Page 9 of Offside Attraction
Rhonda shrugged. “I have a life. I have you guys.” And her mom, but she didn’t see any of them as often as she wanted to. Not with all the travel.
Emma blew out a breath. “You know I’m not judging you?—”
“Here we go.” Rhonda leaned over and made grabby hands in the direction of the cooler. Tina laughed and passed her a beer.
Emma waited for her to use the bottle opener and take a sip. “‘Kay, but hear me out. You make great money, you’re hilarious, sexy, and you’re not superficial or arrogant?—”
“Thank you.” Rhonda nodded gravely.
Emma held up a hand, ignoring her sarcasm. “I don’t understand how someone hasn’t locked all of this down.”
Anne pointed a finger at her. “Do not use the peanut allergy metaphor. We’ve already discussed how that doesn’t hold up.”
Rhonda snorted. “Because I need therapy?” Anne shot her a look. “When would I have time for therapy?”
Anne dropped her chin onto her arm. “No. If you’re happy, I’m good with that. I just—” She blew out a breath. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”
Rhonda grinned. “You’ve been dating Gary for six weeks, and you’re already one of those people? Pitying me?”
“Not pity! You’re just travelling all the time by yourself. What if one of these times you bring home a guy that . . .” Anne shrugged, and Rhonda looked around the hot tub.
“Exactly! I travel too much to be in a serious relationship. You guys are the only thing I have time for when I’m home.” She paused, chewing her lower lip. “Is this what you’re all thinking, though? That I’m pathetic? Sad and alone all the time?” Her heart picked up speed. She was very aware that her lifestyle choices weren’t pedestal-worthy, but she didn’t love the feeling that her best friends were secretly judging her, too.
She stiffened and was about to push up out of the water when Tina said, “Sit your ass down, Rhonda. You know we love you. This is what friends do. They worry about you and your lady parts. So just accept that you’ll get a version of this lecture every six months or so.”
Emma nodded. “You’re over thirty-five. It’s like a mammogram.”
Penny gave her a serious look. “And if you’re still happy, fulfilled, and alone in another forty years, I’ll scour Rocky Ridge and find you the hottest medical student to change your bedpans.”
Chapter
Two
Jordan
It waseight forty-five on a Monday night, and Jordan's lungs burned. He skated a lap, then stopped at centre ice, his eyes scanning his players as they moved up and down the rink. Steele took a shot on Chubs in the net, Wyatt charged at him, then Cam and Nate fought for the puck and lost it to Sam.
Jordan's breath condensed in white puffs in front of his face. The rink was old, the boards scuffed and dented from decades of pucks and bodies crashing into them. The bleachers, mostly empty except for a few die-hard fans and the occasional girlfriend, creaked with age. The ice itself was a patchwork of old and new, the scars from previous games and practices barely covered by the fresh layer laid down by the Zamboni, but he lived for this. For the smell of the rink, the snap of the puck, the camaraderie.
Jordan blew his whistle, and his teammates circled back, their blades carving arcs into the ice. "That was a shit show. Nate, you were out of formation."
Nate grunted. “Yep.”
“Fix it.” Jordan led them back to the boards where they switched out pairs, then started again. He partnered up with Wyatt on defence and got in line for the drill.
"Left your balls in the dressing room!" Steele shouted as Cam skated past him.
Cam flipped him off, then got back in line. They'd been practicing breakouts, and he needed to get his defence more in sync. They were up against Mills Hoodie this weekend.
After a few more rounds, Jordan called his players in, then they ran through their final set of rushes. He banged his stick against the boards, and the guys circled up. "Alright, strategy for the weekend. We know their boys are bruisers, so we need to close those gaps and play smart, not just hard. We can’t afford to let them break through the blue line. No free lanes to the net.
"When they’re cycling the puck along the boards, I want our defencemen to play tighter, force them to the outside. If they’re digging in deep, stay low, cover the slot, and don’t get drawn out by their forwards. We’ll use our wingers to press high and cover the points, so defence can stay focused on protecting the net.
"Offensively, we need our puck movement sharp and our heads up. They’re big on clogging the middle, so we’ll work it from the perimeter and draw them out. Quick passes, work them until they’re spread thin, then hit those seam passes to catch them off guard. When we’re on the rush, if you see an open lane, go for it, but no hero plays—we need that support trailing behind. If they come at you along the boards, chip it in deep and go to work below the goal line. Keep the zingers. They can’t hit what they can’t catch.”
His players nodded around him, and Steele clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice speech, Cap. Almost brought a tear to my eye."
Jordan gave him a gloved finger as the metal door at the end of the ice creaked to life. The team worked to get the pucks and nets off the ice, then clomped down the hall into the locker room.