Hit The Showers, A Hockey Story

(Closed for Angeleyz)

The Centerville IceBreakers made the announcement centering on the history of it all. The older guys in the locker room wrote it off as ‘desperate times, desperate measures’. The center on the second line, Liam “Woody” Tremblay didn’t think much of a woman joining the team, not at first really.

Centerville hadn’t made the playoffs their minor hockey league for a couple years, and the fans weren’t showing their support much recently. They were better this year, for sure, and playoffs were a strong possibility depending who they could pick up. But the owners wanted butts in the seats. Centerville, though, was a little too far south, a little too coastal, and a little too much of a baseball town to get people to pack it in for hockey. The local baseball team, the Anglers, were owned by the same group, and when things first started going south they tried the same tricks that worked at the ball diamond - like bringing out tight clothed co-eds to throw t-shirts into the crowd. Those tricks just didn’t seem to grab the attention.

Yet when the IceBreakers announced a woman would be added to the active roster, the people of Centerville took notice and started to once again show up for their team.

Maybe it was desperate times, but again, Woody didn’t mind. He was there to do a job, get good enough to move up, and try to get to a point he could make it up to the big show. You could say Woody was more progressive than the others. He grew up in a small town in the north woods where there was one store, two bars, and a hockey arena. Up there, you played with the girls, or you wouldn’t have enough on your team for a game. You just don’t do anything stupid like date one of your teammates. Now he’s 21, 6’ 3” centerman in his second season with the IceBreakers, he never had much worry for dating a teammate -- well, until now his teammates were guys at his age -- but between his dark eyes, short cut dark hair, hockeyman’s physique, and a sense of humor … it wasn’t as though he needed to date a teammate, so to speak.

He didn’t mind that a girl was on the team.

Didn’t mind at all.

Heck, he’d even suggested to put her on his line.

No water off his back

It was no big deal really.

Bring her on!

That is, at first, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Alex MacIntyre looked over the boisterous crowd from her vantage point on the bar's counter top and grinned. Nothing like a "little" family celebration in Aurora to bring out every Tom, Dick and Harry to join in the festivities. Although truth be told, she was touched that so many people had come out to wish her good luck before she hauled all her worldly possessions out to the east coast and prepared to make what everyone in town assumed would be history. She nodded in greeting to her former pee wee hockey coach, causing her partially damp pony tail to stick to her neck.

Flicking it off with a quick twist of her wrist, she wondered if perhaps she should chop her long dark hair when she got to Centerville, but the thought of having to spend extra time primping in front of a mirror filled her with heebie jeebies. No, slicking her hair back into a high ponytail after a workout suited her just fine. Besides, she had long ago mastered the technique of twisting and tucking her hair until it was stuffed into her helmet, so she wasn't going to worry about changing - at least not until she had to.

Shifting to cross her legs, Alex tried not to roll her eyes at her mother's moue of discontent at her only daughter's casual attire for her big party. You'd think that after twenty-one years her mother would just accept the fact that her daughter was never going to wear a skirt, or God forbid, a dress unless ordered to and even then it was highly questionable as to whether she'd actually do it anyway. Besides, she was wearing a perfectly respectable pair of jeans with no sign of holes in the knees and a simple purple tee shirt that made her grey eyes look violet at times. Hell, she was lucky she hadn't come in her workout clothes, which was what she probably would have done if her brother Kyle hadn't dragged her out of the gym to get ready for the party.

Raising the pint of Guinness to her lips in an attempt to hide her unrepentant grin, she continued to survey the crowd. She could easily pick out Collin, Kyle and Blake, three of her four brothers as they traded jibes, pushing and shoving each other as they were wont to do when the family all got together. Shaking her head in mock exasperation, she saluted her boisterous brothers and continued her people watching, knowing there was only a slim chance that Ian would make it but hopeful nonetheless.

"Lexy, why aren't you out there with your adoring fans," rumbled a deep voice from behind her, causing her to nearly drop her glass in surprise.

Using her elbow to catch her brother in the shoulder with a quick backward jab, she squealed, "Ian, you made it," as she turned, jumping down to stand before her long absent brother. Even though she was 5'9", her brothers always towered at least a head and a half above her, so she felt like a little kid when she gave him a quick hug before throwing a playful punch into his midsection.

"And you know no one's called me Lexy since I started following you guys around in the rink," she groused, "don't you get that started again."

Ian chuckled and held up his hands in mock defeat, "Okay, okay... Don't go hurting yourself before you get a chance to show those boys our family's signature moves." He looked over her shoulder at Gary, the bartender on duty, and grinned, "Who'd have thought Lex-... Alex... would be the MacIntyre to make a go at hockey as a career, eh?"

The tall grey haired bartender, who had been watching the family play hockey since his son and Collin first started playing at 6, wisely said nothing other than giving them both a pointed look about being behind the bar. Brother and sister wisely vacated the area, but not before Ian poured himself a pint. They continued to chat, she peppering him with questions about his ranch since he was not typically able to get away for long and he asking about the route she was planning on east.

After finishing her one and only beer, Alex switched over to water, knowing she couldn't afford to have a hangover when she started her cross country trek the next day. At some point all the siblings ended up in the same area, and she had to listen to questionable advice from her brothers who were not as restrictive in their alcohol consumption. She and her father exchanged amused looks as her brothers continued to boast of the family signature moves and how they had taught her everything she knew, which technically wasn't a lie. However, none of them could match their little sister in speed, and as long as she could keep from getting driven into the boards, she had the uncanny ability to find nothing but net when given the opportunity to shoot.

When her father had decided the boys had gone on enough, he cleared his throat, raised his glass and waited. Almost instantly the crowd quieted down and waited respectfully for the MacIntyre patriarch to speak. Her father, who was usually not one to mince words, stated in his deep carrying voice, "Mac... you never let your brothers stop you when you wanted to go out on the "frozen pool" too... Never stopped when some people tried to tell you hockey wasn't a game for girls... Never stopped until those same people began lobbying CSU to allow you to play on the men's hockey team... And now... Don't stop now, Mac... Sooner or later, we'll be seeing you play in the NHL!"

Alex laughed as the rest of the crowd whooped and hollered their agreement. She wasn't naive enough to think the NHL was a given, especially when she had read enough online blogs picking apart the IceBreakers decision to add her to the roster. However, like her father said, she had been fighting to play hockey since she was four years old and realized that the ice rink was the one place her older brothers were allowed to go that she wasn't.

People were saying it was just a publicity stunt to draw people in to see the IceBreakers, but she'd show them!

“So, she going to let you into her penalty box?”

Woody was stuffing clothes into his hockey bag angrily as he spat back, “shut the fuck up, Bax.”

“It’s not like you need a full two minutes in there.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Woody snapped, finally stopping and giving his friend a glare.

“Not for another week,” Bax responded, “besides, you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“I’ll just get all that time to sober up before the the playoffs.” Woody smirked as he went back to putting clothes in his bag. Bax, or Brent Baxter, was the good for nothing third baseman on Centerville’s minor league baseball team … and it so happens Woody’s neighbor. Which typically is a good thing, because Bax always seemed to find the parties and the right local girls to make weekends worth their while in Centerville.

“Sober up, and get your new teammate to give you a ‘wrister’ while you put one past her ‘five hole’.”

Woody smirked, “okay .. you get credit for the ‘five hole’ one, but … what the hell you mean by a wrister.”

Bax swigged down the last of his beer as he got up. “I don’t know, I heard that douche who does the radio commentary say something like that.” Walking out of the room, Bax could be heard dumping an empty bottle into the trash and pulling out another from the fridge. From Woody’s fridge. Drinking Woody’s beer. “When does she start, anyway?”

Calling back down the hall. “Hell if I know, I don’t even know if she is here yet or not. They said she is coming in tonight, but I think they would make her practice or something like that. Besides, if she shows up for tonight’s game they will want to parade her around or some shit. Let everyone get a few pictures of her off the ice before some goon knocks her teeth out. Don’t even know if they will let us meet her.”

Bax wandered back to the room. “First thing you need to ask her is if she prefers to be fore checked or back checked.”

Woody stopped, zipped up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. “What’s rule number one?”

Bax smirked. “No fucking your teammates.”

“No Fucking your Teammates.” Woody repeated practically at a yell. “Nothing more batshit than a pissed girl with a hockey stick.”

…..

Part of the reason he told his coach he’d welcome a girl on his line was to just knock Rybakov to the third line. Twice, Woody worked the puck behind the net, ground the hell out of the defenders, spit the puck up into the slot, and the lazy Russian gives it up. Then he had the nerve to bitch when Woody missed him on a pass that would have set up a breakaway. They were little things, but over the last ten games it’s been clear that their line just lost a lot of their chemistry. You can have the best players in the world, but if your line isn’t clicking then you’re not scoring.

But of course, Woody’s line wasn’t the only one struggling tonight. A good crowd built on the hype for the hockey girl coming in was rewarded by a 0-0 game into the 3rd. It’s not like the goalies are working that hard to do that either, just sloppy play. Both teams maybe distracted by the hype as well. The guys on his bench were chattering about it here and there. Some pointed to the stands when they thought they could see her.

It was all frustrating to Woody. A distraction at this point. If that’s what becomes of this girl than he really will have a problem with her. They need this win, not just a publicity. As it got later in the 3rd, the frustration got to him, and he got called on a slash. A bad one too. Not bad in that it should have been a misconduct, but stupid for putting the team on the PK with just a few minutes left.

Sitting in the box, Woody just stewed. He pulled his helmet off, and soaked his head and neck with the water bottle. It was all he could do to get his head clear, to get his focus. Damnit, someone in this rink needs to be focused on the game, and not some woman. Focus on the game. Focus on winning. Nothing else.

When the door opened to the box, he sprung out and by luck he was spotted by a teammate putting pass right on his stick. Woody was sprung, no one between him and the goalie. Woody hit his stride, leaned to the left, and snapped a shot that found the top corner of the net.

Spinning to meet his teammates coming to celebrate the sure game winner, he raised his arms and embraced them.

Yeah, that’s it, focus on nothing else but winning!

Schlepping the last of her boxes up the stairs, Alex balanced it on her hip as best she could while trying to get the door to her new apartment to open, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. Cursing under her breath, she leaned the box against the door, using her thigh to try to hold it in place while using both hands to both twist the handle and push at the door at the same time. Why the hell did she have to leave her box of books as the last thing to take up the five flights of stairs? Then again, why the hell had management recommended this crappy complex? Perhaps she should have looked around herself and not blindly accept their recommendation.

The door finally gave way after an especially frustrated shove, and she almost ended up sprawled on the floor as she struggled to keep the box from pitching forward. Instead she ended up slamming her shoulder into the frame of the door, causing the curses she had been muttering earlier to spill out. With her propensity to bruise, that was probably going to leave a mark, but she shrugged it off knowing it was only one in the many she'd end up sporting before the month was over... assuming she got any playing time that was.

Trudging into the small one bedroom apartment, Alex placed the box of books against the kitchen counter along with the other boxes she had carried up earlier and rotated her injured shoulder a couple of times. Thankfully it was her left shoulder and not her right one. She couldn't begin to imagine her brothers' reactions if they heard she had been thrown off her game by a stupid door frame.

'Speaking of games...' she thought to herself remembering the IceBreakers were playing tonight. She had been purposefully vague as to when she'd be arriving in town when asked earlier in the week. She wanted to watch the game in peace, wanted to get a feel for how the team played and didn't want to have to deal with the attention that she'd likely generate.

Checking her watch, Alex noted she had just enough time to shower and change into a fresher pair of jeans before she should make her way to the arena for her impromptu scouting session. She wasn't overly concerned with whether or not she'd have a hard time getting a ticket, not after the rabid accusations of why the owners were bringing her aboard in the first place.

*********

Three hours later, Alex was leaning against the bar in Center Ice, apparently the de facto hangout after all home hockey games, trying to ignore the conversation at the table next to her while nursing her beer. If she had to hear one more 'wrister' joke, she was going to be forced to show the three rapidly intoxicated frat boys exactly what she thought of their prepubescent humor.

Brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, she watched the highlights of that night's game on the large TV screen above the bar. Overall the playing was flat. Flat and sloppy, and she wanted to smack that one guy Rybakov upside the head for his less than stellar stick handling. Little wonder she was getting a shot at playing here if tonight's performance was any indication.

Alex ended up in a lively debate with the guy next to her over whether or not number 33 had redeemed himself for the dumb ass penalty he had taken so late in the game. His supporter was adamant that it had been done intentionally with the idea of getting sprung on a breakaway goal, and she was just as vocal about the need to watch your penalties and not be an idiot.

"Based on what I saw tonight, the IceBreakers were damn lucky to have gotten the PK, let alone connecting number 33 at the end. I've never seen so much icing in my life... Hell, even our pee wee leagues stop doing that at about ten!" she continued, ignoring the influx of people pushing in to the bar.

Woody’s dad used to joke that if you were the game winner, you would never have to buy your own drinks for a month. In the minors, where no one makes enough money to pay for their own drinks let alone anyone else's, the opposite seems more true. No sooner does he get himself out of the showers, and some of the older guys are on him to come with them to Center Ice - probably the only hockey bar in the state - for what they called his celebration. Meaning, they were going to run up Woody’s tab assuming he wouldn’t notice.

There weren’t many of them that wanted to go. Coach knew this was a shitty win, and lay into them right after the final horn. The threat of wind sprints in the morning made guys want an early night. The team’s alcoholics, though, were up - the three defenseman that were over 30 & well on their way to their second divorce and the back-up goalie Guy Lacroix (who fulfilled the mandatory requirement for a minor league team to have a stereotypical French Canadian goalie). Woody probably should have gone home too, but he didn’t have a good reason not to. He had no girlfriend since he broke up with a townie a few months back, Bax was probably chasing some jailbait somewhere, and TV in the apartment was on the fritz. So they walked in, Woody, of course, bought the first round, and then they just wandered over to the pool table and knocked some balls around.

It wasn’t too bad in the Center Ice tonight. The post game crowd wasn’t long in the bar, and it filled it with the smell of slowly souring beer. Woody was dressed in day clothes that were just as much about comfort as anything, and it gives a hockey player a bit of anonymity in this town. Cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a plain t-shirt with similar colors as the IceBreakers - nothing flashy but then again, nothing that made him stand out either. It’s not like he’d get flooded if someone knew he was a player, but he didn’t want to be mistake for one of the frat boys that like to hang out in these places either.

Woody pressed up to the bar, doing his due diligence to order for the boys who seemed to be heading for the pool table. There was an argument going on next to him between a couple louder fans, and Woody just did what he could to ignore it. But as it turned out, he wouldn’t be so lucky. A touch on the arm of the guy next to him, and he spoke up seeing who was standing them.

“Oh, Woody, perfect timing,” the old man sitting next him was saying. “Maybe you can help me out with a disagreement I am having with this little girl here.”

Woody smirked. He knew the man, Walter or something, forty-something year old half drunk, faithful, passionate fan, who didn’t know hockey worth a shit. Still, the old man gave a wink and nod towards the ‘little girl’.

When Woody looked at the girl, he tried not to look shocked.

She wasn’t little.

In fact, she was tall for women.

Tall and strong too.

And Cute.

“Now, you know that game tonight,” Walter said bringing Woody back to reality. “That goal tonight, by 33, that’s right number 33. What’s the name of the goal scorer?” Walter was half smiling as he asked, clearly trying to set this woman up with something.

Woody smirked, catching the joke. “Tremblay. 33 is Tremblay, yeah .. he scored.”

“See? I knew you would remember that name, Woody.” He gave a little laugh like the joke was in something between the two of them, like some creepy connection. “Anyway. So I says that Tremblay, I says that he took the penalty on purpose, just so he can spring out of the box and get that break-away. And my little friend here disagrees. How’d did you see it?”

Woody, still smirking, looked back at the girl.

Man she was cute. She was way too cute. Way too cute, at least, for Woody to say anything intelligent. Besides, he’d rather get to know her better than to piss her by saying anything that looks like he has Walter’s back.

So he asked her, “What do you think happened?”

Wishing she hadn't allowed the man next to her to draw her into the argument, Alex took a long swallow of her beer, wondering if she could risk a second one. Technically she didn't have to report to the rink until the day after tomorrow, and if the coaches were worth a lick, they'd be making the lazy bastards do a double practice tomorrow, but still... Her lips turned up at the thought that she might be able to take advantage of their lackadaisical performance to show the coaching staff that she wasn't content to just poke the puck along.

“Oh, Woody, perfect timing. Maybe you can help me out with a disagreement I am having with this little girl here.”

Blinking at the realization that the old coot was trying to pull someone else into the debate, she felt her hand tighten on the glass at his continued use of the phrase 'little girl'. She had always been shorter than the rest of her family, but here in Centerville, she felt like a freak, towering above so many of the men here in the bar.

Forcing herself to relax her hand lest she break the glass, Alex turned her attention to whomever the old man was addressing and was pleasantly surprised to see there were some tall men in this town.

The man had to be at least 6'3" and wore clothes similar to her own boots and blue jeans, although her simple white tank top was a tad more understated than his t-shirt. Her eyes flicked over him quickly, noting his nice build and dark looks. Tall, dark and handsome...

Alex watched as the man looked over at her and would have smiled in greeting had the old man not snagged his attention by asking the name of number 33. There was an odd undercurrent between the two as they went on about this Tremblay, and she couldn't help but feel that they were laughing at something only the two of them would understand.

What do you think happened?

Her eyes narrowed at the smirk he sported, and she had to tell herself that she didn't find him that handsome despite the way his deep voice seemed to dance down her spine. She took one last sip of her beer as a delay tactic, placing it carefully on the bar top when done.

Shrugging casually, Alex leaned once more against the counter and drawled, "I think this Tremblay guy is damn lucky he got the goal after the way the team played tonight. There's no way he took the penalty on purpose cuz no one on his line would have thought to feed him the puck on purpose like that. It was pure happenstance."

Since she didn't want to totally bad mouth her new teammate, she added, "It was a nice shot. Goalie never stood a chance. Then again, he's never been able to protect that left slot from what I've heard."

Just then the bartender walked up and wanted to know if she wanted another drink. A choking sound to her left caused her to look in alarm at the old man who looked like he was caught in some kind of coughing fit. Telling the bartender that she needed to think about it for a minute, she considered slapping the old man between his shoulder blades but decided to wait. Little girl might break his ribs...

She looked back at Woody who had been surprisingly quiet, giving him a questioning lift of her brows. "What do you think," she asked sweetly.

Woody listened to most of what she had to say, or tried to at least. Sure she was tall for a woman, but she was sitting, and he was standing … and she had a tank top on. So as she spoke, he nodded, smiled, agreed, and occasionally investigated what lay beneath that white outer layer.

Of course it all got through to him, but he didn’t spend that long thinking about what she said.

Then ‘Walter or Something’ started coughing. Not knowing if it was from something actually catching in his throat or he was just getting a kick out of another wisecrack about ‘left slot’. When she asked what he though, he though to tease her with the wrong answer “Well I don’t need to think a minute.” With the bartender nearby, Woody quipped, “Yeah, another for me and one more for him if he can handle it.”

‘Walter’ turned it down, “Nah nah,” he spat between coughs. “Just the Good Lord letting me know when to call it. You have at it, Woody. Keep the good night going.” He got up and started moving to the door.

“Then,” Wood replied, “if your minute is up, let me buy your next one.”

After letting her decide he shrugged and moved a little close to her. “I think I agree more with you than him. Tremblay took a shit penalty, let his frustration get the best of him. Rest of it was pure luck.” After a slight pause he more stated than asked, “so you think it was a nice shot then? Find it impressive to see such stickhandling.”

Deep down, the warning bells should have been going off. It is very rare for anyone around here to have this much knowledge about hockey to piece apart a play like that. Let alone a woman. Deep down he should be putting the pieces together. The warning signs that he may be talking to a future teammate washed right by him.

And if that tank top shifted in the wrong direction any further, he wouldn’t even remember his own name.

Alex rolled her eyes when the newcomer purposefully ignored her question about the penalty and instead ordered another round for him and the old coot. The disappointment she felt that the two of them were apparently drinking buddies and therefore he was likely as much of a blowhard was somewhat tempered by the cute creases that formed on either side of his mouth when he smiled.

She was pleasantly surprised when her debate partner pushed away from the counter and announced that he was calling it a night. To say she was thankful was putting it mildly. One more little lady comment and she might have been unable to keep the infamous MacIntyre temper under control. She had always been considered the most even tempered of the family but when she finally lost it, even the most stout hearted knew to keep clear.

Then, if your minute is up, let me buy your next one.

Pursing her lips, Alex considered her options before nodding her consent. One more wouldn't hurt, and she wasn't quite ready to go back to the empty apartment anyway. The pitfalls of coming from such a big family meant that quiet left her with an edgy restlessness that drove her batty. Besides, one more beer might help her get a better night sleep so she could show the sloths what real skating and stick handling was like.

He moved closer, and she had a nice view of the muscles playing across his chest as he shrugged and admitted that he had actually agreed more with her than his friend. He was close enough that she got a faint hint of his aftershave, and there was something in the woodsy smell that suit him. Her lips twitched as she wondered if he chose the scent because of his name.

So you think it was a nice shot then? Find it impressive to see such stick handling.

Alex threw her head back and laughed gaily, causing several of the other patrons to look over at her. Realizing she might have laughed too loudly, she ducked her head and ended up having to take a breath to keep from giggling.

"I said it was a nice shot... I never said it was impressive. Impressive would have been a slapshot from the blue line," she finally responded, "Or top shelf on his stronger right side."

Woody gave a little bit of a laugh, and took the seat leftover by ‘Walter or something’. But instead of just taking the chair he pulled in close enough to the girl that his knee brushed up against hers.

“Nice shot, impressive shot,” he shrugged again, “still you have to give the guy credit. He scored when noone else on the team did. He was the hero of the night. The one winner amongst them all.”

Okay, maybe he was laying it on thick, but even he felt that sometimes you have to take advantage of a hot streak. First season in Centerville, he had himself a ‘girl back home’ which screwed up most of his chances at anything. He came home in the offseason to find out that him being away didn’t slow down her sex-life. Back in Centerville this season … well, Bax always could bring home the good ones. That being said, he had been on a slump as long as the team has. After putting the puck to the back of the net tonight, he felt this could be what he needed to get the scoring going on and off the ice.

“But a slapshot from the blueline,” he continued, “that would have been hopeless. No chance whatsoever. It would be like … I don’t know … a guy trying to hit on a girl without even introducing himself.” At that he offered a hand to shake “Friends call me Woody, by the way.”

Alex shifted slightly when he pulled out the chair beside her and went to sit down to give him room, but their legs still ended up brushing against each other. At the same time, a cluster of visibly weaving frat boys walked up and joined the ones already to her right.

She ended up having to shift back to her left as two of the frat boys engaged in an impromptu wrestling session at her shoulder over who was going to get to order their drink first. She did her best to ignore their antics leaning forward to catch what her new bar neighbor was saying about the hero of the night.

Alex's lips twitched at his statement about a slapshot from the blue line being hopeless. 'Poor guy must not know that much about hockey,' she thought thinking of the number of times her brother Kyle had managed to do just that over opposing teams that had played four times harder.

Friends call me Woody, by the way.

Shaking his hand with a firm grip of her, she replied with a teasing smile, "I'll refrain from the Buzz Lightyear cracks, but nice to meet you Woody. I'm Alex."

Just then the phone she had resting on the counter started ringing, and she smiled in apology as she reached out to answer it when she saw that it was her brother Blake.

"Hey bro," she answered as the bartender walked up and placed a new beer in front of her.

Alex spent the next five minutes getting a dump from him on a car accident that had hospitalized her old hockey coach for observations. She requested that he keep her informed of his progress and said to include her in any balloons or whatnot that the team might be sending him. She managed to sidestep his questions about how she was getting along with her new teammates, not wanting to admit that she hasn't reported in yet because of the additional conversation that would lead to.

Throughout the conversation, the boys on her right were getting more and more obnoxious, and she had to scoot closer and closer to Woody, who seemed content to drink his beer and watch the TV. Thankfully Blake had a date he had to get ready for, so the conversation ended up getting cut short.

"Sorry about that," she apologized, "I just recently moved into town and an old family friend was in a car accident." Not wanting to continue a hockey conversation that was likely over the poor guy's head, she took a sip of her beer, as she cast about for a safe conversation topic.

Woody felt a bit awkward that he had to wait for the girl to get off the phone, but there were too many signals that things were going well to ignore. The way she scooted closer to him, the way she didn’t brush him off or ignore him. Signals!

When she finished with the call, he listened to her apology with a smile. “Well I hope that it wasn’t so bad of an accident. That would … that would suck.” Still trying not to let the awkwardness grow was making things just that more awkward for him.

He took a long drink from the beer then though … ‘You just won the game tonight. That’s nothing compared to talking to a girl. You got this.’

“So, Alex, who seems to know a lot about cartoons about toys, Alex,” he stopped and said in a lower voice teasingly, “completely a boys name by the way” then back into his normal voice “new to town means you need a tour guide. I think I know someone who can make Centerville Tour spectacular. Think he could show you everything interesting this town can offer.”

Alex grinned impishly as she thought about the old joke about Buzz and Woody being the names of every single girl's toys and opted instead to say, "if you think Alex is too much a boy's name, guess I shouldn't admit to going by Mac too." Which technically was true since first names were never put on the back of jerseys.

New to town means you need a tour guide. I think I know someone who can make Centerville Tour spectacular. Think he could show you everything interesting this town can offer.

She paused as she considered his offer, wishing her cousin Kelly was with her. She was so used to being one of the guys that she usually missed subtle and sometimes the not so subtle clues that the guy was flirting with her. Kelly had to point out the obvious on more than one occasion, and she felt at a definite disadvantage without her cousin.

Not wanting to make assumptions, Alex fell back into the same attitude and mindset that got her through the years before she figured out that boys had other uses besides setting her up for scoring opportunities. Looking around in an exaggerated fashion, she asked brightly, "Oh? Where is this tour maestro? This paragon of knowledge? I'd like to hear what they have in mind..."

That grin she gave him, that cute as a button look, and what almost seemed like teasing him about being the tour guide, it just fanned the flames that were spirally up for him. It just seemed his lines were working, no matter what reason he could get out of it.

“Hey,” he laughed, raising his arms wide on either side of him, “You’re looking at the Maestro. That’s what they call me, the Tour Maestro.”

Just like that Guy LaCroix, the French-Canadian back-up goalie, stumbled to the bar behind Woody.

“Guy … Guy … Am I not the Tour Maestro in this town?” Woody called to the goalie as he slapped the drunk in the back.

The goalie spit back in slurred sloppy French, “Lâchez -moi de vous homosexuel. Il suffit d'acheter moi à boire et vous pouvez revenir en arrière pour vous donner un emploi à la main “.

“See?” Woody replied turning back to Alex. “I’m the Tour Maestro. The star of the night.” He took a chance then, when lowering his hands he placed one right on her thigh. It was there not by mistake, not intended ot look like a mistake, but to send a very clear message of his interests. “I mean, there’s not much to show you at this time of night. Though the beach is kinda nice.”

Alex laughed when Woody confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed the tour maestro. The unveiling was a tad overdone in the crowded bar, but at least proved he could make her laugh. 'Considering his deplorable taste in friends,' she thought, still somewhat irked by his friend from earlier.

She watched in amusement as Woody tried to drag in a character witness, although based on the slurred words, she wasn't sure that potential testimony would have much credence. It took a moment for her to realize it wasn't just slurred words that made it hard to understand him but rather something that sounded vaguely like French. Unfortunately she had taken two years of German before bailing for two years of Spanish so she couldn't really understand what the man said.

Alex's brows drew up in surprise when she thought she heard something about homosexual and hand; however, her thoughts were interrupted when Woody placed his hand on her thigh. She looked at it for a heartbeat before letting her gaze travel slowly to his forearm and smiled to herself. Some girls liked chests. Some girls liked asses. She was the only one she knew who had a thing for forearms, and he definitely had a nicely muscled one.

... I mean, there’s not much to show you at this time of night. Though the beach is kinda nice.

Again, her dimples flashed as she swallowed back words, figuring the poor guy wasn't ready to be subjected to the MacIntyre clan's second favorite pastime after hockey, namely finding as many sexual innuendos as one could find in an encounter. Instead she opted to say, "I'm more a mountain girl myself, but I haven't made it to the beach here yet."

Before Woody had a chance to respond to her comment, his friend Guy nudged his shoulder none too gently and croaked out an insistent, "Dude... beer!" Woody, in return, shot his friend an exasperated look before smiling ruefully at Alex, "Hold that thought... Let me get the next round for the guys and I'll be right back."

Alex nodded and then discreetly checked her phone for the time as he ordered another round of beer for his friends. She leaned against the countertop as she sipped her own beer, wondering idly why she felt she should remember something every time she glanced at Guy, who seemed to sway unsteadily on his feet. She grinned when Woody went to give two of the bottles the bartender handed him to Guy and then changed his mind, transferring them to his other hand and grabbing the others. Repeating his promise to be right back, he disappeared into the crowd with Guy following closely behind.

Continuing to sip her beer, she was vaguely aware of more people joining the boys on her right. Based on the way they were tossing back their drinks and on the few snippets she had overheard, it sounded like it was one of their birthdays. 'Poor guy is going to have a killer hangover,' she thought thinking back to her own 21st birthday at the beginning of the year. A tap on her right shoulder an inch below her injury caused her to turn around and into the hazel eyes of one completely wasted looking young man.

"'Scuse me... Is that taken?" he asked pointing to the seat Woody had temporarily vacated.

"Yes, sorry," she replied pleasantly and turned back around.

There was another conversation held to her right, this one too low to make out, but punctuated with the kind of chuckles that reminded her of her brothers when they were up to no good. Again, there was a tap on her shoulder, unfortunately this time dead on the sore spot, which caused her to spin around with a less than friendly expression on her face.

"Yes?" she inquired shortly.

"Taken?" he asked pointing in her direction.

"What?" she asked wondering why the hell he was asking about Woody's chair again. It wasn't until she noticed the other guys chortling and elbowing each other than understanding appeared in her eyes. "Yeah, sorry... I am," she lied, feeling sorry for the kid.

What happened next was likely an accident, but Alex would never know one hundred percent. However you sliced it, the guys behind her inquisitor erupted into raucous laughter and one push led to another until one bumped the kid's arm, causing his mostly full glass to be knocked out of his hand. One minute she was dry, and the next her top was soaking and reeking of beer.

"Shit!" she cursed, jumping off the chair and looking around for some napkins.

The poor kid turned all shades of red, taking in her rapidly transparent shirt, before he grabbed some napkins off the counter and reached in as if he were going to help her by blotting the material with the napkins. Reflexes made lightning fast by years of hockey and sparring with her brothers allowed her to block his reach with one hand as the other grabbed his wrist immobilizing him in place.

"I think you've done enough," she ground out, "Back off!"

Alex waited until he nodded before letting go, noticing in embarrassment that their little scene had garnered a bit of attention. Grabbing napkins from the counter, she tried to dab at her tank top, wishing she had picked any color but white earlier.

Johnson was one of the drunk defenseman, thanked Woody for bringing over the beers with the kindest of words: “Hey Woody, you fuck her yet?”

The other two defenders chimed in quickly with their own questions - clearly words that were waiting for the first chance to spring them on him.

“She your girlfriend? Ya got matching shitty t-shirts on.”

“Scoring twice in one night, you want to borrow my dog to get a hat trick?”

“Is she old enough for you? If not, I’ll take her off your hands.”

“She’s tall, you would have to stand on a stool to go down on her if you don’t watch it.”

“Dude, rub against her and tell me how those tits feel.”

Guy started slapping the felt of the pool table, making the balls roll around on their own. “Hé hé. Fermer le Fuck up et revenons à jouer au billard.”

“English, Frenchy La Poof,” cried a grey haired Zielinski.

What was clear is the more that Guy drank, the more French his words became. “You let Woody,” he started waving his hand around, “obtenez la chatte certains .. la chatte … some pussy. Or he jerk off everywhere.”

“I think Guy’s got your back, Woody,” Johnson laughed.

Potter, the last of the three defenesivemen piped up and pointed back to the bar. “So what is she, Woody? She don’t look like a townie.”

“Just got to town, probably a college girl,” Woody replied. “Kinda cute, ain’t she?”

Zielinski squinted in the barlight, “she looks familiar from something. What’s she say her name was?”

“What the fuck it matter,” Guy slurred as he started to lay on the pool table. “Fuckin’ jerk off everywhere.”

As Woody started to move to the drunk goalie to get him up, Johnson interrupted “You better get over there, kid. Townies are trying to get under your skirt.”

Woody turned to see a guy spilling a drink over Alex, and a fire ran over his cheeks. He started to stomp through the crowd, watching as the guy was more or less feeling her up with napkins. Increasing the pace, getting an elbow ready, there was a few quick movements and … she handled it.

The guy backed off.

She was not only hot, hockey smart, but can handle herself too … and yet he still wasn’t putting it all together.

“Hey … Alex,” he said returning to his chair. “You okay? I saw that poor kid you almost had to knockout back there.” His eyes fell onto her breasts, seeing now how he was starting to find their way through the white shirt. “And don’t worry so much about that stuff staining, most of this Southern beer is all water anyway. So there … is … that …”

Woody shook his head, then looked directly to her eyes. “Can you just accept this apology in advance? I mean, as long as your shirt’s going to be wet like that, I am going to be staring at your chest.” With a final laugh, his eyes still consciously staying on hers. “I am really sorry, they just really impressive under there.”

Alex did her best to ignore the suggestive commentary from the sniggering boys beside her as she tried to pluck the sodden material away from her body. Unfortunately the material of the shirt didn't provide much give, and each time she pulled it away, it would simply snap back, molding itself to her ample curves.

Damn she hadn't been this embarrassed since the summer of her 17th birthday when the boys she had long been friends with suddenly were too busy staring at her chest than looking her in the eyes. She had gone from an A cup to an almost bursting at the seams C cup practically overnight, and had struggled to come to grips with the sudden shove out of simply being one of the guys. Her brothers teased her about the boob fairy finally making a long overdue visit to her that summer, but there had been many times she overheard them issuing protective warnings.

Cursing under her breath, Alex took another handful of the paper napkins from the bar and held the small stack against her shirt, but they were all but useless at absorbing any of the liquid. 'Fucking bra soaked more up,' she thought, throwing them on the counter and glaring at the frat boys who continued to leer at her as if she'd be remotely interested in encouraging their juvenile behavior.

Damn chest had been a pain in the ass since that fateful summer. She had never understood why guys found them so fascinating. They got in the way of a good slapshot... well until she figured out how to counterbalance properly. And when running... Oh dear lord running had become downright painful! She had gotten to the point where she practically strapped the fuckers down as tight as she could make them during hockey season and the fact that she had a regular bra on this evening was a minor miracle.

Hey… Alex. You okay? I saw that poor kid you almost had to knockout back there.

Giving Woody a small smile, Alex nodded and listened as he went on about the beer not being likely to stain. She noticed his valiant attempt to keep his eyes off her chest, and her smile became a little more natural, especially when he offered an apology ahead of time.

I am really sorry, they just really impressive under there.

Rolling her eyes, she took a long swallow of her beer using the process of picking up and putting down the glass to cover her chest.

"Please tell me the bathrooms have automatic dryers," she laughed, thinking that might be her only hope else she'd be forced to perform a strategic retreat.

“In this place?” Woody laughed. “All they got is those blue cloth thingies that comes in rolls and you can pull them down and it rolls back inside from the back. But they don’t ever change them. It’s worth the risk if you want.”

He still cognizant of where her eyes were so he can place his eyes accordingly. If she was looking down, he would check out those wet orbs in all their splendor. Though it was tough through both her shirt and bra he thought he could see the change in coloration on top of her breasts where skin replaced areola, and maybe the way the cloth folded was a hint of an extended nipple. But they were none the less magnificent under what seemed to be a tightening shirt.

“You know ... my car is in the lot across the street, and I have a few spare shirts and jerseys, I could loan you one.”

Alright Woody, he said to himself, you gave her two safe options. Time to go in for the kill.

“Or I could take you home … or we can just get out of here.”

Woody was not this type of guy. He isn’t the kind that swoops in, starts chatting, stares at her tits, then asks her home. She was cute, and he thought he had a shot, but usually he doesn’t even take shots like this. It’s like what Wayne Gretzky says - 100% of the shots you don’t take will never score a goal. Maybe it was the beer he already had, maybe it was the game winner, regardless, he wanted to take the shot, and see what happens.

Alex wrinkled her nose at Woody's description. Growing up in a large family, she was used to a certain level of relaxation in cleanliness, but that didn't mean knowingly subjecting herself to questionable hygiene practices. There was a reason she typically carted around enough hand sanitizer for an entire hockey team, but unfortunately that wouldn't get her shirt dry faster.

You know ... my car is in the lot across the street, and I have a few spare shirts and jerseys, I could loan you one.

She mulled over his offer to loan her a shirt, although her brow went up at the reference to jerseys. Shrugging it off as inconsequential, she was tempted nonetheless by the offer. Normally she would have had her own bag stuffed with spare clothes in the truck, but she had been too busy unpacking boxes to get her workout bag ready. Considering the way they had the air conditioning cranked up in the place, the chances of her shirt drying anytime soon was minimal, but even worse, the temperature and length of the time in the wet top was wreaking havoc on her poor nipples.

His follow on suggestion about going back to his place caused her to chuckle silently. While she wasn't a virgin anymore, she wasn't the type to go jumping into strangers' beds. Her eyes sparkled with self-contained mirth as she acknowledged to herself that didn't necessarily mean she would be adverse to getting to know Woody better.

A quick peek at the time and the continued comments from the pack of prepubescent hyenas settled things. "Unfortunately, I have to be up fairly early tomorrow, so I really should be heading home," she said regretfully. A sudden thought struck her causing her to add, "Although maybe I should borrow a shirt… with my luck I'll get pulled over by a cop who will think I'm tanked."

“Just give me a minute to find it,” Woody said as he dug around in the back of his fifteen year old wagon. “I know what I am looking for, promise.”

He bought this car because:
A) It was cheap. and
2) You can fit hockey gear & sticks in the back
Of course, all by this point in the season most of his gear is slung into his locker. Now the wagon is filled with gym gear, golf clubs, and stuff that fell out of his laundry It was that hotbed of loose clothing that Woody was sure was going to reward him with something to give to Alex.

“I’d tell you there is a system to all this, but I hate to start lying to you now. I’d rather wait until we’re married for that.”

He found his hotbed, which kinda sucked because there were only two options. One was his Gordie Howe replica Whalers Jersey - a favorite of his and he normally wouldn’t mind loaning it out with the expectation of getting it back. But his other option was a much better one. Bax stole a Centerville Anglers baseball jersey last season for Woody to wear to sneak into some of their parties put on by the owners - the name and number from some kid that either moved up or burned out named Jackson. Sure, a girl who knew the difference between a slap shot and a blue line might appreciate a Howe Whalers jersey. The difference, the big difference, is that if Woody had to pick - a girl who wore a hockey jersey and nothing else was no where near as hot to think about than a girl who wore a baseball jersey and nothing else.

Emerging from the wagon, jersey in hand, he offered it to Alex. “Here you go, fresh and clean and straight from the laundry. Promise! Now, this comes with an expectation .. you gotta give it back because I need it to get into team stuff, so … if I had your number and when you are free for dinner sometime …” with that he left the offer hanging hoping she picked up on him trying to ask her out on a date.

Just give me a minute to find it. I know what I am looking for, promise.

Leaning against the side of the wagon, Alex listened to his muffled words with a grin. They could have a contest over who had the older vehicle, but it looked like Woody lived out of his nearly as much as she did, or at least that's what the quick glance over his shoulder had conveyed following the short walk to his car after she had settled her tab.

It wasn't like she was in a hurry to get back to her apartment. The night air was heavy with humidity, but at least her nipples weren't rock hard from the combination of wet shirt and cranked up air conditioning. Besides, the delay gave her a chance to check out his backside as he leaned into the back of the wagon, and a very nice backside it was.

I’d tell you there is a system to all this, but I hate to start lying to you now. I’d rather wait until we’re married for that.

Rolling her eyes, she snorted and muttered something about learning from watching her brothers that she'd only be leasing with the option to buy seconds before he straightened up with what looked like a baseball jersey in hand. She took it from him and held it out in front of her, vaguely recognizing it as an Anglers' jersey. She looked at him as he laid out his expectation, smiling as his less than subtle hint for her number.

"I'm thinking the first part is easily met" she teased. "Although I'm not sure when I'll have any free until I get my... schedule," she added with only the barest of pauses when she forced herself to edit out game from game schedule.

Alex pulled the jersey over her head before realizing the damp top would likely soak through. Accustomed to quick changes with little privacy, she quickly stripped off the tank top and had the jersey fully on without the hint of anything underneath. She tried wringing out her shirt and realized he hadn't responded to her teasing so she looked up at him, catching an odd expression of his face.

"What?" she asked puzzled, wondering what she had missed.

She mentioned schedule. At first he thought that meant class schedule, since she fit the out-of-towner college girl. Then again, the semester started a while ago. She probably meant work, whatever it was she did at least. So she worked somewhere, probably something important since she moved here.

He was just about to ask her, when …

…

It should be mentioned that a girl wearing a baseball jersey, and nothing else, is pretty damn hot.

It wasn’t really clear right away what she was doing, but what was clear was she was trying to break free of what lie beneath the jersey. The wet tank top sure did put up a fight, as as it did he got to see more of her than he expected on a first night out. When her arms pushed up from the inside, her flat & fit abs stuck out from above her jeans. With the top button still undone, he could see more and more of the curve of her breast when she moved under the jersey in just the right way. Then came that moment that froze in his mind … and when he has grandchildren, he will tell them of that moment that he swears … SWEARS he saw a nipple.

The world seemed to slow in that moment. Gone was the guys drinking with him in the bar. Gone were the wet tank tops and frat boys. Gone were the questions about her schedule or her hockey brains. Instead, here was this girl … no this woman … who went bravely with him to the parking lot, took his jersey, and now stands naked underneath it (besides her jeans of course). Not just that, but this woman was a form of perfection. Tall, strong, athletic, curved in the right way, and no sign of being a bitch. Yes, she was the one that he would tell his grandchildren about, and if he plays his cards right, half of them would be her grandchildren too.

"What?"

With a single word, he started coming back to reality.

“Sorry,” he replied. “I just … really like a woman in a jersey.” He took a step or two closer to her and tugged on the jersey by her side. “Little big, but it works for you.” He started leaning in closer then smirked, “Do you need to go home right away, Alex? Cause I’m not ready to go home.”

Alex watched Woody blink and then blink again like a person awakening from a trance, causing her to wonder what had caused him to zone out on her in the first place. It wasn't until he admitted that he really liked a woman in a jersey that she became aware of the fact that his eyes had been transfixed on her bust line and that whipping off her tank top left her with little in terms of coverage.

Mentally kicking herself, she still smiled when Woody sidled closer to tug at the jersey and commented on it being a little big. Damn it she was going to have to remember she wasn't at home anymore, and that she shouldn't go acting like she was still the flat chested pipsqueak that could change practically on ice and no one thought anything of it.

A single brow went up as Woody moved closer, although Alex noted that he stopped just shy of actually crowding her. She couldn't blame him if he assumed that she'd be fair game after her less than modest quick change, but he would find out the hard way that she didn't cotton to being pressured if he got too much closer. She had learned early on how to hold her own against her brothers and was confident that she could take him out fast if need be.

Then again she didn't think he was going to do anything stupid, and he did have a nice ass so she didn't immediately shoot him down when he asked if she needed to go home right away.

Thinking a minute she asked, "You mentioned earlier that the beach was nice. Does it have a boardwalk?"

“I’m tell ya, this is a lot better during the summer.”

They had made it to the Boardwalk, the dry & withering wood clocking out their feet as they crossed over each plank. Only about a third of the storefronts had lights on, and even then there was nothing impressive about them. Still, Woody was trying his best to spin it appropriately.

“I mean, I wasn’t around Centerville Beach much last summer, and hadn’t even heard of it before then … but it is a lot better. There’s an old time skee-ball place down the way that you can get a killer mustache comb for only a thousand tickets.”

Most of the lit windows were take-out places that still did steady business year round. Some of the retail stores remained open too, but at this time of night were shuttered. It was the touristy places promising cotton candy and ‘10 rings for a dollar’ that looked depressingly dead. These all lined the land side of the boardwalk like cute little multicolored boxes. The shore side went right out onto the beach - a deep sloping white sand run of over a half mile that disappeared into the darkness of the ocean.

“Way up ahead, they have this fisherman’s warf part that is for, like, real fishermen. They bring in some big tuna like they do in those TV shows, hang them there for the tourists to see. Sometimes they’ll butcher the smaller fish down there too, so you can see how they do the cutting and stuff.” Smirking a little Woody shrugged, realizing he was a little too excited about fish guts. “If you are into that kind of thing.”

This made him think of the real reason to take her out this way. “If not, we can always wander out onto the beach. Get away from the lights, and you can lie back and see the stars out there.” Then after a short break he added, “or get naked … if that’s what you’re into. Just saying.” He gave her a cheeky grin, and watched just to see what she really was interested in down here.

I’m telling ya, this is a lot better during the summer.

Alex turned her head so that Woody wouldn't see her grin as they strolled along the boardwalk. He was trying his best to live up to the promise of the tour guide with the mostest, but the current scenery wasn't giving him much to work with. They walked side by side, not quite close enough to touch like the couple passing arm-in-arm in the opposite direction, but close enough that it was obvious that the two of them were together.

The boardwalk was fairly deserted, although if she closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the salt-laden air and listened to the crashing of the waves against the shore, she could see how it could be a pretty hopping place. To someone used to the Rocky Mountains, being near the ocean was a novelty she didn't see losing its luster anytime soon, and the emptiness of the boardwalk didn't bother her in the slightest.

Alex squinted into the darkness when Woody started talking about the fisherman's wharf, wondering if she'd have the ability to check it out anytime soon. She had grown up doing an annual fishing trip with her family, but it had been several years since they had done one. She smiled at his enthusiastic description, mentally acknowledging that while she was a pretty damn good angler, she didn't necessarily care for the fish guts part that came afterwards.

If not, we can always wander out onto the beach. Get away from the lights, and you can lie back and see the stars out there... or get naked… if that’s what you’re into. Just saying.

Rolling her eyes, Alex laughed and replied, "I think I'll pass on the fish guts, thank you." Her eyes twinkled at the thought that while he might not have a clue about ice hockey, that she might be willing to see if he knew anything about tonsil hockey... at least for a little bit so she added, "I don't plan on getting naked and running the risk of an indecent exposure charge, but I wouldn't mind sitting on the beach for a spell."

They had found their way to the a ridge on the beach where the wet sand stops and dry sands begins. It was far enough from the boardwalk the they were bathed in darkness and the clear sky above them was full of stars. The ocean moved around in front of them, but there were only light reflections of the foam rolling with the waves. It was nice, but too dark to be scenic.

He just didn’t have any plans to point out the scenery.

There was a little bit of small talk. How the ocean was probably cold. How the weather was going to be like in a few months. Then that awkward silence that comes when a guy has to just come to the conclusion that he had to take a chance.

So, Woody took his chance.

Without much fanfare, he turned quickly reached for her shoulder, and planted his lips onto hers.

It was quick, direct, and over before it began. But he left her with his arm still on his shoulder.

“I’ve wanted to do that since we first met,” he confessed, and smiled in the darkness ready to kiss her again if he had to.