Page 109 of Big Stick Energy
DeLuca shakes his head. “You know what your problem is? You’re treating this like a game where you already know you’re going to lose. You’re playing defense instead of offense.”
“I’m not playing at all,” I remind him. “I was cut from the team.”
He groans. “I don’t understand you. You just spent five days defending the top spot on one of the greatest teams in hockey, Tremaine. You’re a beast, and you’re fucking fearless. But when it comes to winning over a woman who already likes you, it’s suddenly hopeless?”
“She’s not just any woman.”
“Obviously, but…” DeLuca waves his hand toward the dormitory building. “What are you going to say to all the rookies crying into their water bottles tomorrow after Coach cuts the roster in half?”
“Not to give up,” I say immediately. “To try again.”
“Exactly!”
I glance around the fire pit. “Wherearethe rookies, anyway? It’s much too quiet out here.”
DeLuca leans back in his chair. “I dunno. Honestly, I was enjoying the silence.”
As captain, though, I can’t take that attitude. “Excuse me a minute. I’m gonna go make sure nobody is setting the place on fire.”
“Godspeed.”
It takes me a minute, but I find the rookies in the dormitory kitchen. They’ve picked the lock on the door, and they’re eating chocolate chips straight out of a bag like animals. Calder’s got chocolate smeared on his chin, and another kid is trying to see how many chips he can balance on his tongue.
“Captain!” one of them crows. “We’re gonna have a chocolate-eating contest. You can referee.”
“No! No contests,” I bark. “Because one of you will hurl, and I’ll feel obligated to clean up after you.”
“But these are mini chocolate chips,” one of them says. “They go down easy.”
I pick up one of the bags and inspect it. “Mini chips… Does anybody know how to make chocolate chip cookies?”
“Yo, Cap,” Calder says. “My mom taught me when I was little. The recipe is legit right on the bag. It’s actually fire.”
I snap my fingers. “Excellent. You can help me make a batch of mini cookies with mini chips. I want ’em no bigger than a half dollar.”
“A half dollar?” another rookie asks. “Who’d rip a dollar in half? That’s why I pay for everything on my phone.”
I sigh. “Fine—no bigger than a poker chip.”
“But why?” Calder asks.
“Because miniature food tastes better,” I snap. “I don’t make the rules. Calder? List off those ingredients. The rest of you are going to find them in this kitchen.”
Calder flops his hair out of his face. “On it, Cap.”
An hour later, we have three pans of miniature golden cookies. I arrange a couple dozen of the best specimens on a paper plate, leaving the rookies to finish polishing the kitchen to a high shine.
Then I go looking for Darcy. I know exactly which first-floor room belongs to her and Zoe, anyway. I’ve spent our entire time upstate noticing her, even when I’m supposed to be thinking about other things.
And even if I didn’t know, I could probably have figured it out by just pacing past her door. I mean—it’spossiblethat one of our players is a Taylor Swift fan. I wouldn’t judge. But as I knock, I hear “August” playing behind the door.
“Zoe?” she says, and I think I hear footsteps.
“Nope,” I say, hoping she’ll still open the door.
She does. But only a crack. I can only see one of her blue-green eyes, and it’s confused. “Hi. You need something?”
Yes. Yes, I do.“I brought you some cookies.”
