Hockey Is My Boyfriend: Part Two Read Online Free

had to take it.

3
    Opportunity Knocks
    “ E xcuse me , I think you’ve got my stick bag.”
    The voice was very deep and came from right behind me. I turned and crashed right into the chest of this young guy. Except for the frown on his face, he was kind of cute, with wide brown eyes, light brown hair and curling lips. But he looked young. No actually, he was a weird combination: his face looked about fourteen but his body looked like a man’s. He was tall, over six feet, and from what I could see through his clothes, slim but built.
    “Don’t think so.” I replied. These old Bauer stick bags were pretty common, but mine was pretty beaten up, and I thought I recognized its war wounds. I flipped it over, looking for the luggage tag, but it was gone.
    “No tags,” I observed. “Only one way to make sure.” I unzipped the bag, to reveal five Easton Stealths. Probably worth more than all my hockey equipment combined and definitely not mine.
    “Whoa, nice twigs,” I said, handing over the bag. “Sorry about that.”
    He raised his eyebrows in a skeptical way.
    “What?” I exclaimed. “Did you think I was trying to steal your sticks?”
    He shrugged. “You never know.”
    “Oh, come on! As if I could tell you had good sticks in that old bag. Plus my stick bag looks exactly like that. Get real.” I was working up a good head of steam. “Besides, I have my own stick preferences. I wouldn’t even use your sticks.”
    Well, I might if I could afford them, but he didn’t know that. The next special handling load arrived. An identical Bauer bag came sliding down the ramp.
    “See, there’s my bag. Doesn’t it look exactly the same?” I pointed and turned around to find the guy laughing at me.
    “Doesn’t take much to get you goin’.” He snickered.
    “Oh, funny.” Maybe I did tend to fly off a little.
    “Besides, you look cute when you’re mad.”
    So original. “Not true,” I replied. I nestled the stick bag into the top of my hockey bag and got ready to go.
    “No?” he asked.
    “No, I look cute all the time.”
    I took advantage of his stunned silence to take off. But I had a sneaking suspicion someone with hockey gear in July might be headed to exactly the place as me.
    Burt Iverson had sounded a little wary when he interviewed me on the telephone. Deirdre gave me a glowing recommendation, but Burt wondered why I couldn’t find a hockey job closer to home.
    “Lake Carswell sounds like a great camp, and I’m looking for a new experience,” I replied. No need to mention that I had applied to every hockey camp in B.C. and not even gotten an interview.
    “Well, you don’t keep a camp running for twelve years without doing something right.” Burt cleared his throat. “Guess we’ll give you a try. It’s the first year we’re having girls, and we need someone to smooth out those ‘girly problems.’” He was an old-school hockey guy, so I let this go. At least he had started a girls’ section and hired me.
    I ducked into the airport washroom. After travelling all day, I wished I could take a shower, but I settled for wiping myself down with wet paper towels, much to the amusement of a little boy waiting for his mom.
    The New Brunswick weather smacked me in the face when I exited the airport. It was humid and hot. I took off my sweater and contemplated rolling up my cargo pants. I spotted the camp’s multi-passenger van idling and paying no attention to the no-stopping signs.
    “Hi, I’m here for the camp,” I said to the driver. He was a youngish guy with a Habs cap and mirrored aviator sunglasses.
    “How’s she going?” he asked with a big grin. “You must be Kelly Tanaker, eh? I’m Mark MacNeil. Trow your gear in the back and take a seat.”
    I stood there and stared blankly. After two years with Deirdre, I didn’t think a Maritime accent was going to be a problem, but this guy spoke so fast, it sounded like one long, confusing sentence. I finally sorted out that he had greeted