Page 68 of The Player's Club
Mac smiled down at them. “Yeah, I am.”
A few more skaters, realizing who Mac was, came over, and soon, Mac was surrounded by kids asking for his autograph.
I watched in amusement as he asked each kid their name and their favorite hockey player. Most of them said Mac was their favorite. Of course they did.
“Did you always want to play hockey?” one boy asked Mac.
“Not always, but after I started taking lessons, I fell in love with it. Do you play?” Mac asked.
The boy nodded. “I’m a goalie. I want to play in the NHL someday.”
Mac signed the boy’s hat and returned it with a smile. “Then keep practicing. Every day, you’ll get better if you put in the time and effort.”
“My mom doesn’t like hockey. She wants me to do figure skating,” one of the girls said.
The boy next to her scoffed. “Girls aren’t allowed to play hockey.”
The girl’s lower lip protruded like she was about to cry. Mac knelt in front of her. “If you want to play hockey, then don’t let anyone stop you. Girls can definitely play hockey,” he said, his tone completely serious.
The girl nodded, looking determined now.
Mac finally returned to my side. I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t help thinking what an amazing father he might be someday.
“What?” He looked embarrassed.
“You were so good with them.” I smiled.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t take much to be nice to a bunch of kids.”
“Sure, but you could’ve just signed a few hats and hockey sticks and called it a day.”
“If you think that means I’m getting soft, you’re in for a rude awakening.” He grinned wickedly, which made me blush and look forward to finding out what he meant.
We kept skating, and my skills improved marginally. My initial nervousness had faded, and by the time we’d finished, I’d started to thoroughly enjoy myself. I wasn’t great at skating, sure, but I could see myself coming back.
“Did you learn to skate when you started playing hockey?” I asked, suddenly curious. “Or did you already know how to skate?”
“I’d skated some, but hockey is what forced me to get comfortable with it. But hockey isn’t exactly figure skating.” Mac’s grin was wry. “We’re not out there doing triple axles.”
“Have you ever done figure skating?”
“Oh, fuck no. That shit’s terrifying.” He shuddered. “I saw a teenager trying to do a double something or other. She somehow twisted her leg right at the same time as she came down on it. Suffice it to say, everybody freaked the fuck out when they saw her bone sticking out of her leg.”
I gaped at him. “Oh my God.”
“I’m too much of a wimp for figure skating,” he said, half joking.
I patted his arm. “It’s good to know what your limits are.”
He growled, and when no one was looking, he kissed me until I saw stars.
For dinner, Mac took me to one of his favorite wing joints. It was in a nondescript building that had been a gas station back in the fifties and sixties. It’d been turned into a restaurant thirty years ago and had flourished ever since.
The place was packed. When I saw the line out the door, I almost wished I’d brought a snack to tide me over. But Mac, being Mac, managed to get a seat within five minutes. I should’ve known.
“Nice to see you, big guy!” A middle-aged man walked over to our table. He and Mac shook hands. He then turned his gaze to me and said, “And who’s this lovely lady?”
Mac shook his head.“None of your business, Vinnie.”