The Trouble with Girls and Hockey Players

Lane walked through the front door of her Manhattan apartment, letting it slam behind her. She slowly made her way through the almost nonexistent dining room to the kitchen, leaving her conservative yet stylish heels, overstuffed briefcase, and knock-off designer purse in her wake. She was rummaging through the overstuffed freezer, trying to choose between moose tracks and peanut butter cup ice cream when her roommate, Billie Alexander, walked into the kitchen and towards one of the drawers.

“What’s up, miss working woman?” she asked while throwing utensils around haphazardly. After several moments, she pulled two serving spoons out of a clutter silverware draw and held them up triumphantly. “And why aren’t you getting it on with a certain Swedish goalie?”

“Number one, because he is happily married with a kid,” Lane said. She finally decided to eat a little (or a lot) of both flavors and shut the freezer door with a swing of her hips.

Billie somehow managed to scoff around a mound of ice cream. “Like that would stop me.”

“Number two,” Lane persevered, “because I haven’t even met him.” Billie pouted. “And finally, number three, because you know I’m hopeless around hockey players.”

“Oh yeah,” Billie chuckled, “like I need to be reminded. I will forever remember the day you tripped over nothing, fell over an elliptical, and nearly pulled Denis Rooney’s pants down.”

“It’s not my fault!” Lane groaned. “It’s those stupid hockey players. They have magic powers or something.”

“Or maybe you’re just a total spaz.” Billie paused to think while shoveling more ice cream into her mouth. “Although, if that’s how you act around a college hockey player barely getting any ice time, I’d love to see you around a legit NHLer.”

Lane cringed at the thought while Billie laughed manically. “I don’t want to think about it. Hopefully, I’ll never meet another hockey player again. I can admire their perfectly toned abs and helmet hair from afar.”

“Lane, I hate to break this to you, but you did just get hired by the Rangers.” Billie said. “I think they might have one or two hockey players hanging around.”

“Yeah, in the locker room and on the ice, not in my nice, secluded cubicle.” Lane said through a yawn. “I’m there to create a marketing plan and hopefully score some free tickets, not fraternize with the team.”

Billie opened the refrigerator door, carton of ice cream still in hand. “Well if any of those Broadway Blueshirts is looking for someone to fraternize with, you know who to call. Where’s the caramel?”

Around the same time Lane and Billie were working their way through their second pint of ice cream, teammates and roommates Derick Brassard and John Moore were trying to put together an Ikea coffee table.

“This is impossible,” John complained, squinting at the directions. “And these directions are a piece of shit.” In an attempt to make their apartment more homey, John and Derick had bought some cheap furniture for their first full season in New York. Unfortunately, they were just starting to figure out that scoring on Henrik Lundqvist would be easier than assembling their coffee table.

“Merdre,” Derick muttered. “I think I lost a screw.”

“Forget it!” John nearly yelled, throwing his hands up in defeat. “We have a couch, the TV works, and there’s a Vikings game on soon.” He stood up, leaving coffee table parts scattered on the floor, and walked towards the kitchen. “You want a beer?”

“Sure,” Derick said. He wasn’t the biggest football fan, but it beat going another round with the new furniture. John reentered the living room just as the pregame show was winding down.

“Did you run into the new girl?” he asked Derick before plopping down on the couch. “I think she works in marketing. Hags said she’s pretty hot.”

“No,” Derick said, twisting the cap off the Sam Adams John handed him. “And I think I’ll try and keep it that way.”

“C’mon, Brass, don’t be like that!” John said. “I know things get a little tough around girls, but maybe you’re past the worst of it. I mean the last time wasn’t so bad, right?” Derick looked away from the opening kickoff to raise his eyebrows at John. “Alright,” John amended, “thing could have gone a little better, but the dentist’s bill wasn’t too expensive. It totally could have been worse.”

“I’ll leave the romance to you guys.” Derick said, with a note of sadness. “Besides, DZ probably already has her number.”

“Then God help her,” John said. “She doesn’t stand a chance against him.” He jumped up from the coach. “Bullshit! That was not pass interference! He just fell on his fat ass!”