The Summer Proposal by Vi Keeland

Otto Wolfman turned. He smiled but tried to hide it as he waved me off. “Who you calling old? If you take a look in the mirror, you won’t see the left wing who scored three goals the other night. I believe that man is enjoying a Philly cheesesteak back home in sunny Philadelphia.”

Oof. That one hurt. We got our asses kicked in Philly the other day. But this ball-busting with Otto was all in good fun. It always had been. I walked over to where he sat on the penalty bench, and we slapped hands before I passed him a coffee. For the last seven years I’d been playing at the Garden, Otto Wolfman had tended to the ice, but he’d also been here thirty-one years before that. The ornery old bastard reminded me so much of my dad, though I’d never told him that. Every Saturday morning, I came an hour or so before practice and brought him the sludge he preferred from the street cart down the block. I’d made the mistake of bringing him Starbucks once. Once.

He pointed to the young guy driving his Zamboni. “This idiot paid ten-thousand dollars to do this. Can you believe that? Some sort of an auction where a bunch of rich, Wall Street types bid on shit. What’s he, twenty-three?” Otto shook his head. “At least it’s for charity.”

I looked over at the ice. The guy navigating the Zamboni around the rink wore a giant smile. He was definitely enjoying himself. I shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

“Got the weekend off after practice this morning, don’t cha?”

“Yep.” I sipped my coffee.

“Any big plans?”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Apparently, I’m throwing myself a birthday party.”

Otto’s bushy brows pulled together. “Apparently? You sound like you’re not sure.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it. But then I told a woman I was so I could get her to spend time with me.”

“Would be easier to just ask her on a date, wouldn’t it?”

I frowned. “I did. Multiple times. She’s not sure she wants to go out with me. So I stupidly told her I was having people over tonight to make it seem casual. Figured she’d be more likely to say yes if it wasn’t just the two of us.”

“A woman shot you down?” Otto’s head bent back in laughter. “That makes my day.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“What’s so special about this woman that she’s got you acting out of sorts?”

That was a damn good question. She had big, green eyes, smooth, pale skin, and a long, thin, delicate neck that made me feel like a damn vampire. But those felt like bonus points with Georgia. What I liked best was that she seemed to know who she was, and while she could poke fun, she was also proud and unashamed. Too many women wanted to be someone else.

I shrugged. “She’s just kinda real.”

Otto nodded. “Real is good. But listen, Pretty Boy. Nothing good comes easy. When I met my Dorothy, I was working security at a nudey bar downtown. I was young and handsome back then, having the time of my life with the ladies who worked there. I had to get a new job just so Dorothy would go out with me.”

“I ain’t buying the young and handsome part. But I get what you’re saying.”

“You players have no idea what it’s like to work for a woman. I see the half-naked women who cozy up to you any chance they get. It’ll do you some good to have your redwood-sized ego chopped down a bit. I like this woman already. I bet you she’s a smart one.”

“Might be too smart for me. Graduated from NYU business school and runs a successful company she started on her own.”

“My Dorothy has been a librarian for thirty years. She’s read more books than I’ve had beers. And you know how much I enjoy my Coors Light. So let me give you some advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Smart women don’t believe the things you say. They believe the actions they see.”

I nodded. “Good advice…for a change.”

We sat side by side for a moment watching the ten-thousand-dollar Zamboni ride.

“He’s doing a pretty good job.” I jabbed my elbow into Otto lightly. “You better watch out. I bet he can afford to pay fifty K to replace you.”

Otto scowled.

I laughed. “That’s payback for the Philly comment. Now tell me how your treatment’s going.”

He flexed both his hands open and closed. “Not too bad. Except my hands and feet tingle all the time. Doc said it’s nerve damage from the chemo. It better just be temporary.”

Otto had been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer last year. He was getting treatment, but the outlook wasn’t great, especially since it had spread in the months after he’d stopped his first round of treatments.

“Anything you can do for it?” I asked.

“More drugs. Doc said physical therapy might help. But I hate that shit.”

I smiled. Hockey players lived in a PT office. I always dreaded going, too. Just tell me the exercises, and I’ll be on my merry way. “What about acupuncture?”

“Pins and needles? That’s what I’m trying to get rid of, jackass. But you know what might help?”

“What?”

“Warmer weather. If you happen to know anyone looking for a facilities manager out on the West Coast, put in a good word for me.”