Status: It's over! May write a sequel later, not entirely sure yet.
Diamond In The Rough
Chapter Two
The curly red hair, the cocky grin revealing a missing tooth…I was staring at Claude Giroux. I looked to his left and saw a pretty French face, a little black mustache, smiling brown eyes…Danny Briere. I looked slowly around the table and all of the faces and names hit me. James van Riemsdyk, Brian Boucher, Andrej Meszaros, Sean O’Donnell, Jeff Carter…the guy with the curly hair who had originally walked in I now recognized as Scott Hartnell. My eyes finally fell on the most grumpy face at the table. A frown formed, sending the trademark mustache that occupied his upper lip into a downwards curve. His deep brown eyes had a mischievous, almost challenging spark to them. I swallowed roughly, knowing that if anyone would ever challenge my decision to wear my Devils shirt to work it would be him. Daniel Carcillo.
“Uh…holy crap…sorry. I don’t mean you guys aren’t good I just…I…” I started to fumble. Claude Giroux let out a barking laugh and turned to Briere.
« Je me sens mal maintenant, nous fait peur!» He laughed, and I rolled my eyes.
“You didn’t scare me, I just don’t want you guys to think I’m being disrespectful.” I retorted. He raised his eyebrows.
“You speak French?” he asked in surprise.
“I dual majored in college…nursing and French, with a specialty in Quebecois.” I smirked. He let out a low whistle.
“Nice…I think that makes up for the shirt then, huh Danny?” he asked, jabbing Briere in the ribs with his elbow. Danny smiled and nodded.
“Alright, so what can I get you guys to drink? By the way, the menus are in the little slots in the table,” I said, pointing with my pen to the slots underneath the table top where we kept menus. It was awesome, and Carl had built them into every table in the place by himself. By the time I escaped I had twenty glasses of water, twelve coffees, a few Cokes, and a Sprite. Some of the guys had jokingly tried to order beer and the like as well, but I simply shook my head as I walked away.
*Dan's Point of View*
I watched the waitress walk away before I turned to Andrej.
“Mesz, can you believe she’d wear that on Flyers Friday?” I asked him. Andrej just laughed and shook his head.
“Well you can’t expect everyone to like us, can you?” he chuckled. I scowled.
“Yeah, but its Flyers Friday. Flyers. Not Devils Friday. That’s not even a…oh, what the hell do you call it?” I grumbled.
“Alliteration?” one of the guys suggested. I nodded.
“Right,” I said.
“What would be alliteration for that anyway?” Scott asked, and I rolled my eyes. Here we go again, another random team discussion. I bet they’re going to get really into it too.
“How about Satan Sunday?” Jeff Carter suggested, and Coburn snorted.
“Dude, way to totally flip that one around. Satan Sundays, really?” he chuckled.
“Oh shut up, it was the first thing to come to my mind,” Carter mumbled, obviously annoyed at his own stupidity.
“What about…Sucky Team Saturday?” I pitched in, and the guys immediately started cracking up.
“Thanks Carcillo, real appreciated,” the waitress smirked, putting a glass of water in front of me. I jumped a bit, having failed to realize she was behind me. I turned around and grinned widely.
“Any time,” I smirked.
*Cassidy's Point of View*
He really is cocky, isn’t he? I thought as he spun around and flashed me a toothless grin. Even with the missing teeth, I was alarmed at how ruggedly handsome he was. It was always my downfall, the guys who looked like they could whoop some serious ass, and I knew that Carcillo’s game certainly backed up his rough looks. I immediately tore myself away and started handing out the rest of the drinks, and rolled my eyes at the snarky comments I received from some of the guys.
“You didn’t poison this, right?” Chris Pronger asked as I put down a mug of coffee in front of him.
“Only a little, I promise,” I teased. He chuckled and took a sip before pretending to die. This is certainly a change from his usual stern, grumpy self, isn’t it? The other guys laughed and after I finished handing out the drinks I tucked the tray beneath my arm and pulled out my note pad.
“Are you guys ready to order?” I asked.
Let me tell you, NHL teams order a lot of food.
“Uh…holy crap…sorry. I don’t mean you guys aren’t good I just…I…” I started to fumble. Claude Giroux let out a barking laugh and turned to Briere.
« Je me sens mal maintenant, nous fait peur!» He laughed, and I rolled my eyes.
“You didn’t scare me, I just don’t want you guys to think I’m being disrespectful.” I retorted. He raised his eyebrows.
“You speak French?” he asked in surprise.
“I dual majored in college…nursing and French, with a specialty in Quebecois.” I smirked. He let out a low whistle.
“Nice…I think that makes up for the shirt then, huh Danny?” he asked, jabbing Briere in the ribs with his elbow. Danny smiled and nodded.
“Alright, so what can I get you guys to drink? By the way, the menus are in the little slots in the table,” I said, pointing with my pen to the slots underneath the table top where we kept menus. It was awesome, and Carl had built them into every table in the place by himself. By the time I escaped I had twenty glasses of water, twelve coffees, a few Cokes, and a Sprite. Some of the guys had jokingly tried to order beer and the like as well, but I simply shook my head as I walked away.
*Dan's Point of View*
I watched the waitress walk away before I turned to Andrej.
“Mesz, can you believe she’d wear that on Flyers Friday?” I asked him. Andrej just laughed and shook his head.
“Well you can’t expect everyone to like us, can you?” he chuckled. I scowled.
“Yeah, but its Flyers Friday. Flyers. Not Devils Friday. That’s not even a…oh, what the hell do you call it?” I grumbled.
“Alliteration?” one of the guys suggested. I nodded.
“Right,” I said.
“What would be alliteration for that anyway?” Scott asked, and I rolled my eyes. Here we go again, another random team discussion. I bet they’re going to get really into it too.
“How about Satan Sunday?” Jeff Carter suggested, and Coburn snorted.
“Dude, way to totally flip that one around. Satan Sundays, really?” he chuckled.
“Oh shut up, it was the first thing to come to my mind,” Carter mumbled, obviously annoyed at his own stupidity.
“What about…Sucky Team Saturday?” I pitched in, and the guys immediately started cracking up.
“Thanks Carcillo, real appreciated,” the waitress smirked, putting a glass of water in front of me. I jumped a bit, having failed to realize she was behind me. I turned around and grinned widely.
“Any time,” I smirked.
*Cassidy's Point of View*
He really is cocky, isn’t he? I thought as he spun around and flashed me a toothless grin. Even with the missing teeth, I was alarmed at how ruggedly handsome he was. It was always my downfall, the guys who looked like they could whoop some serious ass, and I knew that Carcillo’s game certainly backed up his rough looks. I immediately tore myself away and started handing out the rest of the drinks, and rolled my eyes at the snarky comments I received from some of the guys.
“You didn’t poison this, right?” Chris Pronger asked as I put down a mug of coffee in front of him.
“Only a little, I promise,” I teased. He chuckled and took a sip before pretending to die. This is certainly a change from his usual stern, grumpy self, isn’t it? The other guys laughed and after I finished handing out the drinks I tucked the tray beneath my arm and pulled out my note pad.
“Are you guys ready to order?” I asked.
Let me tell you, NHL teams order a lot of food.