three

“My God.”  I had been staring at the laptop screen for quite a while.  The number next to Jordan’s name still said six million dollars.  

That wasn’t for this year, it was for next year.  Presumably long before then his life would be back to normal and he’d be in Canada, playing for his real team, making more money than I could conceive of.  This season, it looked like his AHL salary was sixty-five thousand.  When the NHL started again, he’d be back to making eight hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.  Taylor would make nine hundred thousand.  I scrolled through the Edmonton Oilers roster - there was only one Ryan.  He’d make nine and a quarter.

“Wow.”

Our date had been fantastic - fun and flirty and just enough kissing to make sure I couldn’t sleep.  The idea for the party was spontaneous, but it was also something else.  It was me asking Jordan on a second date.  He would have asked, I told myself.  I had just beaten him to it.  And now I was throwing a party in my average apartment on a waitress’ wage for the newest millionaires in town.  

“Pinterest better have some amazing party shit up it’s sleeve,” I said to the empty room.

There were a lot of stories about Jordan online, and even more photos.  Taylor had plenty of headlines too, and this Ryan guy.  The videos... the videos.  I watched a few of Jordan’s goals first.  
The more I saw, the more I realized that my version of Jordan - dorky and sweet and so nervously afraid to hold my hand in the car - didn’t match up with this confident, ass-kicking Jordan at all.  He’d said he “played hockey” when it was pretty clear that Jordan Eberle wasn’t playing around.

Then the puppies.  Some featurette video had Jordan, Taylor and Ryan (who looked like he still rode the school bus) at an animal shelter.  I had to stop to twice to keep from squealing.  Then a tour of his apartment with Taylor - that looked about right, like they’d hid the mess before their moms came over.  This was the Jordan in my mind.  Finally I watched a series of commercials - Jordan getting a taxi for a pregnant woman, Jordan teaching a little girl how to ride a bike.  A parade of long-sleeve gray shirts and jeans got tighter as the list went on.

My brain said, Aagghh, he’s so cute! followed quickly by Holy shit, he has TV commercials.  

I closed the computer.  Seeing Jordan’s bedroom on screen was not helping my situation.
____

“Aw, you’re home ,” Taylor said with real disappointment.  “And your pants are still on.  She didn’t go for the sob story?”

“You’re a douche,” I told him, sitting down on the bed.  I’d driven out of my way just to be alone for a while with the idea of Erin.  The image of her smile and the way she’d told me to stop being so cute - I didn’t want to be cute, I wanted to be manly and impressive - but if she liked it, I could reconsider.  She hadn’t even made me wait till goodbye to kiss her.  If only I hadn’t waited so long to ask for a second date!  Still a party....

“So, did you blow it?  Am I gonna have to eat wings by myself from now on?” Taylor muted whatever TV show he’d been watching.

“She invited us over for a party, Friday night.”

Silence.  Then a big, stupid clap from my big, stupid friend.  “Fucking yes!  Hot friends?  Did she say hot friends?”

“She said to bring Ryan and anyone else I want.  So behave or I won’t bring you.”

Taylor laughed.  “You and Nuge in a room full of girls.  Nerd-gasm.”

He let it drop, for a while.  We watched a cop show on TV but my mind was wandering back to the drive-in, the way she’d pushed up in the car to kiss me goodnight.  There was definitely more to that kiss and two days seemed like an eternity to wait.

“Was it good?” Taylor finally asked.  He really was my best friend, and just as worried as I was about the lockout.  Maybe more since he was still on injured reserve and had no real place in this messed up world.

“Great,” I admitted.  “She was great.”

“I like her too,” he said.  “Might be more than you can handle, though.  Even if you don’t tell her.”

“I told her.”

Taylor turned to face me.  “Already?”

“Erin doesn’t know anything about hockey.  I didn’t want to lie over something she doesn’t even care about.”  I didn’t want to lie to Erin at all.  It wasn’t my style to have a girl like me for something I wasn’t.  Actually it wasn’t my style to have girls - real girls I actually knew - around at all.

“Did you tell her about your contract?”  His tone was a warning.

“Before you wanted me to use that to get laid, now you think I shouldn’t tell her?”  

Taylor shook his head.  “Even someone who doesn’t care about hockey still cares about thirty six million dollars.”

That number sounded crazy even to me.  The money wasn’t mine yet, not by a long shot.  I had to get through this season first and if the lockout didn’t end I would be taking more than a ninety percent pay from last year.  Not that I couldn’t live on it - I’d saved money.  Sixty-five thousand dollars was more than a lot of people made.  It would go far in Oklahoma City.  The whole thing was so gloriously normal, like I was back at my parents house, living a regular life.  But six million a year?  I couldn’t fathom it and I certainly couldn’t spend it yet.

“I didn’t mention the contract.  It’s too....”

“Panty soup?” he suggested.

I threw a pillow at him.  “Scary.  Next year seems like another planet right now and you know the CBA could roll back the money.  Yours too,” I reminded him.  Even talking about it now seemed like a sure jinx.

“She’s looked you up, bet on that.  So she knows anyway.  And you know what that means,” he spun his feet down and reached for his computer, “Facebook stalking time.  What’s her last name?”

“Uh, I....”

Taylor scoffed.  “Smooth, Ebs.”  He typed and clicked for a full minute.  “Got her.  Erin Stratford.  Works at Buffalo Wild Wings in Oklahoma City. Ooh, public profile.”

I sat next to him.  There she was - all smile and dimples just like an hour ago, in my car.  She went to Oklahoma City University, was twenty three years old and looked drop-dead gorgeous in pretty much every photo.

Taylor whistled under his breath at Erin, on a boat with some friends, in a bikini.  “I hope those girls are coming to the party,” he said.

I hope that girl still wants me at her party, I thought.

I had told Erin the truth, and sooner than many would have recommended.  I was so anonymous here.  It had only been a few days but I was reveling in it.  Not that I wanted to be no one.  I wanted to play in a place where hockey mattered, and I wanted to matter to my team.  Edmonton was ideal in a lot of ways - every win was like a gift, a bit of the city’s and fans’ dreams restored.  I had a faith in that franchise I never could have imagined in junior, always knowing I was leaving.  The six year deal put a timestamp on my ambition.  It was a tall order, but I wanted to win a Cup in Edmonton before this deal ran out.  Crosby had done it, Toews too.  Guys my age or younger, already champions.  I felt like a baby in my real life and an only man on the ice.  At twenty five they were the kind of veterans I could only dream of being.

I had also not told Erin the truth.  There was no way to say “six million a season” without it sounding like “take off your pants.”  It was a shit ton of money.  Someday, maybe, it would be mine.  If the Oilers were opening their season, maybe I’d have felt like celebrating it.  But right now, this far from home and from hockey, just hoping to have something to do for some kind of paycheck, it felt more like lying to tell her than to keep it to myself.

Of course, she would know anyway.

“Should I call her?”

“What, now?”  Taylor was on to her hot friends’ Facebook pages.  “You just saw her.”

“Yeah, but, you know.  Had a great time, something like that.”

He gave me the fish eye.  “Have you realized I’m a really big deal and will be crazy rich someday?  Don’t you feel like you wanna bang me on Friday?”

I put the phone down.  I would not call.
____

Thursday morning, I emailed everyone I knew.  All my girls from college, people from Wild Wings, my across the street neighbors.

I’m having a housewarming party for some friends - they’re new to town and don’t have a house.  Consider my place theirs, and come meet them on Friday night!  Drinks and food, music and, for the ladies, a few guys I promise will not disappoint.  For the guys, well... there are bound to be some leftovers.  Bring some beer and your dancing shoes.  See you at nine on Friday!

I had three responses in ten minutes.  It was that time of year when college grads missed school the most and were looking for an excuse to relive their glory days.  The last thing left to do was text Jordan.

I’d been avoiding him.  Well, not really, because it had only been twelve hours since we were kissing in an abandoned field.  But regular me might have texted a great date and flirted a little.  But real life me was still reeling a bit.

Me: Nine o’clock tomorrow night.  Is that cool?

My phone beeped two minutes later.

Jordan:  Definitely. Taylor and Ryan are coming for sure. What can I bring?

I put my head back and told my empty apartment to get lost.  What does the six million dollar man bring to a party in a relatively broke girl’s apartment?

Me: More teammates, my girls are really excited to meet them.

Jordan: Taylor won’t let me. He says you promised him first pick.

I was laughing out loud, remembering that I may have actually done something of the sort, when my phone beeped again.

Jordan: I had a great time last night.  Can’t wait to see you again.

Lord, I was in trouble.

Me: Tomorrow will be here before you know it.

In reality, it took forever.  I cleaned and then cleaned again, laughing at myself as I changed the sheets on my bed.  There would be nothing happening in that area.  At work that evening, my heart did a little skip every time the door opened - as if he had nothing better to do than see me every day.  But neither Jordan nor Taylor felt like wings that night, and I clocked out at midnight feeling twice as exhausted as usual.  At least that meant I could sleep.

Friday I shopped.  Food and beer and liquor and cups, then more of everything.  Every text message sent me digging frantically for my phone, blushing and scolding myself simultaneously.  They were all friends, and they were all coming.  Thank God I had a Friday night off.

Finally, at eight thirty, I changed into my party outfit: skinny jeans, flats and two layers of tank tops, fitted and low cut underneath with a flirty, gauzy overlay.  I flipped my hair around to shake out the ponytail bump, checked my makeup and decided that was as good as it would get.  At ten to eight, my doorbell rang.

“Who are these guys?  What is going on?”  Darcy and Amanda barged in, carrying beer and handcuffs and whatever else they thought a party needed.  My two closest friends from school, they worked office jobs and lived for Friday nights, especially when fresh meat was on the menu.

“I only know two of them, but more are coming.  They play for the Barons.”

Blank stare.  “The hockey team?” Amanda finally asked.  

“Yeah.”

She shrugged.  “Cool, I guess.”

I didn’t give anyone anyone’s secret.  For all I know she’d end up with someone who played full time for the local team.  It wouldn’t do to promise NHL superstars when they were in short supply... and no one had heard of them anyway.

“Are they cute?  All three?” Darcy demanded.

“Uh, the two I met, yeah.  And um, well, one is mine.”

They stopped dead in their tracks.

“Just one date,” I explained.  “They came into work and I gave them free....”

Amanda dumped a case of beer on the counter.  “You met a guy at work and went on a date and you didn’t tell us?  Don’t we have some kind of phone tree for ‘I’m getting some ass’ or other important events?  When was this?”

“Two days ago.”

“So work, then a date, then tonight.  You’re on a third date.”  Amanda ticked off her fingers.

“The first one wasn’t!” My protest fell on deaf ears.  Amanda simply pointed toward my room.

“Did you change your sheets?”

Guilty.
____