After a career-ending fight, ex-professional-hockey-player-turned-Zamboni-driver Chase Cassidy has never looked back at the sport. He's perfectly content cleaning the ice between periods and chatting with fellow staff members, and running a pub outs...
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Spencer
As February fades into March, I look forward to Spring. It signifies the end of the hockey season, but I'm sick of the cold weather and grey colours. I want to see more sunshine and green leaves and grass. Lugging around a winter jacket, toque, gloves, and a scarf is getting old, too. Especially when considering how the weather can't make up its damn mind. Whenever the sun comes out, it's too warm for a sweater and winter coat. When the clouds become an obstruction, the temperature drops a few degrees.
"Keep frowning like that, and you'll have a permanent crease," Lennon says.
My scowl deepens, and I burrow my face deeper into my scarf. "I hate this weather. Even the coffee isn't helping."
Lennon glances at my Starbucks. There's a quizzical expression present on his face. "You're not drinking coffee."
He's right. It's a chai latte with a dash of cinnamon, extra hot and with a shit-ton of whipped cream on top. I glare at him. "Don't be a smart ass, Lennon. No one likes smart asses."
"What is your problem?" he chuckles. "Up too late last night?"
Ever since Chase and I became an official couple, I haven't been home much. Mainly because Lennon's been on the road on-and-off for the past two weeks. I also love the flannel sheets Chase has—and the heat of his body. In hindsight, renting a place with Lennon maybe wasn't such a good idea. One consequence of Lennon knowing where I'm staying is that he continues to tease, goad, and brag whenever I'm home.
He's a relentless little fuck.
I elbow my brother in the ribs. "Shut up."
Lennon sips his coffee and chuckles. "When are you moving in? I know I'll never be a biological uncle, but any adoptions in the foreseeable future?"
My cheeks turn hot. "If you don't shut up, this latte will end up in your face, drenching your suit and making you unpresentable for the camera."
He shrugs. "At least I'll smell nice. Like spices."
"For the love of fucking god," I mutter.
Lennon laughs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He pulls me close enough that I can smell his cologne. "One day, you'll miss my teasing."
As per usual, I hate how right he is. I rest my head against his shoulder, wondering how tonight's game will play out. Colorado is on top of the league at the moment, ahead of Toronto by a healthy eight points. They've won five of their last seven games. Compared to Toronto, that's a significant number of wins beneath their belt. March has continued to fluctuate for the home team. We've traded wins and losses throughout our past seven games, gaining that extra point in two overtime games and one shootout.
Whenever Toronto goes through a slump like this, I worry about Dad's job and Lennon's position on the team. Dad plays a large role in which players get contracts and which get traded, but he's not head of the franchise. He could lose his job just as easily as the coach.
