Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
And to an extent, yeah.
That’s true.
But that’s not what he’s planning to do at this moment.
No.
This particular stance, with that particular mouth protector direction, is him wordlessly letting Frosky know to be ready for him because he’s gonna win it back his direction.
And once Frosky has it?
That silky mitted fuck better be ready to wheel faster than he’s ever wheeled before to find an opening to score.
Like I said.
There are worse things than being tied in the second.
Such as having to do speed skating drills with the team skate coach until you forget how to walk like a normal person on dry land.
Tucking my mouthpiece back in place occurs at the same time the zeb drops the biscuit on the ice. Peck throws his entire frame into the motion of using his stick to knock the other center’s out of the way and fling the prize straight to Snowman who doesn’t waste a single second crossing over to fire a clapper from right outside the circle. The puck noticeably taps the top bar and goes straight down to the ice past the tendy that’s pulling too far to the wrong side.
Goal sounds begin flooding the arena as the rest of my line skates over to celly. Hedgecomb and Peck give him appropriate pats, yet me and Wahl knock his bucket covered head with ours.
“Atta boy, Snowman!” Leaves my mouth first. “Way to get it done, Rookie!”
The cheering continues for a few moments longer which is when me and the boys skate over to the bench to accept their taps prior to us settling back in for the next line to take a shift.
“Fucking bardownsky, Eeyore!” Snowman excitedly shouts from his seat beside me. “Can you believe that shit?!”
“With mitts like yours?” I lightly laugh. “Da. With mitts like WonderWahl’s? Net.”
“Fucker,” Kolby “WonderWahl” Wahl good naturedly grunts in return.
“Good fucking hustle boys,” Blanc claps from where he’s pacing behind us. “Way to get it done.” Additional claps are attached to specific praises. “Nice reflex on the drop, Rookie. Keep that shit up.”
Peck enthusiastically nods at the acknowledgement but doesn’t hold his frame any higher.
Doesn’t let the shit go to his head.
Gotta give the kid that.
Other than racking up assists out the ass, he’s always hungry.
Always ready to learn more.
Be more.
I’ve missed being around that.
Maybe he’s like that ‘cause he’s so fucking young.
Or maybe he’s like that ‘cause he just fucking wants this that much.
Either way?
It’s the kind of shit I want on my team.
The type of players I wanna be surrounded by.
On and off the ice too, I guess.
Joeski greets caring for our household with the same level of fire.
Doesn’t matter what the size of the task is or how much extra she has to go through to get something accomplished…if it’s something she believes Bella and I need to make our lives easier or sometimes simply better, she goes after it.
How else do you explain having a whole new game day wardrobe that’s both easy to manage and has me racking up literal style points all across the league, making soc’s go crazy every time they see me on the gameday walk?
It was even brought up in a pre-game interview from a podcaster who offered to help me out of it when the mics were turned off.
She, however, was very turned on.
“Way to extend that point streak, Snowman,” Blanc continues around the chomping of his gum. “That’s the shit I’m lookin’ for out there. Shots on goal boys! Shots on goal!” A few more encouraging claps precede our next shift taking place on the fly courtesy of the third line coming back in. “Fucking wheel!”
The Goonie Tunes coming off the ice – our pair of twin D men – have me and Wahl hopping on along with Frosky and Peck the instant their respective substitutes are within the allowed range. Spotting two of the other team’s top forwards propels me into full defensive action; however, unexpectedly, the one I’m headed towards, sloppily loses possession of the puck allowing Peck a perfect opportunity to breakaway. He takes off making great distance in top speed and successfully completes a pass to Snowman who knows exactly what to do in his element. Watching the little black dot slide back and forth to my right damn near blinds me to the uncalled-for cross check delivered by their d-man to my left. “Welcome to the show, you little bitch.”
Seeing Peck go from standing to skidding across the slippery surface, head almost clipping the post, has me skating over.
Dropping my stick.
Gloves.
Shoving Juhani Nurmi, the 6’3 Finnish ken doll I swear I get into it with at least once a fucking season, against the nearby boards prompts him to flash me an arrogant, toothless smirk. “You want to fuckin' go, cabbage eater?” His stick hits the ground along with his gloves. “We go.”