin. He’s got to do something different here, but he doesn’t know what. He’s not clicking with his linemates, and they don’t seem particularly concerned about it. In Greensboro, he’d been on the top line. He’d been their number one goal scorer, one of the clear stars of the team. The crowds, scant as they often were, cheered when his name was announced.

Here, no one gives a fuck. And it’s not like he’s giving them a reason to.

The rink staff come out and set up a temporary barrier across one end of the rink, creating a small, closed-off area of ice. Cody assumes it’s for a birthday party or something, but then he sees a familiar figure skate into that zone. George is dressed casually in sweats, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Trailing behind her is a pair of boys in hockey gear. The boys warm up while George sets out equipment: some traffic cones, a few sticks, and a big folded mat.

Cody keeps skating, and George starts to put the boys through a series of drills. After five minutes, Cody finds himself slowing down every lap to look over at what they’re doing. After another five, he steps off the ice and finds a spot to sit behind the glass and watch.

So okay, he’s seen George skate and he knows she’s good. He asked the guys about it, if they knew anything, and Grandin had said, “Yeah, she played in college. Somewhere up north, I think.” And then they’d chirped him for a solid five minutes about how he was never getting in her pants.

The fact that they think he’d even want to is a relief.

After half an hour, the boys trundle off the ice, red-faced and panting, and another boy skates on. The rink is somehow even more crowded now, so Cody doesn’t bother going out to skate again. He gets a Gatorade from the concession stand and settles in to watch the next lesson.

George seems to be working differently with this kid. He’s a little older, maybe 16 or 17, and she’s spending a lot of time making tiny adjustments to his stance, little shifts that appear to have an immediate effect. Just while Cody watches, the kid makes a lot of improvement. George studies him with sharp, focused eyes, and every time she speaks, the kid stops what he’s doing and listens.

She’s not just a good skater, Cody realizes, staring at her through the glass. She’s also a good coach. And hell, maybe that’s what Cody needs right now — the right coach to help him get to the next level.

The moment the second lesson is done, he leans through the gate and waves at her. “Hey, George!”

She stares at him for a moment, then skates over. “Cody, what are you doing here?”

“This is the only ice time I could get this afternoon,” he says. “But it’s a little crazier than I expected.”

“No duh.” She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “There are other places to skate, you know.”

Cody shrugs. “My roommate went somewhere for the day, and I don’t have a car, so I’m kinda limited to where I can walk or bus.”

“Huh,” she says. She doesn’t look impressed. She never looks impressed.

Cody takes a deep breath. “So you do a lot of private coaching, then?”

George shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, the job with the team is part-time, so it helps pay the rent.”

“What do you charge?” Cody asks, and she frowns at him. He backtracks. “I mean, what would you charge me?”

“You?”

“Yeah.” His cheeks warm a little, and he looks down. “I’m in a rut, or something, and I need to work on it. Maybe you could help me.”

She makes a sound like a strangled laugh. “Is this a joke?”

“No! Christ, of course not.” He exhales, looks out across the crowded rink. “If I don’t find a way to up my game, I’m gonna get sent back down. I watched you with those kids, and you know, you’re really good and all.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Talk to Coach Brandt. He’s the one who usually works on skating issues.”

“I did. He ran me through a bunch of drills I’m already good at, then said to keep practicing.” He looks at her again. “C’mon, George. I’m desperate here. What’ve you got to lose?”

“A whole half-hour of my life.” She folds her arms over her chest.

“I’ll pay you double what you usually charge.”

“I was gonna charge you triple.” She looks at him for a few seconds, as if she’s trying to make a decision. Finally, she shrugs. “Fine. My 2:30 canceled anyway. Can you start right now?”

Cody grins and steps onto the ice. “Now is good. I can do now.”

She shakes her head, but there’s humor in her expression now. “All right, kid. Show me what you got.”

*****

Two weeks go by, and Cody — well, Cody is good. He could be better, and they’re working on that, but he’s definitely got the basic elements needed to play at this level, and probably higher.

“I’ve got to be faster,” he keeps saying, frustrated at himself.

“And you’re getting there,” she says every time. Today, she adds, “You’re a hell of a lot better on your edges than you were when you first got here.”

“Yeah, but like…” He sighs. “I fucked up on Saturday night, again, right before that turnover. I saw what was about to happen, and I couldn’t get there.”

“Listen to me,” she says, and taps her stick on his shin. “The fact that you see it, that’s the important thing. Keep working on your skating and you’ll get there. But seeing the game the way you do — look, do you know what the difference is between the guys who play in the ECHL and the guys who play in the show?”

“They’re a hell of a lot faster, for one thing.”

“Not really.” She pauses and raises her eyebrows at him. “Maybe a little bit faster, but not that much. You know guys on the Generals who can shoot 100 miles an hour, right? The level of skill isn’t what makes a difference. It’s about how you see the game.” She pokes him hard in the middle of the forehead. “It’s about how smart you are, how quickly you can read the ice, read the players. How fast you can map out the hundred things that could happen, then narrow it down a second later to the ten things that are likely to happen, and then be prepared to react to any of them. That’s something that’s hard to teach.”

Cody exhales heavily. “Yeah, okay.”

“But you can do that. I see you do it every time you’re on the ice. You had a few amazing shifts in the last game. You made shit happen that the other guys on your line didn’t even see.”

He’s staring at her now with wide eyes. “It’s not good enough, though.”

“It will be. You just gotta keep working.”

He nods, looking thoughtful. She resists the urge to reach up and ruffle his hair.

The thing is, he always listens to her, takes her seriously. She hadn’t realized how little the players on this team respected her until he came along. She’d made a few comments here and there last year when she’d first got the job — suggestions for how a guy might sharpen his skates differently or sand his sticks — but they’d laughed at her, called her sweetheart and baby, and stared at her chest the whole time.

She hadn’t known how much she needed someone to just listen to her until now. It’s been a year and a half since she graduated and left college hockey behind. She’d tried to find a rec league, but she was so much better than the other women in the area that it was more frustrating than fun. It was a reminder that she’d never play a that level again.

“Looks like they’re gonna resurface,” Cody says. In the larger rink, the skaters are filing off the ice.

George sighs. There’s never enough time or space to do what she really wants with Cody. She’s got to do something about that.

*****

“Bob, hey,” George says, popping her head through the doorway of the rink manager’s office. “You got a minute?”

Bob smiles and looks up from the computer screen. “Always got a minute for you, Georgie.”

George smiles and crosses to sit in the chair opposite his desk. “How’s Helen?”

“Good, she’s good. Well, her hip’s been bothering her, you know.”

“Aw, sorry to hear that. Tell her I said I hi, would you?”

“Sure thing, doll. Now, what can I do for ya?”

George leans forward in the chair. “You know how I do some private coaching on the weekends?”

Bob’s smile broadens. “And you’re damn good at it, from what I hear.”

“Ah, thanks. Well, I’ve been working with one of the players for the last couple of weeks, the rookie call-up from Greensboro? And I was wondering if I could get the full rink to work with him, maybe a couple of mornings a week?”

Bob takes off his glasses and studies them, then wipes them with a tissue. “Well, I’d love to help you out, Georgie, you know that. But the team’s got staff who can work with the kid.”

“Yeah, I know, but… look, it’s working for him. You saw him last night, that goal he got at the end of the second?”

“Kid’s been working hard, absolutely.”

“He’s been working with me.”

“Georgie, honey.” Bob chuckles. “Look, I don’t know how to break it to you, but this guy’s probably sweet on you, yeah? Maybe he’s just angling to spend a little more time with you and—”

“It’s not like that,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “Look, I’m good at this, you said so yourself. And maybe I’m helping him in a way the coaching staff haven’t been able to. Or haven’t taken the time to.” She opens her eyes as wide as she can, and lets her lower lip stick out the tiniest bit.

Bob gives her a long look, then sighs. “You’d have to come in early and open the place yourself.”

George nods. “I can do that.”

“And resurface the ice when you’re done.”

“Yeah, of course.” She drives the damn Zamboni three times a day as it is; once more is nothing.

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Thanks, Bob. I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than that,” he quips. He rolls his chair back and opens a drawer, then rummages through it. He rifles through a dozen keys on a ring before pulling one off and handing it over. “That’ll get you in the door by the loading dock. You know how to turn the alarm off, right?”

“Yep.” She grips the key tightly in her hand and stands. “I really appreciate it.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “I can’t say no to that pretty face.”

She flashes him a brilliant smile before she goes.

Once she’s down the hallway, she fishes her phone from her pocket and flips it open. Cody’s number nine on her speed dial, so it’s ringing in a matter of seconds.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I got us ice time.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. As much as we want, as long as the ice is resurfaced by 8:00 am.” She grins, even though no one is there to see.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing.” He sounds excited. “Can we start tomorrow?”

“How’s six for you?”

“I’ll bring coffee,” he replies. “Hey, Georgie — thanks.”

“You might not be thanking me after I ride you hard tomorrow morning.” She grimaces the instant the words leave her mouth. Christ, that’s not what she meant, not at all.

He laughs, though, as if the innuendo flew right over his head. “Yeah, I’ll bet. See you then.”

*****

Having an entire rink to themselves is heaven. They meet four times during the first week, and the work pays off. Cody scores a goal and an assist on the road trip to Providence, and the coaching staff notices.

“That kid works damn hard,” Coach Scarpin says in the Monday morning staff meeting. “He’s improved a hell of a lot.”

George sifts through the paperwork in front of her and tries not to grin too smugly.

“Always nice to see the callups take advantage of the opportunity,” Jackson says. “I hear he’s been coming in early and practicing on his own.”

George looks up. Do they know she’s working with him? She should tell them, maybe, let them know that his success is at least partly due to her. She imagines it for a moment: what she’d say, the looks of surprise on their faces, what they’d say next. Maybe they’d ask what she does, ask her to work with some of the other players too. Lord knows some of them need it.

Maybe they’d even offer her a job with the coaching staff. Maybe—

“Hey, Georgie?” Scarpin says.

She looks up, heart in her throat. “Yeah?”

“Get me some more coffee, would you, honey? Two sugars.”

She suppresses a sigh. “Sure, Coach.”

*****

Cody’s breathing heavy when they’re done on Tuesday morning, but his face is bright. “Did you see that?”

“You fuckin’ killed it,” she says, grinning. “Seriously, dude, that’s the fastest you’ve ever done that drill.”

“But it was more than the speed,” he says. “It felt easy, for the first time.”

“You made it look easy.” She punches him lightly on the shoulder. “I gotta resurface, okay? Go get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Georgie.” He turns to skate off, then hesitates a moment. “Hey, uh… Are you doing anything after this?”

She shrugs. “I’ve got some inventory to do, some orders to process. Skates to sharpen before practice this afternoon.” There are always skates to sharpen. Always.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “You wanna go get coffee or something?”

She stares back at him. “Coffee? With you?”

“Yeah, with me. I mean, unless you’d rather get started sharpening skates.” He gives her a lopsided smile, and oh. Oh no.

Her stomach sinks.

She’s an idiot. She’d thought Cody just wanted her help, but has he really been buttering her up to ask her out, all this time? She’d thought he was different, that he actually respected her for what she could do, and not… not that.

“Jesus, Cody.” She shakes her head. “I thought we were friends.”

He blinks at her. “We… are friends? Well, I guess we’re friends here, but like, we’ve never actually done anything else together.”

She stifles a groan. “Look, you’re a cute kid, okay? And I like you, I really do. But if I ever expect to be taken seriously in this business, I can’t date players. Like, ever.”

He stares at her like he can barely believe what he’s hearing. “Georgie—”

“I swear to god,” she says, genuine hurt bubbling up now. “If you’ve just been trying to get in my pants this whole time—”

“No no no,” Cody says, holding his hands up in front of him. “God, no, that’s… Georgie, I swear, I have zero interest in getting in your pants.”

She narrows her eyes at him, because honestly — that’s the most ridiculous lie she’s ever heard.

His face is so splotchy-red now that he almost looks like he has hives. “Okay, that came out wrong. Shit.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “That’s not why I’m here, okay? And I get why you’d think that. I mean, I hear the shit the guys say about you.”

“Wait, what?”

“And I’m not — I mean, that’s — fuck.” He looks down and clenches his jaw. “Sorry. I’ll just go now.” He skates away, leaving her staring after him.

She presses her hands over her face for a long moment, then skates over to the other gate.

She thinks about it the entire time she’s resurfacing the ice. Cody is different, is the thing. He’s never once looked at her in a way that made her wonder what he was really thinking about. It’s always been hockey with him, along with silly jokes and gentle, curious inquiries into her life. The other guys know she played in college, but they’ve never asked her about it. Or rather, the few times someone has, it’s been with a clear air of condescension, as if the hockey she’d played was some lesser version of the sport.

She’d told Cody about the Olympics in Nagano, how amazing it had been to stand on the podium with her teammates while the anthem played. She’d teared up just telling him about it. He’d hung on every word, watching her with wide eyes, and then had teared up along with her. They’d laughed at each other afterward, wiping their eyes, and then he’d joked that he didn’t believe her, that she had to show him her gold medal. Her mom has it back home for safe keeping, but she’s thought about bringing it back with her next time she visits, just so Cody can see it.

His face when he left, the genuine frustration in his expression — it sticks in her mind now. That wasn’t the face of a guy who’d been turned down. It was something else altogether.

Maybe she’s reading this all wrong.

Shit.

She parks the Zamboni in its bay, then shuts everything off. She heads over to the locker room and leans against the wall by the door to wait.

Ten minutes later, it opens. Cody stops when he sees her, and frowns. “Hey.”

“So I was thinking about getting a cup of coffee,” George says. “If you want coffee too, we could, you know, go get coffee together.”

“It’s not a date,” Cody says, still frowning. “I’m not asking you out.”

“I’m not asking you out either,” she replies. “You’re not my type, anyway.”

“You’re so far from my type that it’s not even funny.” His eyes widen a little and he looks away, as if he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. He inhales and seems to force a smile before he looks up again. “So yeah. Coffee as friends. I’d be down with that.”

She nods toward the door. “Then let’s go.”

*****

There’s a Starbucks just down the street, one George frequents. There’s a cuter, more quaint coffee shop a few blocks down, but as they’ve established, this isn’t a date, so Starbucks will do. It’s butt-cold anyway, so going in the first place they find is the practical choice. She tilts her head toward the door when they draw close, and Cody nods his agreement.

They stand awkwardly in the line together. George bites her lip, searching desperately for a topic of conversation that isn’t hockey, but nothing comes to her mind. Hockey is all she and Cody ever talk about: past hockey, present hockey, and dreams for future hockey. They’ve never actually had a conversation outside the rink.

She steps up to the counter first, orders a latte and a slice of banana bread, and then pays before he can offer to. She turns to smile sweetly at him, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He orders too, and they go to wait at the other end of the counter.

The place is busy this morning — it’s the time of day most people are heading to work, after all. The barista’s hands are flying over the knobs of the huge machine, pulling shots of espresso and steaming milk at the same time.

George glances over at Cody, whose gaze is fixed on the guy. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

Cody blinks and looks away. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’ve got a latte for George,” the barista says, setting a cup on the counter.

“Thanks,” George says, and picks it up.

“And a macchiato for Cody.”

“That’s me,” Cody says.

“So it is,” the barista replies, smiling at Cody. He holds the cup out, rather than placing it on the counter. Cody goes to take it, but the guy doesn’t let go right away. His fingers brush against Cody’s, deliberately. “Careful there. It’s hot.” He winks before he turns away.

Cody smiles in response, then quickly shuts it down, his cheeks pink.

George blinks at him.

Oh. Oh. She is such an idiot.

“I’m such an idiot,” she says when they find a table and sit.

“Huh?” Cody looks up from where he’s stirring a packet of Splenda into his coffee.

George looks over at the barista again. He’s here most mornings, and she’s pretty sure his name is Justin. His hair is dark, with the tips dyed blond. His eyebrow is pierced and there’s a colorful tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his tight black shirt. Justin glances up and smiles in their direction.

George turns to see that Cody is looking back. “Ask him for his number,” she says quietly.

“I… what?”

“He’s totally into you.”

Cody stares down into his coffee. He suddenly looks very pale. “Um. I don’t—”

“Like I said,” George adds, kicking him under the table, “I’m an idiot.”

He looks up at her. She raises her eyebrows, and he seems to crumple in front of her. “Oh my god. Georgie, you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Of course I’m not gonna tell anyone. Besides, I don’t have any friends other than you. Who would I even tell?”

He snorts at that. “I mean it. You know what it’s like, the kind of shit the guys say about…” He sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Nobody can know, okay? My hockey career would be over before it even started.”

“I’ve got your back, Cody, okay?” She takes a sip of her drink. “Look, I know it’s not the same, but they give me a lot of shit too. I can imagine what they say when I’m not around.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says, frowning. “It’s pretty vile.”

She clenches her jaw. “I figured.”

“But they’re scared shitless of you,” he adds. “So there’s that.”

“Good.” She smirks. “You should really ask him for his number, though.”

Cody glances toward the bar again, blushing. “I don’t know.”

“One of us ought to be getting laid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like you couldn’t get laid if you wanted. You do know you’re hot, right?”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“I’m gay, not blind.” He hesitates, his expression a little shocked, and glances around.

“No one heard you,” she tells him.

“No, it’s… I’ve never said it before.” He presses his palms to his cheeks. “Not out loud like that, I mean. Shit.”

“Then I’m honored.” She touches her paper coffee cup to his. “So… does anybody know?”

He shakes his head. “Not my parents, or my sister. I think some of the guys on my college team maybe knew. I mean, they were hooking up with girls left and right, and I… Well, I did too a couple of times, just to throw them off. Mostly I pretended to be so into hockey I didn’t care about anything else.”

“Did you get a chance to? Care about something else, I mean?”

He shrugs. “I had a boyfriend for a little while. At least until he graduated and moved on. And there’s a bar I go to in Greensboro sometimes. Haven’t really had a chance here, though.”

He looks over at Justin the barista one more time. Justin winks at him.

George grins. “I think that’s your chance right there.”

“Maybe,” he says, though he doesn’t look happy.

“Hey,” George says, pulling his attention back to her. “We’re solid, okay?” She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand.

He nods and tries to smile.

*****

“Buy this man a drink!” Turbo says as they walk into the bar.

“Three drinks,” Russ says, and tousles Cody’s hair. “Hat tricks call for tequila shots.”

Cody turns a pained face to him.

Russ holds up his hands. “I don’t make the rules.”

Turbo throws an arm around Cody’s shoulders and steers him toward a booth. The other guys slide in around him and trap him there. Cody has a feeling he’s gonna get crunked tonight, whether he wants to or not.

“I got the first round,” Pavs says, and heads to the bar.

Six shots of tequila later, Cody’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He fucking hates tequila — he spent four years in college, thank you very much — and they’re already lining up more.

“Nooo,” he whines, sliding down in his seat. “I need water.”

“Don’t be a pussy,” Jacks says, and puts another shot in front of him.

“I am a pussy,” Cody retorts. “I admit it.”

The guys laugh.

“Fine, get him some water,” Jacks says, “but you’re not off the hook, Jamesy.”

So, okay. He gets that this is supposed to be fun, team bonding kind of stuff, and like? On one level he appreciates it. He did get his first ever hat trick as a pro, rock the fuck on, but. But. Drinking this much around teammates is so not a good idea. He’s good at keeping his mouth shut under normal circumstances, but alcohol just makes everything… fuzzier.

It’s already fuzzy, actually. Shit.

“Coach is here,” Turbo says, punching his shoulder. “Try not to look like such a lightweight.”

Cody turns his head in the direction Turbo is pointing. His head is like, super fuckin’ heavy and it takes effort. Also, the view doesn’t shift as fast as his head moves so it’s like, still moving when his head stops, which. What. He props his chin up on his hand and waits for the scenery to stop spinning.

Ah. There. Across the bar some of the assistant coaches are sitting in a booth. Georgie’s with them, along with Matt, the other equipment manager.

Georgie. God, he wishes he could talk to her right now. He saw her face when he skated down the bench after the third goal, and she’d looked so happy. He held his glove up to her too, and she’d high-fived him, laughing.

He needs to thank her. He really, really wants to thank her because she’s done so damn much to help him. He should really do it now, but he’s stuck in this booth. No one will fuckin’ move.

“Water,” Russ says, and a glass appears in front of Cody on the table.

Cody drinks half of it in one go. God, he’s gonna hurl before the night is over. It ain’t gonna be pretty.

“Speaking of pussy,” Turbo says, “We gotta find young Jameson some tonight.”

There’s a round of “Yeahs” and some jostling of Cody’s shoulders.

“Like I could even get it up right now,” he says, and they all laugh. He points a finger in the direction of one of the two Turbos in front of him. “You’re the one gettin’ me thish drink. S’your fault.”

Turbo laughs. “Dude, stop buggin’. We’re going home in the morning anyway. I can get you laid in Hartford.”

Cody snorts. “I don’ need your help gettin’ laid in fuckin’ Hartford.”

“Ooooh,” a few of the guys say.

“Nah, I mean it, dude. I’m makin’ you a promise here.” Turbo leans in closer and leers. “So like, what’s your type?”

Cody blinks at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. If they actually knew what his type was — shit, what would they even say? “I dunno, man. Just… whatever.”

“Dude, he’s wasted,” Russ says. “Ask him again in the morning.”

“He won’t tell me in the morning,” Turbo retorts. He pokes Cody’s shoulder. “Come on, man, tell me. I’ll do you right, promise.”

“Wait, you gotta approach this scientifically n’ shit,” Pavs says.

Cody has to look over at him at that, because honestly, what the fuck?

“Like, okay,” Pavs says, and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Gimme the 411. Short or tall?”

“Wha?” Cody asks.

“Chicks, dude. Short or tall?”

“Um… tall, I guess.”

“See?” Pavs swats Turbo. “I got this. Okay, you like ‘em skinny or chubby?”

The guys snicker, and Cody groans. There’s no way this is going to end well. He can’t escape though, so he has to bluff his way through this.

“I dunno. Not skinny. More athletic, I guess?”

He swears he sees Pavs and Turbo exchange a look at that.

“Long hair or short hair?”

Cody swallows. He needs to play this one safe. “Long, definitely.”

“Tits?”

Cody stares at him. “Yes?”

“No, loser.” Pavs shakes his head. “You like ‘em big or small?”

Cody frowns. So yeah, he’s spent a couple of drunken evenings with his head pillowed on a girl’s chest, talking about shit late into the night, but it just made him feel sort of… cozy. Like, he didn’t want to grab them or put his mouth on them or anything. They were just… soft? He shrugs. “I dunno, small, I guess? Like…” He holds his hands up, fingers curved in slightly.

“A handful,” someone supplies.

Cody points in the direction the voice came from. “That.”

“Okay,” Pavs says. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Okay, let’s see… you only into white chicks, or is it okay if they’re like, Hispanic or black or whatever?”

Cody sputters. “Are you asking me if I’m racist?”

“No, just… some dudes are picky, you know.”

“I’m not an asshole, okay?” Cody rolls his eyes. “Jesus.”

“Okay, not an issue, got it.” Pavs clears his throat. “Let’s see, what else?”

“You an ass man, Jamesy?” Russ asks.

Cody has a brief moment of panic.

“Dude, who isn’t?” Turbo says. A couple of guys laugh, and there’s the distinct sound of a high five somewhere above Cody’s head.

“Yeah, sure,” Cody says, and that part is one-hundred-fucking-percent true. He is so an ass man, god help him. He thinks about the last guy he hooked up with, someone he’d met in a bar and followed home. Dude had an incredible ass, and Cody’d eaten him out for a solid ten minutes before fucking him until they were both sweaty and… wait. There was a question in there somewhere. “Gotta have a big, fat ass,” he says, grinning. “One you can grab and really get your face into. And thick thighs, oh my god.”

The guys are hooting now, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Okay, so Jamesy likes a girl whose back door is open,” Pavs says, and grins over at Turbo. “You getting all of this?”

“Fuck yeah,” Turbo says, and the table suddenly goes quiet. “Hey, Jamesy, guess what? Your dream girl has just arrived.” He looks pointedly at the other side of the table.

Cody turns his head slowly — still might hurl, oh my god. Georgie is standing there, hands on her hips. There’s a mild scowl on her face, the one she often wears around the team.

“Georgie, hey,” Cody says, grinning. “You wanna drink? Cuz there’s a lot more tequila here an’ I can’t… I don’t think I can… shit.” He runs a hand over his face. His lips feel weird.

“Wow, you’re drunk,” she replies, and turns her scowl to Turbo. “Okay, who’s getting him back to the hotel tonight?”

“He’s all yours if you want him,” Turbo replies.

“Not my job,” she retorts.

“But he was just talkin’ about you.” Turbo’s smirk is audible. “I think he’d really like to go back to the hotel with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Georgie mutters. “What the hell?”

“I wanna go,” Cody says. “I don’ feel so good.”

The guys next to him scoot away like he might burst into flames.

“Yeah, you should take him, Georgie,” Pavs says. “We’re just gonna keep pouring tequila down his throat otherwise.”

“What kind of idiots are you? You’re gonna give him alcohol poisoning.” Georgie sounds pissed. Cody loves her so much right now. “How did you even buy all this? I know for a fact you’re not legal.”

There’s a round of shushing after that. Cody really, really wants to go before he says anything that might out him to half the team.

“Georgie, can you take me back?” Cody asks. He looks up at her and pouts. “Please?”

She sighs, then glances back at the table where the other staff are sitting. “Fine. Come on.”

The guys chuckle and make a few lewd comments while Cody climbs to his feet. He grins at them and holds up a middle finger. George gives his arm a sharp tug, and he almost falls over.

“Come on, asshole.”

The air outside the bar is sharp and cold, and it sobers him up a little. They walk in silence for a few minutes.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” he says at last. “I’m gonna feel like shit in the morning, but it was gonna get worse.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she says. “Walk faster. I’m freezing my ass off.”

She walks him into the hotel lobby and into the elevator. He briefly can’t remember what floor he’s on, which makes her even more pissed at him, but then it comes back to him and it’s all good. She gets him in the room and helps him get undressed and in bed. She sets one of the complimentary bottles of water on the nightstand next to him.

“You’re th’ best, Georgie,” he says, already drifting.

“You’re damn right I am,” she replies. “And we are gonna talk about this in the morning.”

“Okay. Night, babe. Love you.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Cody.”

He’s pretty sure he feels a kiss brushed against his forehead before she goes.

*****

He feels like death the next morning.

“I feel like death,” he tells Georgie when she corners him at breakfast.

“You look like death,” she replies.

“Don’t get too close. I might puke again.”

“Serves you right, letting them give you so much to drink.” She shakes her head. “Didn’t you get that out of your system in college?”

“Thought I did.” He winces. “Okay, look: the pain I’m in right now is punishment enough, so like, if you’re trying to make me feel like shit, I’m not sure how much lower I can actually go.”

She sighs. “We need to talk.”

“Does it have to be now?”

“Yes.” Her expression is mildly sympathetic. “The guys are gonna think we hooked up last night, probably.”

Cody snorts. “Russ is my roommate. He saw me in bed when he came in. He knows nothing else went on.”

She shakes her head. “Cody, come on. You heard what they were saying when we walked away. They totally thought I was hauling you off to blow you or something.”

“Wait, seriously?” He doesn’t remember that part. He barely remembers leaving the bar.

“They can’t even think that, okay? If anyone in this organization thinks I slept with you, I’m gonna lose whatever credibility I’ve got. So if they say anything, you have to set them straight.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Say nothing happened, nothing has ever happened, and nothing will happen because you and I are just friends and I don’t date players.”

Cody frowns. The thing is, if the guys thought he was dating George, they’d get off his back about not hooking up. It’d make a lot of things easier for him. But her career is just as tenuous as his, maybe more so. He knows what she’s fighting against. As much as he’s tempted to take advantage of the situation, he can’t do that to her. He groans: he feels like an asshole for even thinking it.

“Okay, I will, but… you know how they’re gonna be. They’re gonna give us both a lot of shit about it.”

“Then we’ll have to both keep telling them that they’re wrong.” She raises her eyebrows, her expression fierce. “Got it?”

He blinks at her, suddenly uneasy. “Or what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you threatening me?” He looks away, his heart suddenly pounding. “Like if I don’t do this” —he lowers his voice to a whisper— “you’ll tell them?”

She gapes at him. “No, Cody, oh my god. That is not what I’m saying.”

“Kinda sounded like it.” He looks away.

“I’m not an asshole. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She takes his hand under the table and squeezes it.

“Not even to save yourself?” He knows it’s his own self-loathing coming out, but he can’t take the words back now.

She drops his hand, her expression twisted. “Fuck you, Cody.”

“Shit, Georgie, no.”

She glares at him, then stands and walks away. He’s suddenly very aware that everyone in the room just saw that.

“Trouble in paradise?” Turbo asks, setting his breakfast tray on the table.

Cody groans. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Women are weird, man,” Turbo says. “You never know what’s gonna set them off. She’s probably about to get her period or something. Give her a week and she’ll come around.”

Cody’s stomach turns, and his head is about to split open, and he was just an asshole to his best friend. He really doesn’t need any of this shit right now. He leans his forehead on the table and groans.

Seriously, fuck his life.

*****

He doesn’t see Georgie before they board the buses for the drive back to Hartford. The players tend to ride on a different bus than the support staff do, so he’s not surprised, but still. He’d kind of wanted to make eye contact with her, at least.

Russ sits in the aisle seat next to him, but seems more interested in reading his Tom Clancy book than talking, to Cody’s relief. He waits until the bus gets on the highway, then he pulls out his phone and flips it open. He hates texting as a general rule — seriously, pressing “7” four times to get a fucking S to say “sorry” is a hell of a lot less convenient than just saying it over the phone — but he can’t really call her with all these people around. It takes for-fucking-ever, but he finally types out im sorry im an asshole and hits send.

It’s a few minutes before he gets a reply: me 2.

He frowns. Does she mean she’s also sorry he’s an asshole, or is she saying I’m an asshole too?

He really fucking hates texting.

He replies with a single question mark.

Three minutes later, he gets, Call me later

That he can deal with. He sends back OK and closes the phone again.

“That your girl?” Russ asks, not looking up from his book.

Cody sighs. “I don’t have a girl.”

“That Georgie?” Russ asks, not missing a beat.

Cody looks over at him. “Yes, but she’s not my girl. We’re just friends.”

“Wish I had a friend like that,” Russ says, turning to grin at him.

“Christ,” Cody mutters, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. He still feels like shit, though he’s pretty sure he’s done puking. “First of all, I live with you, man. You know I don’t have a life outside of hockey.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Second, she doesn’t date players. It’s like, a strict rule or something. She could lose her job if she did, so like, don’t say that shit, okay?”

“Ohhh. Okay. Got it.” Russ winks at him and looks down at his book again.

“No, no.” Cody sighs. “It’s not a secret thing. There’s literally nothing going on there. I’m not fucking her.”

“You’re really not?” Russ looks up again.

Time to pull out the bro card. “Dude, you think I wouldn’t be bragging about it if I was? She’s fuckin’ hot.”

Turbo’s head pops up from the seat in front of them. “Dude, if you’re not hitting that, why do you hang around her so much?”

“Yeah,” Pavs says from across the aisle, and seriously, is everyone listening to this? “I’ve seen you skating with her in the mornings. She doesn’t hang out with anybody else from the team. So why would she hang out with you if you weren’t banging her?”

“I have to be banging a girl for her to want to hang out with me?”

They all look at him like he’s from another planet.

“Why else would you hang out with a chick that much?” Turbo says.

There are about a dozen things Cody would like to say to that, but his head is pounding and he’s really not in the mood. He promised Georgie, though.

He sighs. “You really wanna know?”

“Yeah,” half a dozen voices say in unison. Every guy in hearing range is listening now.

“She’s coaching me,” Cody says. “That’s the deal.”

They all stare at him.

“Wait, what?” Russ asks.

“She’s an amazing coach, okay? She’s got a real eye for detail and for the game. She’s helped me with skating and with strategy and reading plays. She’s fuckin’ tough, too. I’m in a lot better shape now than I was when I got here. I mean, you guys see how much I’ve improved in the last few weeks, right?” He glances around at them. They’re all squinting at him like he just spoke Japanese.

“So… Georgie is coaching you,” Turbo says. “Georgie.”

“Georgie,” Cody repeats, nodding.

“But she’s…” Pavs starts and then frowns.

“A chick,” Turbo says, and glances around like he’s daring any of the others to deny that’s what they’re all thinking. “Sure, she used to play, but like… she played girl hockey.”

“So?” Cody says. “You think she didn’t grow up watching the same teams we did? She knows the game, man.”

“Yeah, but—”

“She played on the top line for UNH, one of the best women’s hockey teams in the country.”

“Sure, but—”

Cody throws his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, she won a gold medal in the ‘98 Olympics.”

Turbot frowns. “In what?”

“In hockey, you dipshit.” Cody gapes at all of them for a moment. “You’ve all known her for more than a year. How do you not know this?”

“Wait, she was on the ‘98 Olympic team?” Russ asks. “The one that beat the Canadians? You’re kidding.”

“I watched that game,” Pavs says.

“Yeah, me too,” Turbo says.

“Remember the game winner?” Cody asks. “Totally sweet top shelf goal?”

“That was Georgie?” Pavs’ voice goes up an octave. “Holy shit!”

“Yeah, that was Georgie,” Cody says. “So now you see why I’m asking her to coach me, right?”

“Dude,” Turbo says, shaking his head. “That goal was rad.”

“All this time, we coulda been working with a fuckin’ gold medal winning coach,” Russ says, “and they got her sharpening our damn skates?”

“Exactly,” Cody says. “It’s fuckin’ sexist bullshit. You should see how she skates, man. It’s crazy. She kicks my ass every morning, too.”

“Dude,” Pavs says, his eyes wide. “Georgie. Like, who knew?”

Once the guys settle down again, Turbo peeks around the seat and gestures for Cody to lean closer. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “So like, she trains you in the mornings, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You think she’d train me too?”

Cody raises his eyebrows. “You have to pay her.”

“Duh, course I’d pay her.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Cody shrugs. “Ask her.”

Turbo nods and settles into his seat again.

Cody leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. His head still hurts like a bitch, but his heart is lighter than it’s been in a long time.

*****

“Hey, Georgie.”

George looks up from the containers of pucks she’s counting to see Turbo standing in the doorway of the equipment room. “Hey yourself.”

“You busy?” He leans in the doorway and smiles in that way that always makes her feel a little creeped out.

She nods her head at the boxes of unsorted equipment stacked on every available surface. “What does it look like?”

“Ah, yeah. They sure keep you busy with all this stuff, don’t they?”

“It’s my job.”

“Kind of a waste, if you ask me.”

She looks up at him sharply. “What?”

He shrugs. “Jameson says you’ve been working with him. That true?”

“Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her chest, squaring up her stance. If he thinks she’s going to take any shit from him about this, he’s going to be surprised.

“So, uh, I know you’re busy and all, but, I was wondering.” He pauses and scratches at the back of his neck, looking awkward. “Like, maybe you could work with me too?”

She stares at him for what has to be several seconds. “What?”

He flushes and looks away. “Look, I know I’ve kind of been an asshole to you, and I’m sorry. I’m an asshoIe to Matt too, yanno? It’s nothing personal.”

“Yeah, right.” She’s pretty sure he didn’t spend a full season hitting on Matt in increasingly disturbing ways.

“It’s just… I was the team’s top scorer two seasons ago. But this year, it’s like I can’t make anything happen. And if I don’t get a callup this year, it ain’t gonna happen. So anything I can do to give me an edge, I’ll do.”

“So… you want me to coach you, like I’ve been coaching Cody?”

“Yeah,” he replies, with a clear duh in the tone. “He says you’re good. And he’s on a hot streak right now, so you gotta be doing something right.”

She considers, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. Other than Grandin, Turbo is the most influential guy on the team. If she can gain his respect, the rest of the guys will follow, no question.

Holy shit.

“I charge 40 bucks a session,” she says. “Payment in advance.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Be at the rink tomorrow morning at 6:00 sharp. If you can keep up with Cody, I’ll consider it.”

“Okay.” He touches two fingers to his forehead in an imitation of a salute. “I’ll be there.”

She waits until he’s well out of earshot before letting herself jump up and down and flail her arms in excitement. She’s got clients, professional hockey players, even, who recognize that she’s got something to offer.

Now she’s just got to give it to them.

*****

Cody and Turbo are both waiting by the door when she gets to the rink the next morning. Cody raises his eyebrows at her as she passes, but he doesn’t say anything about Turbo’s presence.

She opens the door, then gestures at the two of them. “After you, gentlemen.”

She works them hard. They don’t have a game for a few days, so she doesn’t feel slightly guilty about skating them into the ground. Cody keeps shooting her desperate looks, like he maybe thinks she’s still pissed at him and is punishing him for it, but really, she wants to see what Turbo’s got. She wants to know how hard she can push him before he quits.

He doesn’t quit. Neither of them do. She makes them do every skating drill she knows, and then she makes up a few more on the spot. After an hour has passed, they both look like they’re ready to collapse.

She waves them both over. They approach slowly, hands braced on their knees and breathing hard.

“Good work today,” she says. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll get started.”

She hears Turbo mutter, “We haven’t even started?”

“Dude, shut up,” Cody hisses, and skates for the exit.

George waits until they both clear the ice before skating a victory lap.

*****

She doesn’t schedule a session with Cody and Turbo until the following Monday, after the weekend homestand. When she gets there to open the door, Russ and Pavs are waiting too, with hopeful expressions on their faces.

“Hi, Georgie,” Russ says.

Cody had warned her in advance, so she’s not surprised. She gives them both a skeptical look, then says, “Gear up and we’ll see.”

Cody and Turbo have prepared the others well, because they skate hard and do everything she tells them to do. She puts them all through the toughest drills she knows, then makes them do it all again, each with minor adjustments.

“Did we pass?” Russ asks at the end, red-faced and sweating.

“I guess so,” she replies. She manages to keep her expression stern until Cody’s the only one left on the ice. She lets a smile break through then.

He skates up close and says, “Don’t let them see you smiling like that. They might decide you’re just a chick after all.”

“Ha,” she says, and swats his ass as he skates away.

*****

The Monday after the next roadie, Jacks has joined the group. George scrutinizes him for a few seconds before nodding her head at him. He is visibly relieved.

She breaks them into two groups to work with them now. Cody and Turbo are at similar levels, so it’s easy to pair them to work on circuits together. The other three need some serious attention to their edgework, and so she ends up spending a lot of time making tiny adjustments, then making them skate the same patterns over and over.

“Oh my god,” she hears Jacks say after half an hour. “I’m gonna feel this for days.”

Russ snickers. “Dude, this is nothing. She’s just getting started.”

Well, now she’s got to prove him right, of course.

They meet on Tuesday morning, then again on Thursday. It’s a week at home, with games on Friday and Saturday nights. There’s a team practice Thursday afternoon, so she decides to go a little easy on them.

“Hey, George,” Pavs says. “Including you, we’ve got six.”

“So?” she says.

“So we could finish this with a little three-on-three.” He grins.

She can’t help grinning back. She hasn’t played with anyone who could keep up with her in ages, and never with these guys. “You’re on.”

It’s her, Cody, and Turbo against Pavs, Russ, and Jacks. She skates harder than she’s skated in years, and it feels good. Better than good when she dekes past Russ and scores her team’s first goal.

Cody and Turbo shout when it goes in, then crash her into the boards. She falls on her ass, laughing, and there’s a moment when Turbo looks worried, like maybe he thinks he’s hurt her. Before he can offer her a hand, she pops up again and slugs him in the shoulder, then skates back to the center again.

They don’t go easy on her, and she’s grateful. She knows she’s tough — she was always the one on her college team who dealt the hits people like to pretend don’t happen in women’s hockey, and she took them just as often. She knows she can keep up with these guys, and it’s amazing to get to show it.

There’s a small crowd gathered on the sidelines toward the end of their game — a handful of players who’d come in early to get some extra practice in, and some of the coaching staff.

“Shit, what time is it?” George asks, coming to a stop so quick she snows Cody’s skates.

“Don’t have a watch,” he replies, glancing over at the bench. “I think we’re fine, though.”

“No, I gotta have the ice resurfaced by 8:00,” she says. “I’m gonna get in trouble.”

“Georgie.” His fingers close around her wrist. She turns to look at him. “I think it’s okay.”

She shakes her head and skates over to the side, where Scarpin is standing with the two assistant coaches.

“Hey, we’ll get out of your way soon,” she says.

“No rush.” Scarpin’s gaze is fixed on the guys on the ice. “I hear you’ve been holding extra practices, Georgie.”

“Uhhh…” Her face suddenly feels warm. “No, nothing like that. Some of the guys wanted me to help them with their skating, that’s all.”

“Looks like it’s working.” He turns to her, his expression unreadable.

That sounds… almost like an opportunity.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “They’ve made a lot of improvement. Jameson in particular. He’s worked damn hard.”

“I’ve noticed,” Scarpin says, and the corners of his lips turn up into a smile. He turns away, then hesitates. “They’re paying you, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He nods. “Good.”

He disappears into the tunnel, the two assistant coaches on his heels. They both give her a strange look as they go.

Well. She’s not sure what to make of that, but at least Scarpin didn’t tell her she can’t work with his players.

There’s a buzz on the sidelines then, and it’s a moment before she realizes there’s a familiar face among them.

“Brovie!” she says, and skates over to the side of the box, where he’s sitting with a couple of other guys.

“Georgie,” he says, and holds his hand up to high-five her glove. “You look good out there. Good skating. You are coaching?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Georgie best coach,” he says with a wink.

“Thanks,” she replies, and shoots him a cocky grin. Brovie was one of the guys who always treated her more like a human being than a girl he wanted to bang.

“Are you back?”

“I think yes? Practicing today. Maybe I’m back in the lineup next week.”

“Awesome,” she says. Her stomach sinks.

Cody got called up because Brovie was on IR. And Brovie back in the lineup means…

She turns to look out at the ice. Cody is looking over at her, his expression tight. He knows what it means.

*****

She opens the door of her apartment and smiles. “I was expecting the pizza delivery guy.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Cody replies. He holds up a bottle of wine. “I come bearing alcohol, though.”

She takes a step back. “Okay, I guess you can stay.”

They end up side-by-side on the couch, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“Tara and Willow are so fucking important,” Cody says through a mouthful of pizza.

“I know, babe,” she replies, and nods her head while he goes on for a while.

“Have you seen Queer as Folk?” he asks after the credits roll.

“No.”

Cody flails. “Oh my god.”

Twenty minutes later, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have to actually watch this show, because he’s told her everything she needs to know.

“I’ll record it for you on Sunday,” he says, and then goes quiet. “Well, if I’m still here, I guess.”

“Cody—”

“No, come on. We both know what Brovie being back means.”

“You’re on a two-way contract, right?” He nods, and she continues, “They’d be crazy not to try to keep you.” She wants to say that he’s too good to get sent down again, but they both know it’s not that simple.

“Well, even if they do send me back, I’m a better skater than I was two months ago.” He nudges her side with his elbow. “Thanks to you.”

She smiles at that. “Keep it up and you’ll make the roster next season.” It’s hard to think about not having him here, though. She hasn’t let herself think about it much, but now it’s sitting in her stomach like a brick. She leans her head on his shoulder and sighs.

“The Rangers’ roster?” He grins at her.

She shrugs. “If you keep playing like you have been, you’re gonna be on their radar. You might be already.”

“Shit, are you serious?”

“Yeah.” She elbows his ribs. “I am. I think you could be playing in the NHL in a few years.”

He stares back at her, and for a wild moment, she thinks he might cry. She looks away and reaches for the remote control.

“Are you blowing smoke up my ass right now?”

She laughs. “Christ, Cody — you know me better than that. I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

“What about you?” He slides an arm around her shoulders and watches as she flips through channels. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Not sharpening skates for a bunch of assholes, that’s for sure.” She hesitates. “My degree is in sports management.”

“Management, really? I thought you were gonna say you wanted to coach.”

“As delightful as you boys can be, I don’t know if that’s what I want to do with my life.” She parks the television on CNN. “There’s been exactly one woman who worked as an NHL scout, and one other woman who was an assistant GM for an NHL team. And both of them barely lasted a year. So it’s not like women have never worked in the NHL at that level, but…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not like there’s any openly gay NHL players either.” He sighs. “I’ve never even met another gay player. Well, not that I know of, I guess.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell?”

“Something like that.” They both look at the television, which shows President Clinton meeting with a European dignitary. “Guys throw words around all the time, right? Any guy they don’t think is tough enough or good enough at hockey is a pussy or a faggot. Anything stupid is gay. And I don’t think they mean it like… I don’t know. I mean, they don’t know I’m gay, and maybe if they did, they wouldn’t say it, but…” He shrugs.

George watches his face for a moment. “You think you’ll ever tell them?”

“Oh, hell no. Are you kidding? I’d be back in Greensboro in a heartbeat. I’m hanging on by a thread here as it is.”

“Would they freak out on you?”

“I have no idea, but I’m not taking that chance.” He leans his head against hers. “Statistically, there’s gotta be gay athletes, right? But they’re all keeping their mouths shut for a reason. Someday maybe a dude in the NHL will pull an Ellen, but it ain’t gonna be me.”

George looks back at the TV screen again. There were several women on her college team who were out as lesbians, but it hadn’t been a big deal. They’d brought their girlfriends around like the other girls brought their boyfriends, and no one had minded. They’d all had to deal with assumptions their whole lives, that playing hockey meant they must be gay. Some of the girls went out of their way to be extra feminine off the ice, keeping their hair long and putting on makeup and cute clothes as soon as they showered after practice. Others wore sweats and cut their hair short and didn’t care what assumptions people made, but as far as George knew, they all felt welcome on the team.

“My first day working here was training camp last year.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “One of the assistant coaches was running the guys through some tough drills, and when they didn’t do it like he wanted, he’d call them pussies, right? One of the guys was really getting pissed off about it, and he finally said something. Coach got right in his face and said, ‘This is a man’s game, son, and if you can’t handle it, go back to your pussy college and play on the fucking girls’ team.’ And I was standing right there.” She shakes her head. “That was the first time in my life that I ever felt like I didn’t belong around hockey.”

“Shit.” Cody sighs. “So is that why you never told the guys about the Olympics and all?”

“Yeah. I just… I knew I was lucky to get this job, even though it’s part-time and pays shit. And I knew that if I wanted to have a career in the NHL, it was gonna be like this. I was gonna have to play along and keep my mouth shut.”

“Yeah.”

“Until I’m the general manager of a team, anyway. And then I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Cody smiles. “Would you put me on your team?”

“As long as you don’t cost too much.”

“Well, forget it, then. I’m not taking anything less than five mill a year.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a long way to go before you’re worth that.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you.” He jabs her side with his elbow, and she give him a retaliatory shove. “So you’re gonna rule the world, eh? And then you’ll marry some lawyer and have a bunch of perfect hockey-playing kids, too.”

“Now you sound like my mother.” She groans. “What about you? You gonna get married and adopt some kids and live in a gentrified neighborhood and all that?”

“Are you kidding? There isn’t a single country in the world where gay marriage is legal. Maybe by the time I retire from hockey it’ll be legal in Canada, but I’d have to stay in one place long enough to actually have a boyfriend.”

“When you do, I should be your Best Maid of Honor or whatever.” She grins.

“Duh,” he replies. “We’ll just call it Best Friend and avoid the weird gender shit.”

She can’t resist tilting her head up to kiss his cheek at that.

“Ew,” he says, and rubs at his cheek. “Girl germs.”

“The word you’re looking for is cooties, dumbass.”

“Even worse.”

She laughs and smacks him with a throw pillow.

*****

She’s barely been in the building five minutes before Matt pokes his head in the equipment office. “Hey Georgie, Jim wants to see you.”

She looks up at him. “Why?”

“I dunno. He just said to tell you to come to his office when I saw you.” Matt raises his eyebrows slightly.

“Right, okay,” George says. If she’s about to get fired — or worse, told she can’t work with the guys anymore — it’s probably better to get the news sooner than later.

“Good luck,” Matt says with a chuckle as she walks out.

Once word started getting around that she’d been working with some of their top players on skating, the gossiping had started. She’s pretty sure half the people in the office are convinced she’s sleeping with the entire team by this point.

And of course, it has to be that, right? It couldn’t possibly be that she’s actually damn good at picking out players’ strengths and weaknesses and helping them find ways to improve on the ice. No, of course the fuck not. And if Jim even remotely implies anything else is going on, she’s not going to stop herself from speaking her mind.

Arguments start to form in her mind, responses to things he might say. She’s worked herself up to self-righteous anger by the time she knocks on the open door of his office.

“Hey, Georgie, come on in, have a seat.” He’s smiling, which really ought to make her feel better, but somehow it doesn’t.

She settles in the chair across from his desk and does her best not to glower prematurely.

He looks up and smiles past her shoulder. “Bill, come in.”

George looks up to see Coach Scarpin in the doorway. “Jim, Georgie.” He nods at them and crosses to sit next to George.

George looks at Scarpin for a moment, then back to Jim. She’s not sure what’s going on here, but if they’d intended to blindside her, they definitely accomplished it.

She calms herself and forces a smile. “So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“A lot of things, from what I understand.” Jim folds his fingers together and smiles at her. “You’ve been working with some of the boys.” She nods, and he continues, “What have you got that our coaching staff don’t? Aside from the obvious. I imagine you keep their attention a lot longer than Joe and Jeff do.” He chuckles at his own joke.

George stares back at him flatly. “A different perspective, mostly. Just because the women’s game is a little different doesn’t mean there’s less skill involved.”

“More skill, in a lot of ways,” Scarpin says.

George turns to look at him, surprised he’s acknowledging it. “Yeah, and some of that skill translates into the men’s game. But just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t also understand men’s hockey.”

Jim’s smile turns calculating. He leans back in his chair, and looks over at Scarpin.

“So the guys you’ve been working with,” Scarpin says. “What do you see as their strengths and weaknesses?”

George doesn’t even need to stop and think first. “Russell’s got a great shot — I see why he was drafted, absolutely — but he needs to work on his speed so he can use it at the right time. Jackson’s got a lot of raw talent, but he’s too impulsive on the ice. He needs to mature, develop some patience and confidence with his play at this level. Paavola’s spent most of his hockey career on a bigger rink, and he’s still adjusting his skating style, but he’s getting there. Turbinelli…” She pauses, presses her lips together for a moment. “He’s a solid player, and he could probably crack an NHL roster and have a career as a journeyman, but he’s going to have to really take his play to the next level. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to help him with that.”

“Interesting.” Scarpin gives her a thoughtful look. “And Jameson?”

“He had some confidence issues in camp, which is maybe what cost him a spot on the roster, but he’s gotten past them. He’s got an NHL shot, great hands, and his skating is really, really good. He’s incredibly coachable too — you only have to correct him once and he’s got it. And the way he sees the game — he’s smart.” She looks up at Scarpin. “If you’re lucky, you’ll keep him for another season, but he’s gonna get called up one day and they won’t give him back.”

Scarpin nods, then looks over at Jim. Jim stares back at him for a moment before shrugging in response.

Scarpin turns back to her. “Georgie, I’d like you to come to practice today and work with some of the guys.”

She’s sure she misunderstood that. “You… really?”

“I’ve seen the results. Now I’d like to see it in action. Show me what you can do.”

Her heart begins to pound in her chest. “Wait, are you offering me a job?”

Scarpin shrugs. “I’m offering you a job interview. Impress me today, and we’ll see.”

“Okay,” she replies, and grins widely at both of them. “I will. Thank you.”

They smile as she stands and leaves. She waits until she gets back to the equipment room and closes the door before she lets out a muffled scream of joy.

They’re giving her a chance. They’re taking her seriously.

Now she just has to show them what she can do.

*****

“Yooooo Brovie!” Turbo calls, and everyone looks up and cheers.

Brovie grins around the room. “Yes, is me. I’m back!” He walks over to his stall — which has been Cody’s stall for months now — and sets his bag down in front of it.

Cody’s shit is still there, and his name is neatly printed on the piece of duct tape over Brovie’s name plate. He takes a deep breath, and forces a smile. “Guess you’ll be needing this back, eh?”

“Yes, thank you,” Brovie replies jovially, and slaps Cody on the back with a large hand. Brovie is a little taller than Cody, broader through the shoulders, with a round, friendly face. His brown eyes are bright and his smile genuine. He’s the kind of guy everybody likes, that everyone wants to play with.

Well, that’s just great.

Cody gathers his stuff, then looks around for another stall. The only empty spots are down on the far end, on either side of Bubba. Cody stifles a groan.

There’s a reason no one ever wants to sit next to Bubba, not in the locker room, on the bus, or in team meetings. The dude must live on beans and cabbage or something, because the farting is pretty epic. He’s the only guy on the team everyone’s afraid to fine, so he gets to do whatever he wants.

Cody takes a deep breath, then hauls his stuff across the room.

“Christ, Bubba,” he says less than a minute later, waving a hand in front of his face.

Bubba grunts in response.

Brovie’s wearing a red jersey in practice, but his shoulder doesn’t seem to be giving him any trouble. He’s going to be back in the lineup soon.

Cody figures he’s got a week left before they ship him back down to Greensboro. He’d better make the most of it.

Georgie’s out on the ice when they file out for warmups. She’s talking to Jeff, one of the assistant coaches, and he’s listening very intently to whatever she’s saying. Probably got a new order of something in that she needs to clear with him. Cody expects her skate off while they’re skating laps, but she doesn’t.

She’s still there when Coach calls them over to the bench for instructions. Cody glances over at her, eyebrows raised. She winks in response.

“All right,” Coach says, scanning his clipboard. “I want Lukenbach, Bubba, Prochazka, Williams, and Paavola with Georgie. She’s gonna take a good hard look at your skating form.” He looks up and glares around the group. “And whatever she tells you to do, you’re gonna fuckin’ do it, right?”

The response is stunned silence from the guys who haven’t been working with her and smug grins from the ones who have.

“Let’s go,” Georgie says in a commanding tone, and the guys climb to their feet to follow her across the ice.

Russ leans over to whisper, “Did you know about this?”

Cody shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

He gets a rotation with her later, near the end of practice. She’s focused and serious, not that he expects anything different. He learned a long time ago that she’s good at this.

Brovie’s in his group, and when they skate over, he goes right up to Georgie and pulls her into a hug. He whispers something that makes her smile fondly at him, then slug his shoulder. He skates backward with one hand on his shoulder, pretending she hurt him, then winks at her.

“All right, boys,” she says, “here’s what I want to see.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re all out of breath and leaning hard on their knees. Cody’s still not sure what’s going on, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to do everything he can to make Georgie look good. He’s on fire today anyway, and skates every drill she gives them perfectly.

Scarpin blows the whistle to call them all back over. The guys in his group look relieved.

“Thanks, Coach,” Cody says, grinning at Georgie. “Good practice.”

“You’re getting there, Jameson,” she replies with a wink.

Brovie nudges him with one shoulder. “You are good skater. Good shot, good stick-handle. We play good together, yes?”

“Yes,” Cody says, blinking at him. “I mean, I hope so.”

Holy shit, Brovie thinks he’s good. Brovie, who was a first round draft pick and a star in the KHL, who is widely expected to make the Rangers’ roster next year. Cody’s cheeks feel warm.

“Thanks, Brovie.”

Brovie nods and skates on.

Cody has what’s probably a stupid smile on his face for the rest of practice, and he doesn’t even care.

*****

Cody takes his time cooling down and is one of the last guys in the shower. By the time he gets back, it’s clear something has happened. The room goes quiet when he walks in, and a couple of the guys glare at him.

He hesitates a moment and looks around the room, but no one says anything.

He forces down the pulse of panic that rises in his chest. Did they find out? He’s been careful here, has only hooked up a couple of times, and the last one was two weeks ago. Hartford’s a decent-sized town, and he hadn’t thought he’d have to be all that careful, but. Shit.

He pulls his clothes on as quickly as he can, his mind racing.

When he looks up again, Turbo is watching him. Cody gives him a look he hopes communicates what’s up? Turbo glances over at an empty stall and tilts his head meaningfully.

It’s Gally’s stall, except it’s completely empty. And… their stalls are never totally empty. The day before a game, they always leave stick tape or a change of clothes or something on the shelf.

“Yeah,” Tank says, noticing where Cody is staring. “He just got sent down. Guess your girlfriend put in a good word for you when she was sucking Coach’s dick.”

Cody is on his feet and across the room before he even realizes it. Tank stands, looking defiant, and Cody is filled with a rage he hasn’t felt in a long time. They lunge at each other. Cody gets in a solid left hook, then Tanks’ fist hits his stomach, briefly knocking the air out of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” someone says, and then they’re being pulled apart.

“You shut your fucking mouth about Georgie,” Cody spits.

“Easy,” Turbo says, his hand on Cody’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Jamesy,” Tank sneers. “We all know how she got the job.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Turbo says, and hits him so hard Tank goes down on the concrete floor. Turbo stands over him, glowering. “You couldn’t even keep up with her on the ice today. Maybe you shoulda been sent down instead of Gally.”

“Georgie’s a better hockey player than you’ll ever be,” Jacks says, practically snarling. “And Cody fucking earned this spot. He gets more ice time in a game than you do in a week, and it’s not because he’s fucking Georgie.”

“Yeah,” Pavs says, “So what if he’s fucking Georgie? Good for him.”

“Oh my god, I’m not fucking Georgie,” Cody groans. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Seriously, you’re not?” They all look up to see Grandin standing in the doorway. He glances down at Tank on the floor and gives him an unimpressed look.

“We’re friends,” Cody says, trying not to sound as exasperated as he feels. “That’s it. I told you guys a hundred times, she doesn’t date players.”

“But dude,” Hurly says, his eyes narrowed, “you’re with her all the time. You’re like the only person she even smiles at.”

“Yeah, man,” Tank says, climbing up off the floor now. “What’s the point in hanging out with her if she isn’t going to fuck you? No one is just friends with a chick that hot.”

“He is, though,” Russ says. “He’s my roommate, and I think I’d notice if he was fucking somebody on the regular.” He smirks. “Jamesy never gets laid. Dude’s got no game whatsoever.”

Cody holds up a middle finger and scowls to hide his relief that he’s been covering his tracks pretty well.

“So you’re really just friends with Georgie?” Hurly asks. “How does that even work?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Grandin says, rolling his eyes. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Hurly flushes. “But she’s not his girlfriend. And I know you can be friends with a girl you’re fucking, duh. I just don’t know how it works without the fucking.”

“Yeah,” Tank says, rubbing at the spot on his jaw where Cody punched him. “So either he’s playing a long game here, or he’s not into chicks at all.”

Everyone turns to stare at Tank at that, open-mouthed.

Turbo glares hard at Tank, looking murderous again. “Dude, did you just—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Cody says, and sighs. This is a game he knows how to play. “I respect her as a hockey player and as a coach and as a person, okay? She said she doesn’t date players, and I can deal with that. And she’s amazing, right? I’ve learned a hell of a lot from her. I’m lucky to be her friend.”

“Yeah,” Turbo says, slinging an arm around Cody’s shoulders. “And one day, maybe you won’t be both working for the same team, and then the rules can change, right?” He waggles his eyebrows.

Cody manages a lopsided, non-committal shrug.

“My wife was a friend for three years before we started dating.”

The voice is unfamiliar, and for a moment, Cody thinks someone new has joined the conversation. Everyone around him has turned to stare across the room — at Bubba.

Bubba continues, “We were in the same group of friends for years. We always had a good time together, but both of us were focused on our careers and not interested in being in a relationship. So we were friends. We talked on the phone a lot, had dinner when we could, that kind of thing. She dated somebody for a while, and then I did, and we stayed friends through all of it. And then one day, we just looked at each other and — boom, fireworks.” He mimes an explosion with his hands and makes a goofy sound effect. “So yeah, I totally believe that Cody and Georgie can just be friends and not want to fuck each other.” He shrugs. “Maybe they will later or maybe they won’t, but why do you care? It’s none of your damn business.”

Everyone stares at him in silence.

“Dude,” Jacks says at last. “I didn’t know you spoke English.”

Grandin pats Bubba on the shoulder and laughs. “He only talks when he has something important to say. Right, Bubba?”

Bubba grunts and goes back to packing his duffel.

Russ leans in close to Cody. “Congrats on staying up, bro. You totally earned it.”

Cody tries for a cocky smile. “You bet your ass I did.”

A few more guys slap him on the back, and slowly, Cody relaxes. He’s staying. He’s not getting sent down after all. He worked hard, and he just got a major promotion.

And as far as they know, he’s completely straight and mooning after a girl he can’t have. He supposes it’ll do.

“We should celebrate,” Russ continues, even more quietly.

Cody snorts. “You just want me to buy you more vodka.”

“Not my fault this country has stupid-ass liquor laws.”

True enough. “Let’s win that game tomorrow night, and I will.”

Russ grins. “Deal.”

*****

Georgie is waiting outside the locker room after skate. The guys grin at her and say, “Coach,” in greeting when they walk by, and she smiles at them.

“Coach Martin,” Cody says, and stops in front of her. “Now that you’re making the big bucks, you wanna buy me a coffee?”

She gives him an unimpressed look. “It’s still part-time, and only slightly more money than I was making as an equipment manager. You’re the one who has a job with actual benefits.”

“Then I’ll buy you a coffee, I guess.”

It’s warm today, almost spring, getting close to the end of the season. They’re on track for a playoff spot, but weather like this still makes Cody feel like hockey is almost over.

“You totally deserve it,” Cody says, turning his face up into the warmth of the sun. “This team is gonna wonder how they ever got along without you.”

“How do the guys feel about it?”

Cody hesitates a moment. “They like you and they’re starting to realize how good you are at this. Some of them had some… well, creative ideas about how you got the job, but we dealt with it in the room.”

“That explains Tank’s face.” She smirks.

“You’re welcome,” Cody replies, grinning.

Georgie rolls her eyes. “My hero.”

Starbucks is busy this morning, so they have to wait in line before ordering.

“Look who’s working today,” Georgie says, elbowing Cody in the ribs.

Cody looks up to see Justin working behind the giant coffee machine. He’s wearing short sleeves today, and those tattoos go up a lot higher than Cody has ever imagined. (And he’s imagined quite a bit.) His arms are fairly ripped, too, like he works out a lot.

“So he is.” Cody considers for a moment, then tugs his sweatshirt off over his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath, one from college that’s worn thin and tight in all the right places.

“Oooh, did it suddenly get hot in here?” Georgie asks, faux-innocent.

“You are the worst fucking wingman ever.”

“Fix your hair,” she says in reply. He smooths it down with his fingers until she nods.

She orders first, then heads down to the other end of the coffee bar while Cody orders. When Cody joins her, she’s talking to Justin with a sly smile on her face. Justin is smiling back, and Cody’s stomach sinks a little. Maybe he read this all wrong.

“Cody, I gotta hit the ladies’ room,” Georgie says. “Will you get my coffee too?”

He nods, then turns to look at Justin, who is pulling a shot of espresso.

“Cody, right?” Justin says, glancing over at him.

“Yeah. It’s Justin, isn’t it?”

Justin grins. “You noticed.”

“I guess I did.” Cody watches him work, steaming milk and pumping different flavors of syrup into paper cups. “You here most mornings?”

Justin nods. “And I tend bar at night at Red Rover’s. You ever go there?”

Red Rover’s is a local gay bar. He didn’t read it wrong after all.

Cody leans against the counter. “Sometimes. Don’t remember seeing you there, though.”

“I don’t work every night.”

“Good to know.”

Justin grins and picks up the next cup. “Grande Macchiato for Cody.” He gives Cody a sly look, then picks up a pen and scribbles something on the cup.

When he hands Cody’s drink to him a couple of minutes later, his number is written on the cup along with Give me a call — Justin.

Cody bites his lip and smiles, and takes their drinks over to a table.

When Georgie sits down again, he turns the cup so that she can see Justin’s number written on it.

She grins. “I am an awesome wingman.”

“What did you tell him, anyway?”

“That you thought he was cute but you were too shy to ask for his number.”

“Oh my god,” Cody hisses. “That’s not true! I was totally gonna ask him today.”

“Sure you were.”

“I’m serious. I mean, it looks like I’m gonna be here for the rest of the season, and maybe I’ll have a shot at being here next year too. So it’s a good time to get to know some locals, you know. Go on a date that might not end in sex.”

Georgie glances over at Justin. “It’s totally gonna end in sex.”

“God, I hope so.”

Georgie lifts her paper coffee cup. “Cheers.”

Cody taps his cup against hers. “To the future general manager of the New York Rangers.”

“To my future star right winger.”

“To the Cup we’re gonna win together,” he adds.

Her smile is brilliant. “You’re on, Jameson.”

*****

January, 2017

Georgia Martin sits back in her chair and looks out over the empty ice below. The arena custodians are slowly picking their way through the seats, clearing away the trash left by the crowd. “Not Thassinger, though. I don’t think he’d make it through waviers.”

Mark shrugs. “The only other option is Batteneau, and he’s putting up better numbers than Thassinger right now.”

“He’s young,” George says. “And he’s impatient. He could use some time back in the minors to work on that.”

“He’s got a point streak going. Thassinger’s a minus one in the last two games.”

“Plus-minus is a useless stat, Mark.” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Not the point.”

“The point is that if we move Thassinger now, we might lose him. And he’s got too much potential to take that chance.”

Mark scrubs his hand over his face and sighs.

George’s phone buzzes with a text. She pulls it out of her pocket, then can’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “Sorry, Mark — I need to go. I want to review the analytics before we make a decision on this. Can you meet tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mark says, waving a hand in her direction.

She heads out of the box and down the hallway to the elevators before glancing at the screen of her phone again.

Cody: We’re outside the locker room.

She taps out a reply of Be right there, then texts Jack, There’s someone I want you to meet. Can you come out in five?

She can hear the noise on the lower level before the elevator doors even open. Winning at home is always good; it fires the staff up as much as the crowd. When the team wins, it’s good for all of them. And win they did, tonight.

She scans the room for a few seconds, and then spots him. He’s got his kids with him, a boy and girl, both wearing Falconers shirts. She works her way through the crowd until she’s standing in front of him.

“Georgie,” he says, and his face lights up in a grin. He opens his arms and she nearly leaps into them, squeezing him tight.

“Cody, god — it’s been too long.”

“Almost three years,” he says, and steps back. “Christ, you haven’t aged a day.”

He looks older than she remembers, but she’s not going to say that. He’s a little thicker around the middle and going gray at the temples, but in that way men do that looks more distinguished than old. His smile is just as infectious as ever.

“Daddy,” the little girl — Sofia — says. And wraps her arms around Cody’s leg. She looks up at George curiously.

“This is my friend Georgie, guys. You met her when you were babies, but you don’t remember.”

“Look how big you both are,” George says. “So grown-up.”

They stare up at her with wide eyes. She sees pictures of them on Facebook all the time, but they weren’t even walking the last time she saw them in person.

“Did you like the game?” she asks them.

They blink at her in response. The boy — Michael — buries his face in Cody’s thigh.

Cody laughs. “Well, they’re four, you know. They mostly watched Paw Patrol on the iPad. Which was fine, cause then I got to watch the game.”

“And where’s your better half tonight?”

“Home with the baby.”

George gasps. “When did that happen?”

Cody grins. “A few days ago. We weren’t really expecting it so soon, but the agency called with a need for a quick placement.” He taps at the screen of his phone, then hands it over to show George a photo of a tiny sleeping baby. “It’s a foster placement for now, but they said the odds are good we can adopt him. We’ll find out in six months.”

George hands the phone back. “That’s got to be rough.”

“If we have to give him back, it will be, but that’s how it goes.” Cody shrugs. “Kids need homes, you know? And we’ve got one.”

“I always knew you’d be a good dad.”

Cody smiles, then looks past George’s shoulder. George turns to see Jack walking toward them. She waves at him, and he draws closer, polite smile firmly in place.

“Jack, this is an old friend of mine, Cody Jameson. Cody, this is—”

“Jack Zimmermann, obviously,” Cody says, holding out a hand to Jack. “Great game tonight.”

“Thanks,” Jack says, his expression shifting to one of genuine pleasure now. “We’ve actually met before.”

Cody looks at Jack in surprise. “We… oh, we have!”

“My dad was friends with Glen Wesley,” Jack says, turning to George, “and he took me to the Cup final the year the Hurricanes won. We went to the locker room after so he could congratulate them, and I met the whole team.”

“You were what 14, 15 then?” Cody asks.

“14, yeah. And a lot shorter.” Jack grins. “That was an amazing win.”

“Daddy?” a small voice asks. The kids clearly recognize Jack and are grinning shyly at him from behind Cody’s legs.

“This is Sofia,” Cody says, running a hand affectionately over her head. “And this one is Michael. They’re both fans.”

Jack smiles at them and asks them a few questions, but they just giggle and hide some more.

“So how do you two know each other?” Jack asks.

George looks over at Cody, who grins back at her. “We met when we were both working in the AHL. And then he got himself traded to the Hurricanes.” She can’t help but inject a note of disdain into her voice. He’d been on the Rangers’ roster for a year by then, so it wasn’t like she got to see him all that often anyway, but it still sucked that he was that much further away.

“Hey,” Cody says, holding up one hand. “Like I had a choice. Besides, it worked out okay.”

“Do you live around here?” Jack asks.

“Connecticut, actually. That’s where my partner’s from, so that’s where we went after I retired.” His smile turns practiced and bland, not inviting more questions.

George doesn’t want to out them to each other, obviously, but she’d kind of hoped something would come of their meeting. She wants Jack to know other players have gone through this, and that they were fine — even happy. Cody came out to his teammates when he played for the ‘Canes. They all knew Ben, and it was a good situation from what they’d told her. But she can’t tell Jack any of that.

“Daddy,” Michael says, a distinct whine in his voice now. “I want Papa.”

“I know, honey, but Papa’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”

“Is Papa gonna read us a sleepy story?” Sofia asks.

“Maybe on Skype.” He hesitates a moment, looking at Jack appraisingly. “My, uh… my husband was supposed to be here tonight, but something came up. I travel a lot for work, so they’re not used to being away from him at bedtime.”

“Oh,” Jack says, his expression neutral. “I hope everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Cody visibly relaxes, one hand still in Sofia’s hair. “I just have to get two tired and cranky kids to a hotel and to sleep without their preferred parent.” He lowers his voice a little. “If they fall asleep in the car, I might just drive all the way home.”

“You should bring your husband next time,” Jack says. “I’d like to meet him.”

Cody stares back at him. His expression shifts subtly, then his lips twist into a smile. “Yeah, okay. We should do that.” The children are hanging from both his hands now, whining in unison. Cody sighs. “Sorry, I should probably go. It was nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.”

Cody pries himself away from the kids long enough to give George a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Thanks for the tickets.” He pulls back and smiles at her. “God, we can’t go three years again. Promise me you’ll come visit. Let us make you dinner.”

“I will,” she says. “Tell Ben I said hi.”

“I will. He hates that he didn’t get to see you.” Cody turns to Jack and shakes his hand again. “Jack, take care.”

“Yeah, you too.” Jack smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets.

As soon as Cody walks away, he turns to George with raised eyebrows.

“What?” George asks.

Jack shrugs. “Just… thanks.”

“He’d probably be a good person to talk to, if you wanted.”

Jack looks thoughtful. “Yeah. I had no idea he was… I mean, he kept it quiet, eh?”

“It was kind of an open secret by the end, but yeah.” She turns to watch Cody and his kids growing smaller as they head down the corridor. “If you want, I could give you his number and you could text him sometime.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Cody turns and looks back, then raises one hand to wave. He smiles. George waves back, then watches him disappear from view.

“I didn’t know you had friends,” Jack says, his voice teasing.

She smiles, as enigmatically as she can manage. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, I guess.”

*****

FIN