Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Weston ushers the small motley crew to the boards surrounding the ice, steps up next to me by the player’s bench. He nods his head and holds out his clip board. I glance at it briefly before clearing my throat. “Okay guys, nice work. Nelson, we wanna see you work on getting a little more aggressive.” I point to a kid named Stewart Rosenthal. “Stu, next time someone passes you the puck, don’t hog it. Keep your eyes watchful and when someone is open, get rid of it. If we see you do it again in a game, we’re pulling you off the ice. Everyone else, get lots of rest and don’t eat a bunch of crap.” Weston looks pointedly at a chubby kid named Phil. “We have a game against the Racine Avengers next week and they’re ranked 8 and 3 – we have our work cut out for us.”
Weston takes over. “Okay guys. We only have one more practice before our game, so make it count. Be here an hour early.” He glances at me, raising his eyebrows at me with a questioning smirk on his face. “Anything else Coach Wakefield?”
Smart ass.
“Nope. Go hit the showers. See you next week.”
The kids skate off towards the locker room, some more skillfully than others. One kid actually smashes into the wall and almost biffs it. I make a mental note to work with him on the angle of his knees. Shit. I have a feeling I’m going to have to start all over with him on the fundamentals of hockey: As in, basic stances and walking on skates.
I sigh. I’ve seen enough of the 2-Foot glide for the day.
“I take it you just saw Dicky Winters almost take a digger?” Weston asks.
“Dickey Winters? I though his name was David.”
“It is. Dickey is my special pet-name for him because he’s slow.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Weston shrugs. “Yeah, so?” He sits on the long bench where the substitute players sit during games and begins unlacing his skates before glancing up at me. “So what’s the deal with you and CeCe?”
“Nothing. There is no ‘deal.”
“That’s not what Molly says.”
“My sister needs to mind her own business.”
“Don’t get defensive man, I’m only repeating what she told me.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
He shrugs again and bends his head to loosen the laces on his other skate. “Apparently nothing, since there is no deal, right?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“I can’t help it. It’s my special brand of humor,” he says this with a laugh as he begins putting the blade guards on both his skates.
I clench my jaw, perturbed. “Just fucking tell me what Molly said.”
Weston laughs again. “Just that the two of you go at it like two alley cats. Oh. And that you’re totally a dick to her. But of course we all knew that.”
“I can’t help it. Cecelia is a total bitch.”
“Oh, it’s Cecelia now, hey?” Weston smirks at me while he bends to grab several loose hockey pucks on the ground and shoves them into an open practice duffle bag.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Don’t get defensive man, I was just making a point. Besides, no one calls her Cecelia.”
“Well I didn’t know that – what do they call her than?”
“Her friends call her Cece. Obviously if she liked you she would have corrected you. But she doesn’t, so….” He shrugs and pulls his sneakers out of the duffle before stuffing a goalie mask inside.
“You know, it’s times like this I cannot fucking stand you.”
Weston laughs. “The feeling is mutual, bro.”
I stand there glaring at his back for a few moments – probably only a few seconds, in all actuality – not saying anything before shifting my weight and leaning my hip against the hard plank of the half wall. He looks up at me and twists his mouth into a grin.
Annoyed, I ask “What?”
“Look at you, dude. It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?” He laughs again, zipping the duffle shut and hefting it on to his shoulder.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, okay.” With that, he starts walking away (in his socks, by the way), leaving me staring after him. It’s never easy with this kid; he just doesn’t give a shit.
Nonetheless, I only hesitate briefly before calling him back.
“Wait.” Weston stops and turns, brows raised, a questioning look on his face. I run a hand over my face and blow out a puff of air.
He smirks. “Well? Spit it out, I’ve got Molly waiting.”
“Just give me her phone number.”
Silence fills the air, and he just stares at me. Finally he contorts his face and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And who knows – maybe I have. Nonetheless, his reply doesn’t surprise me. “Hell no. Five seconds ago you were calling her a total bitch.”
I snort. “What do you care?”