Two Minutes for Hooking

Chapter 2

PIMS: Penalties in Minutes Scored or the amount of time a player spends in the penalty box

James

I wasn't a party kind of guy on a good day. After games I usually went to the official after party to eat some food and chat with our fans but after that I always went home and went to sleep. Curfew for me wasn't something to be ignored. If I didn't get enough sleep, I didn't perform my best the next day and my best was all I could afford to be.

And yet, here I was. Walking into a party being thrown by some friends of the team because I had received a text that Rush, our 16 year old 3rd string goalie was drunk and causing a scene. Did I truly believe Rush was drunk? No. It really wasn't in his nature to drink. Did I believe he was off his meds and annoying people with his general Rushisms... yes, I absolutely did. 

"Why are we here again?" My friend Ryan asked. 

Ryan was my roommate and the primary goalie for the Frost. He knew why were here but he wasn't the biggest Rush fan. Most of the guys on the team didn't have the patience to deal with Rush. He was impulsive and as hyper as a three year old on mountain dew. That combined with his penchant for randomly bursting into song whenever the room was quiet put him on a lot of people's shit list. I, on the other hand, had a soft spot for the kid. I had been his cabins councilor at hockey camp in Toronto over the summer and had helped him through a bit of rough patch. I knew that underneath that annoying and carefree exterior there was a soft hearted kid who had been through more than his fair share of bullshit. He was also an extremely talented goalie who had a serious case of hero worship for Ryan that drove him up the wall. 

"Do you really think he's drunk?"

"Not even a little bit. The kid is many things, but he treats his body like a damned temple." 

"I'll have to give you that one. He takes training more serious than anyone except maybe Saint. Why is his nickname Rush again? Why not something like bouncy ball or slinky? Or some other ridiculous name for a kids toy?"

I laughed, "his nickname is Rush because for the entirety of camp not one single goal was scored on him from an odd man rush. And also because he is always rushing from one place to another. He never holds still."

Scanning the crowd, I catch sight of a ginger head towering over the rest around him. I elbow Ryan and point my chin in that direction and we both move toward the head that belongs to our tall, gangly ginger teammate.

"Yo, Cap you made it!" called the 5'8" blond center rookie, Dillon Case. 

"Case," I nodded. "What's rush doing here?"

"McDuffy told him he would give him a ride home but he had to stop here first."

"And where is McDuffy?" I asked scanning the room for any signs of him.

"Upstairs somewhere with Nicci or Tiffini or one of the girls. I lost track of him about 30 min ago."

"I thought you said Rush was drunk?"

"I thought he was, at least that's what MCduffy said. But it looks like he's just being his normal pain in the ass self."

Just then the throng of bodies between me and the kitchen parted and I saw the girl from the game. Actually I shouldn't call her the girl from the game. I knew damn well who she was. Jocelyn Foster number 23 on the Madison University Shield Maidens, first line right wing with a gorgeous and deadly accurate wrist shot. And an incredible ass. But that was really a minor point on a very long list of admirable traits I had going in my head about her. 

"Collings, are we getting the kid outta here or what?" Ryan asked impatiently. 

"What are you looking at," his eyes tracked my gaze before widening in surprise. "Oh. Wow, I'm surprised she's here. You know Janine said she broke up with that frat douche, right? You going to go talk to her?"