Philly

In hockey, a loss was a loss usually. There was no other way to put it. But some losses hurt more than others. And being knocked out of playoff contention hurt like hell. Sure, there was still some season left to play, but if you were to check their stats, they were nowhere near close to catching even the last spot. No one blamed the young blond captain for wanting some time to himself, but they’d be damned if they let him sulk all night.

That’s why Gus’s was perfect for them. It was usually pretty dead by eleven-thirty when they guys got out of the arena after a game and being just outside downtown, it was a good middle ground for most players. And it wasn’t a sports bar to begin with, only showing a game or a recap when a patron changed the channel.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Captain?” a voice reached the hockey player’s ears above the din of the busy bar. “Oooh.” Cam Ward followed the forward’s gaze across the bar. “She’s cute.”

Sitting at a table with a group of friends was a petite girl with short dark hair. Her pixie cut showed off tanned skin and if it wasn’t for the ugly orange Flyers’ jersey she had on, he’d have thought she was a local.

In actuality, Eric had been watching the highlights coverage of that night’s game that were being shown on a flat screen just above the girl’s table. It was stupid of him, he knew that, but he was curious to hear an outsider’s perspective on where the team had gone wrong. But pointing that out to the goalie would be futile.

“You should go talk to her,” he encouraged his friend. “Maybe see if she’s got a Cane’s shirt on under that ugly ass Flyer’s jersey.”

“Har-dee-har-har,” Eric rolled his eyes. “Can’t you guys leave me alone?”

“Not when there’s a beautiful girl to be won over,” Cam teased. “Come on, man. Yeah, we’re all bummed and it hurts. But you’re the only one acting like the world is ending.”

That was easy for Cam to say. He had a wife at home and kids too. Eric didn’t.

“Listen man,” he clapped a hand on Eric’s back. “You could either sit here and mope about with your shitty beer,” he pushed the glass away for effect. “Or you could you get go and do something worthwhile. Who knows, maybe she won’t know who you are.”

Eric wasn’t sure if that was supposed to help or not. Just as he was deciding to try his luck and maybe get somewhere with the cute girl in the Flyer’s jersey, she made the first move.

The girl Cam had been talking about stood up laughing. Picking up glasses from around the table, she approached the bar and sat down a few stools away from Eric.

“Another round, please,” she lifted her hand to get the bartender’s attention.

“Lookin’ for a fight?” the older worker asked as he gestured to her attire. "Don't think they’re too popular around here tonight.”

She laughed. “Everybody loves Bryz though, right?” She pointed to the number on one of her sleeves. “I mean, he seems pretty harmless.”

The bartender chuckled as he went about to the taps, filling glasses. Not looking directly at Eric, she smirked.

“Tough loss, huh, Staal?”

Eric gaped at her. How does someone respond to that?

“Of course it was,” he snapped.

“Hey know,” she put her hands up. “I’m from the City of Brotherly Love. It was a close game, I’ll give you that.”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I, uh…,” he trailed off.

“It was a rough end result,” she consented. “And no worries. I get it. It’ll just make you train harder this summer.” She shrugged.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed. Who was this chick? “You obviously know who I am. But who are you?”

She ran a hand through her short hair and smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Eric smirked. “Alright, Philly,” she rolled her eyes at his choice of a nickname. “What brings you to Raleigh? Just a hardcore fan?”

‘Philly’ laughed. “Like I have the money to blow on airfare and a hotel room just on a whim. I live here in Raleigh actually.”

“Really?” he arched his eyebrows. “Did you move here for work?”

“What is this?” she teased. “Twenty questions? I want my turn!” Eric chuckled. “But yeah, I did. More teaching opportunities down south, you know?”

He did. He’d met quite a few women who’d done the same thing. When he opened his mouth to say something else, she put her hand up.

“My turn,” ‘Philly’ said sternly. “Why aren’t you trying to drink it away with your teammates?” She jerked her chin behind Eric where many of his friends were indeed huddled at a booth with many beer bottles and glasses surrounding them.

Eric sighed. “Maybe because I don’t feel like getting shit faced? I just want to… numb the pain a little?” It was a question because he wasn’t quite sure if that was the truth or not.

“Well you’ll never do that with this beer,” she picked up his almost empty glass. Across the front was a logo that made her roll her eyes. “Hey, Bob! Two shots of my usual.”

“You’re here a lot?” Eric asked as the gentleman filled two shot glasses with a dark liquid. Her friends’ glasses had been forgotten next to ‘Philly’.

“It’s close to home,” she shrugged. “Well, where home is down here. My real home is a couple of miles away from Center City.” She handed him one of the shot glasses and winked. “Bottoms up.”

Eric tossed the liquid back and felt it burn down his throat. It was quiet whiskey or even rum, but some weird balance of the two.

“What was that?” he shook his head once very quickly.

She winked again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He had to laugh. ‘Philly’ was playing it a little too cool for his liking, but he had to admit it. She was good at it.

“Guess I want to know a lot of things tonight,” Eric began. Just before the words, ‘Like your number’ could get out of his mouth, a chorus erupted behind ‘Philly’.

“Where’s our beers, girl?!”

She sighed. “The animals are calling. Nice meeting you, Eric.”

“Wait,” her grabbed her wrist, jostling a few beers. “I never got your real name.”

She thought a minute and then set the beers down again, only to hear her friends’ grumblings. With a pen and napkin stolen from behind the counter, she scribbled on it.

“I do have summers off.”

She walked off to her friends before he could get another word out. Sitting down in her seat again, she didn’t look back as her friends snatched their beers and began pestering her with questions.

In his hand, the small napkin held only three lines of ink.

Sometimes, a loss isn’t the worst thing in the world.
-Em

Her number was below.

Maybe all losses weren’t the same after all.