Friendly Affections

Kate gave me a varied look of many meanings as she held up a floral, silken button up in front of her. “This top is wonderful and you're not even paying attention.”
My head snapped up from the screen of my phone and met her eyes. “I'm sorry. You're right, the top's great. You should buy it.”
The look I received in response from her was less than satisfied. “I already did, idiot. We're in my room. You are completely distracted,” She tossed the shirt back on the pile she was rifling through and placed a hand on her hip. “What's up?”
“I just...” I held up my phone. “It's just, my boss text me. I guess the NHL lock out's over and she's assigning articles. Details about the agreement, exposés on players and starting games. I think I'm going to get one.”
She fell down onto her bed beside and tried to meet my gaze. I resisted. “That blows. Can you ask to not be assigned anything?”
I laughed. “I work in sports, there's no avoiding the NHL or the Columbus Bluejackets or the defenseman who's practically their captain. But it's okay, we're okay. I'll just get a petty article about Arena security, or the 'Jackets chances on getting into the playoffs. It will be fine.”
“You miss him.” Kate stated.
“Obviously. But not that much. Cold bed syndrome.” I retorted snappishly and then stood. I began going through the clothing we had tossed about and started folding.
It was likely Kate was looking at me with skepticism while raising her eyebrows, but I refused to give her my attention. I continued on. “I'm glad the lock out is over though, I was just getting into hockey and then the owners decided to get greedy and I was out like $50 because of the Bluejackets hoody I bought. Bummer, first they rip me off then they cancel the hockey.”
“What if you get assigned an exposé on him or something?” Kate continued on addressing my least favorite subject, Jack Johnson, even though I was silently willing her not to.
“I can write that from memory.” I answered. “I don't need an interview to write all about him.”
“As much as many of the female Bluejacket's fans would love a 500 words article about what Jack's like in bed I think your Editor wants something about him a little more in depth.” Kate replied dryly and I felt my face flushing out of anger and not embarrassment.
“We did talk about things and engage in activities other than sex, you know. We were friends, too. I know all sorts of things about him from what he likes on his pizza to his favorite TV shows and his opinions on all sorts of things, like politics and religion. In his interviews I can guess his answers before he thinks of them. So I don't want hear about how I can't write an accurate piece about Jack just from my own mind, because I probably can better than anyone else.” The answer came out with a bit more fury than I had intended but her statement had snapped my cool demeanor and revealed boiling rage.
Kate knit her eyebrows together, but showed no sympathy. “You watch his interviews?”
I faltered for I moment. “I meant last season.”
“You didn't know him that well last season.” She countered and we both knew she was right.
We both sat in momentary silence, assessing the situation. I was torn over the circumstances, half of me dreaded the thought of interviewing him, having to be near him, look at him and trusting myself not to say anything stupid while the other half wanted to do the interview for all the same reasons and a few more. Some of which held unrealistic fantasies of him being so overwhelmed he would sweep me into his arms and kiss me. Which I saw as unlikely since 1.) I rarely saw him overwhelmed, being he was the most composed person I knew, and 2.) he had made it quite clear we were finished.
“Oh. Hey. New text message.” Kate said, looking down at my iPhone on the bed beside her. “It says something about a 'new goalie'.”
“Bobrovsky!” I shouted joyously.
Kate looked at me strangely. “Never did I envision the day you would get so excited over a Russian man.”
“Well, it's a good article! We're lucky to have acquired him. I can't believe I got this article. This is like front-of-the-sport's-page. Not above the crease or anything too prestigious, but still front! I don't get those often!” I answered.
“Wear something hot.” Kate recommended and I gave her a glare.
“I'll wear my work clothes.” I ignored her idea. “A blazer, button up blouse and knee length skirt. Low heels. What I wear to work everyday. No particular reason to dress up nice.”
Kate answered wryly, “At least make sure it's a pencil skirt, to show off the curvature of your ass.”
“Oh, my God.” Was all I could say to her, while I covered my face and laughed.
In the end, I allowed Kate to convince me to wear a pencil skirt. It was no different from my usual work wear, but that morning when I sat before my mirror smoothing my hair and fretting over my make-up, I felt a brief flash of something pathetic. There I was pondering my appearance when it was unlikely Jack and I would even cross paths, especially even if we did it was unlikely he would pay much attention to me or what I was wearing.
At the game I sat with two of my fellow journalists, Keith and Gina, both with articles to write pertaining to the Bluejacket's. Keith was assigned the season opening game, while Gina – of course – had gotten the article everyone one desired, the one about, surprise, Jack Johnson. I was slightly perturbed by her appearance; so put together and pretty with flawless make-up and shiny hair. She looked like she was going out for a night on the wild side of town, not into a room of sweaty hockey players. I half hoped she would get torn apart by the rest of the men in the locker room and never make it to Jack.
“Hasn't lost the smell.” Keith commented, his nose wrinkled as we approached the locker room. My heart pounded in my ears with the sound of our foot steps.
“Jodie, you're so quiet today.” The heinous woman often referred to as Gina commented to me. I faltered a smile back.
“I don't have much to say.” My answer was chopped and I ran a hand through my hair. I had left it natural and was suddenly cursing myself for having the insane idea it might behave for the night. Chances were I already looked like some sort of puffy dog, an escapee from a nearby pet grooming saloon.
We slipped into the room unnoticed thanks to all of the other reporters doing the same. Keith buzzed off to talk to someone he viewed as important and Gina made a beeline for Jack. But I was caught. Bobrovsky's stall was to my left and absolutely surrounded, more so than any other stall. To my right were Cam's and RJ's stalls and I couldn't bring myself to face them after dropping out their lives for six months.
Directly ahead of me was Jack, which made going forward a suicide mission. A cluster of people were around him, brandishing microphones and cellphones, asking inquiry after inquiry. I could see from his expression that he was loving it, bright eyed with a lackadaisical grin slung across his lips. The answers he gave were careful and well-thought, just as I might have predicted. He was also drenched, head to toe, in the sweat of a hard earned win and his muscles were exploited in the ridiculously tight Underarmor he was wearing. I nearly bit through my tongue at the sight of him and especially at the sound of his amiable laughter echoing across the room, slapping me in the face.
My eyes were locked on him and it felt like some sort of civil war was raging inside me with my heart on one side and my mind on another. No side was winning, so I was left stagnant without a decision to act on. My whole chest felt oddly hollow and I had to tell myself to keep breathing.
In, out. In, out. In...oh, shit. His eyes suddenly flicked up and, as if in some sort of ostentatious, overrated romance movie, he was caught too. His mouth was still moving in response to a question but the fire the game had burned into his eyes was extinguished and replaced with a look of absolute bewilderment. He had not expected to see me.
“JODIE!” Exclaimed a voice that jarred me from my stupor. Standing before me was a freshly showered RJ, his grin expansive and his arms out stretched. This had certainly caught the attention of most of the locker room, but the majority of them all passed it off with a chuckle and turned away. A few though gave me a look, then Jack a look. Ignorant as they might have been to our falling-out, they could still see something was amiss from last season.
I couldn't see Jack as RJ enfolded me in a hug and for that I was glad. Cam bumbled over and gave me a hug too, then they introduced me to one of their new teammates from New York. I was gregarious and warm, but quick to excuse myself, knowing I needed to interview Bobrovsky.
As I stood before Philadelphia's ex-goalie recording his answers to all the questions thrown at him, I could feel the steady gazes of those around me. The sooner I got a few answers from Bobrovsky, the sooner I could escape the locker room and those gazes, run home, pull out a rosary and start praying for my heart to stop pounding at such a spastic rate.