Plié and Clout

Chapter 35: Bingo at a Bar Part 2

*clears throat* 

I'm sorry

-rabid

STEPH

"Heyyyy you," A rather buzzed girl flops onto the seat next to mine, my arms are spread out across the ledge behind me, so this puts her under my arm. "You've been sitting here all night and I wanted to know if you wanted to," She yawns. "Wanted to dance?" I've been here twenty minutes at most, but that's alright.

"No, I'm good, but thanks, Rocket here would gladly though," She turns to Rocket and he's scowling at me. "He's the big guy with dark hair, he's Czech, has a cute accent."

"Rocket?" she puts her hand on my arm, looking up at me.

I nod, pointing with the hand holding my drink. "And white head over here is Yeti."

"Yeti is a funny name, why's he named that?" She hiccups.

"Well, because he's a big swedish guy that looks like a sasquatch," I smile at her, "he's a cutie, seems all big and scary, but he's cute."

She frowns at my teammate, who's pretending not to listen. "But he seems scary. How tall is he?"

"Six and a half feet," I respond, "all that much mass and under it all he's squishy."

"How tall are you?"

I shrug. "Just a little over six foot, what about you?"

"Somewhere near five seven, I can't remember." She mumbles.

"Well, my shortest friend here is this guy over here," I wave at Greenbean, "a round five foot six."

She giggles a little. "He seems fun."

"That he is. Okay, so you know Rocket and you know Yeti, you know Greenie, this one here is Finnican," I point at the center and he nods at her, slouched a little in his chair, taking up a ton of excess space.

"Finnican?" she frowns, "I've never heard that name before."

"It's irish, which is funny because he's from Minnesota."

"So, ah, what, what do you do for work?" she cringes at that. "That was a garbage question."

"No, it's alright," I laugh. "I play hockey."

"For work?"

"Yeah, the pros."

Her eyes get wide. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I'm here with the team." I point around.

"You all play hockey?"

"Yeah, hon, all of us." I can feel Rocket's glare on the back of my head. He hates it when this happens.

"So, do you get injured, do you, are you, have you," she stutters for a moment, "do you have all your teeth?"

I laugh at this. "Most of 'em."

"Most?" She seems concerned.

"I have all of them, most of all of them."

"What?" she's giggling.

I pull down my bottom lip. "Most of 'em."

"Cute." She peeks in at my broken teeth.

I look around the rest of the guys, her hands still on my arm. "That wild-looking one over there with the goatee, that's Gage, he's our starter goalie."

She nods in response, still watching me not the crowd.

"Gage is a great guy, he's got five cats. Next up is Jorgen, the big dark guy over there," I point at him, he's on his phone. "He's the EMT, he makes sure none of us get too bloody."