“Yeah, right.”
“Ain’t nobody gotta lie to your ugly self!”
“Ford, you gotta come up with something better. We both know I ain’t ugly.”
This was true, but I wasn’t going to admit it. So, I said, “You right. You ain’t ugly. You real ugly.”
She grabbed another pod and threw it at me, hitting me in the face. Then I stared at her, and she stared at me. When she hopped up and started running, I chased her, stopping when she crossed the street because I didn’t have permission to leave my yard.
“I’ma get my lick back, Chicken!” I yelled, before directing, “Hey, come back here, Pooch!” to the dog, who wanted in on the chase and was standing in the middle of the road.
Again, Krystle gave me her middle finger, the left one this time, before bouncing inside her house.
Now…
King of Rock was blaring in the arena, the crowd was roaring, and my heart was pounding as I slapped hands and bumped chests with Rapp and Jones, my fellow linemen. The fans had named us Southern Comfort, and these two dudes were like family to me. I wouldn’t have wanted to go to war on the ice with anyone else.
“Let’s go get this dub-yuh, Sires!” Rapp yelled. He was our center and our team’s captain as well as being a big influence on our entire roster’s energy. So, to see him fired up lit a flame under all our asses. Once out on the ice, our fans added to the motivation we needed to pull out a win.
My eyes were glued to the official’s hand, all the noise of the arena fading into the background as I impatiently awaited the puck drop, adrenaline flooding my veins. Expectation and excitement burned in my chest. There was nothing on the planet that compared to this, to the onset of another battle. It was us against the Coyotes, Rapp facing off against their center for possession of the puck. All eyes were on the center circle as the ten players out on the ice collectively held their breaths. The centers prematurely moved their sticks in anticipation, eliciting a scolding from the official, and then…finally! The puck left his hand and Rapp managed to slap it toward our left wing, Jones. The puck was ours, and by the end of the game, so was the win.
Krystle
“Hey, girl! You ready for this?”
I looked up from my phone to see my favorite co-worker approaching me. Grinning, I replied, “You know it! Your girl stays ready.”
My coworker, Destiny Warrick, gave me a high five. “I know that’s right! I can’t beat your ass for nothing, but I swear, I’m coming for that Top Agent crown you got in a chokehold.”
“Come get it, then!” I trilled, pressing the button on my key fob to lock my car doors.
As we fell in step together, heading into the building, Destiny asked, “What was so interesting on your phone? You stalking a new potential client?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not stalking. It’s called being proactive.”
“Following every St. Louis professional athlete and contacting the ones who merely appear to be looking for housing isn’t stalking? Okay.”
“Look, this is my area of expertise. I once lived the transient life that goes with being an NHL wife and it’s the same across all professional sports—MLB, NBA, NFL…hell, even the semi-pros. You never know when you’ll have to move, but being forced to relocate doesn’t have to mean sacrificing comfort and luxury.”
“I hear you, and I can’t be mad at you for putting your life experiences to use in your career. As you know, I’ve had a few professional athletes as clients. They’re definitely worth the effort.”
“Yeah, but I was looking at…scores, not potential clients.”
We were now inside the newly built, one-story structure that housed Posh Properties, a Black woman-owned company. After waving at Ling, the receptionist, Destiny whispered, “Hockey scores? Still no luck on the dating app?”
“Girl, that app is a cesspool of Pookies and RayRays. They’re on there just flinging dust all over the place,” I informed her.
“I know, right?” she agreed, stopping at her closed office door.
My eyes ballooned. “You know? You know and you still advised me to download that app? What kind of friend are you?” I hissed.
She shrugged, twisting her plum-painted lips. “I don’t know. Thought maybe it would be a good distraction for you, keep you from checking Sires scores.”
“I didn’t say I was checking Sires scores. Hockey is not the only sport in the world, and the Sires isn’t the only team in St. Louis.”
She silently smirked at me.
“Whatever. I’ll see you at the team meeting later,” I said, heading to my own office.
“They win or lose?” she said to my back.
“They won, of course,” I informed her.
Three
Ford
“So, like…I saw you at the game the other night, and wow! You are crazy talented, like a Black Patrick Kane.”
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it. How the hell did she know who that was? She being Rapp’s new woman’s cousin, Brandi. I’d seen a picture of her on Instagram and noted that her ass and thighs did indeed match, so I decided to give her a call. It seemed this was possibly going to turn out to be a good decision.
“Wait, so you a real hockey fan?” I asked.
“Yes! Been one since I was a kid!” she gushed.
I was floored. The only woman I’d ever been with who really understood hockey was Krystle.
Krystle.
Shit.
Why’d I have to think of her?
“Uh…that’s cool,” I managed to say. “So…what’s your favorite team?”
“I’m a St. Louis girl! The Sires is my team, and even if I wasn’t from here, I’d still be a fan. I’m rooting for everybody Black!”
I laughed. “Shiddd, me too. So, what do you do for a living?”
“Nothing as exciting as being a professional hockey player. Just your everyday, ordinary secretary.”
“I bet it’s hard work, though.”
“It can be, but I like it for the most part. Would love to work in the front office of a sports team one day. I got plenty of time, though. I’m only twenty-one.”
Twenty-one? Damn, she was young. Maybe too young for me, but it wasn’t like I was in search of anything serious anyway.
“I see,” I replied.
I could hear her sigh into the phone. “You think I’m too young for you, don’t you?”
I didn’t see the point in lying, so I said, “Actually, I do.”
“Well, I’m not. You’re divorced, right?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “How’d you know that?”
“I read it somewhere. Anyway, I’m divorced, too.”
“Huh? How? What were you, seventeen when you got married?”
“Eighteen. Got divorced at twenty. My ex is in his forties.”
“Damn. For real?”
“Yes! So, you see, I’ve lived some life, Terrence Ford. I ain’t too young for shit.”
Lifting both my eyebrows, I muttered, “I do see.”