The Trouble with Girls and Hockey Players

Lane flinched as another bolt of lightning flashed in between two skyscrapers. She was hurrying down 5th Avenue and hoping she got to Madison Square Garden by the time it started to downpour. Although, with her luck, a tsunami would wash down the street any second. Today was not Lane’s day, to put it lightly. She overslept, realized she put the dryer on the wrong setting last night, squeezed into a pair of slightly damp pants, skipped breakfast, and broke the strap of her bag when it got stuck on a door handle. To top it all off, she had a sinking suspicion that her boss, Mindy Rodgers, had a big assignment for her that would somehow involve hockey players.

Lane was exactly one block away from MSG when the skies opened up. She began to sprint down the sidewalk, thankful that she had remember a jacket today and praying that she wouldn’t fall into the street and be squashed like a bug. God, or someone of that nature, seemed to answers her prayers and Lane arrived at MSG a little damp and almost late, but none the worse for wear.

She hurried up a set of stairs two at a time, flashed her brand new ID badge at a passing security guard, and rounded a corner before running head first into something very solid. Lane started frantically waving her arms to regain her balance but she began to fall backwards. She felt a hand touch her wrist in an attempt to slow her fall before her butt slammed into the ground.

“Do you think you could watch where –“ Lane began before she realized what the solid object was. Her eyes trailed up from the offenders worn Nike running sneakers to his dark wash jeans and his hoodie embroidered with the number sixteen before landing on his worried, and undoubtedly handsome, face. The indignant speech Lane had planned her head vanished. “I mean – oh my god – like – well – I’m sorry – hope I didn’t…” Thankfully, Lane finally shut her mouth. On the other hand, she was still sitting on her butt and she hadn’t regained enough brain power to make herself stand up yet.

Derick had been rushing through MSG, hoping he wouldn’t be late to the morning workout before the pre-game skate. He was busy checking his bag for the new bottle of shampoo he bought when someone came bulleting around the corner and straight into his chest. He was about to apologize to whoever it was, even though it wasn’t really his fault, when he realized his attacker was a gorgeous, and rather disgruntled, young woman. He had dropped his shampoo when he tried to grab the girl’s wrist, but he made no move to pick it up. He just stared, slightly slack jawed, at the girl on the ground.

Lane would have known that Derick was a hockey player even if she hadn’t spent three hours the other day agonizing over which interview questions to use for an in-game promotion. There was just something in the way hockey players hold themselves, the way their muscles seemed to bulge in all the right places, their natural confidence. If Lane wasn’t floored, literally and figuratively, by Derick’s appearance, she would have noticed that this particular hockey player lost his confidence the minute he set eyes on her.

Finally, Lane regained enough of her senses to stand up, grabbing the shampoo bottle as she did so. “Here,” she said, handing the bottle to Derick. “I think this is yours. I mean, it isn’t mine, so it must be yours. Unless someone just forgot it here. But this is pretty nice shampoo. Well, I might pick something else, but this is still expensive.”

Derick stared at Lane a second longer before reaching out a shaky hand to grab the bottle. He had managed to regain some semblance of normality, but was struggling to think of the right words to say, much less the right English words.

Lane was starting to panic. Derick hadn’t said anything yet. Plus, his constant stare made her feel like she was being examined under a microscope. She stuck her hand out, sending another prayer that her hands weren’t too sweaty. “Lane,” she said. “I’m in marketing. For the Rangers. I was just hired.”

“Derick,” he finally said. “Brassard. Number Sixteen.” He mentally kicked himself. This was a conversation, not some interview. Besides, she probably knew his name already. Lane was spared the agony of thinking of a response when John Moore poked his out of a nearby door.

“There you are Brass,” he said. “Been looking all over for you.” He smiled when he noticed Derick was still holding Lane’s hand. “And you made a friend.”

Derick quickly dropped Lane’s hand before responding. “Uh, yeah. This is Lane. And Lane, this is John.” Lane didn’t need Derick to tell her that. She had just okayed a new, larger than life sized poster of John Moore that would be hung just above the entrance to MSG. It was surreal to see the living, breathing New York Rangers rather than the pictures and videos she was used to.

“Well you must be the new girl everyone’s talking about,” John said. “Don’t worry!” he added, after seeing Lane’s stricken expression. “It’s all good. Although I don’t think they measure up to the real thing.” He winked and Lane nearly fell over again. “Well, me and Brass here have to get to practice, unless we want to get an earful from Coach.” Derick tried to step around Lane and nearly ran into her when she moved in the same direction. This awkward shuffle continued for a couple moments before the pair was able to figure out they should both move to their right. Lane turned to around to wave at John and Derick as she tried to remember where in this giant building conference room three was.

Lane was barely out of earshot when John began questioning Derek. “I can’t believe you met her before I did! What did she say? Is she gonna be around? Because that would make these early workouts a hell of a lot more enjoyable. What are you doing with that shampoo? Are you okay?”

“Je suis nul,” Derick muttered.

“English please, for the unilingual,” John said.

“I looked like such a loser. I didn’t even help her up! I just started at her. She probably thinks I’m rude, or that I don’t like her, or that I knocked her down on purpose or something. She must hate me. I mean, she has to. And if she doesn’t hate me, she will soon. This sucks. I hate everything. I should go jump off those Chase Bridges.” John let Derick’s rant of self-hatred continue as they walked into the locker room.

“What’s up, Lady Killer,” Hags smirked. “Who’s the victim this time?”

“Lane Knightly,” Derick said, pulling off his hoodie and rifling through his bag for a tee shirt. “The new girl.”

DZ, who was sitting on the other side of Hags, let out a low whistle. “Poor girl. How bad was the damage?”

“Minimal,” said John. “No broken bones, teeth intact, conscious. Bit of a miracle, really.”

“Tais-toi,” Derick sighed, slightly flustered. He hustled to the weight room, iPod in hand. No way was he listening to the ribbing the guys would be giving him today. Avoiding the well-meaning banter from his teammates was a skill of Derick’s, seeing as he had so many occasions to practice. Yet, this latest episode of embarrassment bothered him more than any other had.

Lane made it to her meeting on time, sliding into her chair slightly flushed and breathless. One thing was for sure, Derick Brassard sure knew how to make an impression. She had just gotten her heart rate under control when Mindy started the meeting.

“Now we all know that casino night is the largest fundraising event of the year for the Garden of Dreams and the Rangers. While the event is still half a season away, we need to begin planning now.” She said. “Here are your assignments. Rachel, I want you handling the catering. Kara’s on decorations and Dave’s on music. Nicole and Brian need to find memorabilia for the auction.” Lane panicked when she realized her name hadn’t been called. What would she be stuck with, taking out the garbage? Blowing up balloons? “Lane, you’re in charge of this project. I need to coordinate what everyone else is doing, make sure the players are on board, and smooth over any problems that may arise. Make sure you keep a close eye on the guys, especially on the night of. They can be a bit of a handful.”

Lane nearly fainted.