Hockey Is My Boyfriend: Part One (6 page)

A
pril had been bugging
me about meeting Nicklas. All the things she had heard about him were making her extremely curious. The trouble was that we basically ran in two different circles. April, and usually me, were part of the whole Seycove Secondary crowd and went to parties in our neighbourhood. Now that I was hanging out with Nicklas, we went to parties with his hockey buddies all over North Van and also with his friends from private school in West Van.

So I figured out a night that he had a game at Ice Sports and I had a game after him. April could come to the rink with me and meet him in the half hour overlap between those two events.

April pulled up in my driveway, and I was all ready. I ran out and stuck my hockey bag and sticks in the back of her mom’s VW Golf, and then I hopped in the passenger seat.

“Okay, let’s go!” I said cheerily.

April turned off the ignition.

“What, in the name of all that is ugly, are you wearing?”

I looked down. “Oh, this? This is my team tracksuit. It’s not too attractive, is it? But we have to wear it to every game, you know, because we’re a team.”

“Team Totally Hideous! And are you wearing a sports bra again?”

“Duh! I’m playing hockey, which is a sport. Therefore, sports bra.”

“Okay, but aren’t we meeting your boyfriend first? A boyfriend who is allegedly one of the cutest guys on the North Shore?”

“Yeah, but he knows why I have to dress like this. Besides, who can look sexy in a track suit?” Some clothes were for real action, not getting some action.

“Have you never seen Victoria Beckham? For starters, you could get a suit that fits a bit tighter. Okay, let’s go to your room.” She started to open the car door.

“What? April, this is not a makeover situation. Everyone else on the team is wearing their track suits so I have to wear mine too.”

“Oh Kelly, and if all the other girls were jumping off the bridge, would you too? Do you know how eight-years-old you sound? Don’t worry; I won’t make you change completely, only a bit.” She saw I was hesitating. “Quick now. It will go faster if you obey me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Yes, what about when we drank Hard Lemonade at the grade seven Grad?”

“Okay, but that was not a fashion decision. I am never wrong about fashion.”

Ten minutes later we were back in the car. I looked ridiculous in my opinion. April had safety-pinned the tracksuit in some weird way, so that it was now tighter at the waist and bust. I was wearing a push-up bra and a low cut tank top underneath a strategically unzipped jacket that I wasn’t allowed to zip up any higher. Luckily she hadn’t made me change from my running shoes into hooker heels, because I could not have lugged my hockey gear into the arena. Not that I had hooker heels, but who knew what April might pull out of her purse.

“I’m probably going to get a chest cold,” I complained.

“Nicklas will love it. He’ll leave the rink with you imprinted on his brain, and isn’t that what we all want?”

We were at the rink early despite the mini-makeover, and we sat in the lobby waiting for Nicklas. His teammates started drifting out, and a lot of them stopped to chat, probably because April was with me. They had demolished a team from South Delta, and everyone was feeling good. Nicklas finally came out with his best friend on the team, Mark Shelton III. Don’t even get me started on people who give their kids the exact same names as themselves. My mom felt it showed a complete lack of imagination as well as a huge ego. She was very creative, and if she weren’t Irish I might have been named Moonbeam Ocean Tanaka. Anyway from what I had seen, she was right: Mark was a snob and a bore.

Nicklas looked incredibly hot, as usual. Rep teams always wore suits to their games, but he looked better than everyone else. He told me he got his suits downtown at Harry Rosen Menswear, which was way more expensive than any place around here. I was pretty sure that April would flip.

“There he is,” I said to April, as he came down the hallway on the other side of the glass doors.

She had this incredible skill of looking without appearing to look. Obviously she missed her calling as a spy.

“The blond guy, in the charcoal grey Hugo Boss suit?”

I’m sorry, how did she know what kind of suit he was wearing from 100 metres away? I wouldn’t know unless he took his jacket off and waved the label in front of me. And then I’d probably be too busy wondering what he might take off next.

April let out a puff of breath. “Oh my God, he’s absolutely gorgeous. And you won him in a bet?”

“I didn’t win him in a bet; we started dating on a dare. Anyway, you like?”

“Oh, I like,” she purred. “Kelly, this is just the right guy for your first time.”

“Excuse me?”

“So hot! No wonder you can’t keep your hands off him.”

“Okay, let’s keep all this girl talk to ourselves when we actually meet him.”

“I can be discreet! Let’s hope I don’t drool though. You are a lucky, lucky lady.”

Nicklas and Mark came up to us. “Kelly! Did you see my goal?” asked Nicklas.

Uh oh, bad girlfriend. “Sorry, I only got to the rink a few minutes ago. I’ve got a game here too, but I came by early to see you.”

“Ahem,” April interrupted.

“Oh sorry. Hey Nicklas, Mark, this is April Lachance.”

“Hello, April, nice to meet you.” Nicklas smiled politely, but then he turned his attention back to me. “Kelly, you’re looking really good today.”

He dropped his hockey bag, moved in to hug me, and slipped his hands inside my track jacket. He grabbed my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. As he brought me closer, he moved his thumbs up to touch the sides of my breasts, but nobody could tell from outside the jacket. Apparently tracksuits could be sexy. But when he touched me, my nipples got hard, which was pretty embarrassing.

I wasn’t really into PDAs. Sure, we made out in the car, but doing it in front of everyone was different. So while Nicklas was kissing me and secretly feeling me up, I was uncomfortable. When I finally broke away from him, I should have known that we would have an audience, besides April and Mark. On my right, coming from the rink, was Dave Vanderhauf. He was looking at us and smirking, and he had totally noticed my headlights were on. On my left, Laura Armstrong and her pal, Kelsey Homeniuk, were walking into the arena, along with—drum roll—my coach, Peter Miller. Argh!

Nicklas was oblivious. In fact, he was saying something about going to his car for a little privacy, but I had to get ready for my game.

“Gotta go,” I said to him. “Game time.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Nicklas,” Mark whined.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Nicklas seemed disappointed he wasn’t getting to explore the dark reaches of my tracksuit.

“Sure, see ya.” And then I turned to April, “Thanks for the ride. Never taking your fashion advice again.” She smiled sweetly back at me.

“Nicklas, aren’t you going to stay and watch our game?” asked Laura, who apparently never gave up.

“Got to go and hit the homework,” he replied, without actually looking at her. “Let’s go, Shell.” And they left in a cloud of Armani cologne.

My coach looked at me without any expression on his face at all. “Let’s do some laps of the arena before the game. Get the rest of the team organized.”

I guessed he’d seen it all before.

“
A
re
you coming over to watch the Canucks game on Thursday?” Phil asked me, out of the blue.

We hadn’t said two words to each other since he slammed the door of Nicklas’s car. In the old days, we watched games together anytime we were both free, because I had no cable and a tiny television. My parents had decreed that too much television stunted creativity. I had no creative skills at all, which you would think blew that theory out of the water, but my little brother was creative so it was a wash.

“Um, I've got practice until 8:00, but I could come over afterwards.” I hadn't really planned on watching the game, but this seemed like a peace offering so I thought I should accept. I missed hanging out with Phil.

“Okay, I'll see you whenever.” Phil seemed ultra-casual.

I drove home after practice and took a quick shower. I debated wearing a pair of my new jeans, but I decided that Phil probably wouldn't even notice, so I pulled on some yoga pants with a t-shirt and a hoody. With April's lectures echoing in my head, I applied lip gloss and mascara, miraculously not poking myself in the eye. I walked to Phil's since it wasn't raining too hard.

Downstairs at Phil’s was the perfect place to hang out and watch the game. It was a traditional wood-panelled family room with striped couches and wood side tables. Not dark, since the house was built on a slope, and there were sliding glass doors to the outside letting in sunlight.

Thanks to his mom, the room was completely orderly, antiseptically clean, and fully stocked with drinks and snacks. His dad was into the latest technology, and it seemed like every time I went there, the TV was bigger. Plus the couch across from the TV was ginormous; It had to be since Phil, his older brother Ray, and his dad were all over 6 feet and his mom was about 5’10”. When I sat there it felt like land of the giants: if I scooted my butt to the back of the couch, my feet would not touch the floor.

In addition to the mega-TV, they had a pool table and an air hockey table. Phil had a music corner for his two guitars and his retro Orange amp. Because of this sweet set-up, everyone came to Phil’s to hang out.

Phil was a pretty relaxed host, which was nice. His mom was scary though, and when I was younger I spent a lot of time worrying that she was going to yell at me. Having a giant German woman get mad at you was unnerving, although Phil never seemed to mind.

One lucky thing was that the stairs squeaked, so you actually had time to look around and see if you had forgotten to use a coaster or left crumbs on the couch before Greta entered the room. Once I had commented to Phil on how lucky he was that the stairs squeaked. He laughed and told me that he had gone to the sub-basement and fixed them to do that. Guess that was why he was going into engineering next year: better living through science. It did make me wonder what else Phil did in the basement that needed an early warning system, but I didn’t ask about that.

When I got finally to Phil’s, I was surprised that none of his buds were there watching the game.

“Where is everyone?”

“Homework,” Phil said, his eyes on the TV.

The score was 2-0 in favour of Chicago when I got there, and it was still the second period. Phil told me that it had been a penalty-filled game so far, and that’s why it was going on so long. Just after I got there, the Canucks scored their first goal. Then, they shifted into a smarter game, stopped taking penalties, and Chicago lacked the finish to put the game away. The Canucks tied up the game in the middle of the third, and then as part of a seemingly fateful comeback, scored in the OT. A very satisfying finish, and I felt really happy.

“The Blackhawks aren’t very good,” I commented, pulling on my hoody and looking for my shoes.

“Wait,” said Phil.

“It’s late, I’ve got to get going.”

“You’ve got spare in first block tomorrow,” he pointed out, which I had forgotten. We both had spare. He continued, “I’ve been thinking about your problem—with electricity.”

“It’s not really a problem; it’s actually kind of nice.” An understatement, as it was the energy fuelling the time I spent with Nicklas.

“Well, I think it is a problem. It used to be that you couldn’t stand Ericcson. Remember that game in Sechelt when the three of us were on the same line? Afterwards you said he was the biggest asshole ever and he wouldn’t know a pass if it up and bit his butt. You never liked playing on a line with him.”

Phil had an inconveniently good memory.

“He’s different now. He plays rep, and he’s better,” I lied. I hadn’t had a chance to watch Nicklas play yet, but he had to be better if he was on the triple-A team. “Plus, now I don’t have to play hockey with him.”

“All I’m saying is that if you feel something with a guy you don’t like, imagine how good it would be with a guy you did like.”

Phil had obviously spent a lot of time building up his case, and I could see where this was going.

“Like you, I suppose.”

He held his hands up in a “why not” motion.

I snorted loudly. “Give it up, Phil. I have a boyfriend, and I’m not about to test your theories.”

“Scared I might be right?” Then he made a chicken noise!

“I’m not afraid. What’s it going to take to shut you up?”

“A kiss.”

“Forget it.”

“Just one kiss, Kelly. If you don’t feel any of your electricity, then fine, I will drop this and not bug you about Nicklas any more.”

I considered this. It would be pretty sweet to have Phil get back to normal. Plus it would totally disprove his theory; I knew that what Nicklas and I had was special. And I had kissed Phil before and it wasn’t the same at all.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Phil sounded surprised that I had agreed.

I leaned forward to kiss him, but he leaned back. “You have to relax a little first,” he said.

“What? We haven’t got all night here.” I figured he was stalling.

“Then turn around, and take a deep breath.”

I did and then I felt his hands on my shoulders. He started massaging them, and digging his thumbs into my traps, where I got tight when I was stressed. It felt really good. I rolled my head back. Phil’s hands were nice and strong, and they kind of melted my tension away. No electricity though, I was so going to win this bet. I leaned back into his hands, and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. Then he leaned forward and kissed the back of my neck.

Wow! Not electricity, this was fireworks in my new black thong. I yelped. Phil turned my shoulders around, and kissed me on the mouth. His lips were hot and open and firm. I kissed him back, and things started melting inside me, not electricity but more like a volcano of hot liquid lava. Shit! Phil was right, but I didn’t have time to think about that now. We fell onto the giant couch, with me lying on top of him. His arms were holding me close, and now he was kissing all over my face and neck. I could feel his whole body under me: his strong chest, his flat stomach, and his firm thighs. And apparently the TV’s weren’t the only things that were huge at the Davidson’s house.

I was totally intertwined with Phil when we heard the stairs squeak. We both sat up and reverted to opposite ends of the couch, straightening out our clothes and smoothing our hair. For good measure, Phil stuck the chip bowl between us, and by the time Greta entered the room, it looked like any normal night with two old buddies.

She gave me a narrow look. “It is late, Kelly. Should you not be at home by now? The game is over, I think, yes?”

I nodded mutely and started to slip my jacket on.

“Phillip, no food on the couch.”

He smiled slightly, ate a couple of chips and then slowly put the bowl back on the table. I noticed that he had a pillow on his lap. That seemed like overkill since the sound of Greta’s voice was like a cold shower. I put on my shoes, escaped out the sliding doors, and ran all the way home.

I went right to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Phil was right: we had incredible chemistry. Or maybe I was turning into some kind of nympho? I had been out of control with Phil! If his mom hadn’t come down, I had no idea how far we would have gone. I was turning into the kind of person who wanted to have sex on the first date! Of course it wasn’t a date, and it wasn’t a first date since we had known each other forever, but not really in a sexual way. Crap, I wasn’t even making sense to myself.

Plus, hello! I had a boyfriend. Although when I started kissing Phil, I completely forgot everything else. If Nicklas had interrupted Phil and me, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even have remembered his name. But now I was feeling totally guilty. Nicklas was a sweet guy, and he was my boyfriend. A boyfriend I was totally into, right? I knew that I shouldn’t have kissed Phil—that was dumb—but he dared me, and I fell for it. Now I was a cheater, and that felt terrible. I was a horrible person.

When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Phil. He was already so familiar to me. I knew the way his brown hair curled around his neck and ears when it got too long, I knew the long sinewy muscles of his arms and back, and even the little scars on his leg and shoulder from long ago accidents. And I knew all the expressions of his face: that scornful look when someone was bugging him, the way his hazel eyes clouded over when he was getting emotional about something, the way his lips curled before he was going to make a joke. I had never thought about how attractive he was before. I mean Phil was tall, like 6’2”, and he had this lean muscular look: broad shoulders from swimming, slim hips, big hockey thighs, and an amazing six-pack. He was cute too. All the girls at school agreed: he had been voted best looking for the yearbook.

And wow, Phil was such a good kisser. I knew he was experienced, but his lips were magical. And his hands—wherever they touched me, they sparked something inside me, like this achy emptiness that needed to be filled. This was a whole new side of Phil that I had never seen before, talents I never knew he had. Man, I was getting hot just thinking about him. I had hung out with Phil for so long, and it was like I hardly knew him.

What was I going to do? I had no idea. I was so wired I couldn’t sleep for ages.