I hang up and debate calling again to apologize. It’s not that bad. I definitely need to give everything a onceover with a razor, but it’s not a jungle or anything. I toss my phone in my purse and rummage through my bag. I don’t have conditioner or soap. I don’t even have a towel, which sucks, but options are limited. I can’t leave here without showering. Luckily, I have shampoo and a razor. It’s old, with rust marks, but it’ll have to do.
I turn on the water, take off my skates, and strip. I’m ripe after four hours on the ice. The water feels fantastic, so I stand under the spray for a few seconds, enjoying the heat. I try to keep my hair out of the water as much as possible so I don’t have to mess around with it. I squirt some shampoo on my hand and rub it all over my vag. My legs need doing as well, but the crotch is most important. I’ve got some growth from my last home-waxing job.
The razor is super dull. It’s terrible. I can’t believe how little hair it removes on the first pass. I go over it several more times and get most of it, but it could definitely be smoother. I move on to my legs; they’re just as bad, and I make almost no progress. I might as well be using a butter knife.
I’ll get Randy to stop at a store on the way to wherever we’re going. I’ll have to fix my fuzz problem before he sees me naked. I give up on my legs, which are now red in the spots where I’ve razored them.
I use the shampoo to wash the rest of my body and dry off with one of my spare leotards. It’s highly ineffective. I get the biggest areas, but I’m still damp, which makes getting dressed a pain. Everything sticks. And I don’t have one of my nice bras, just an old sports bra. It’s been washed so many times it’s gray instead of white.
As excited as I am to see Randy, I feel totally unprepared, aside from the fact that my girl parts are moist. I pull on my sweats—the only thing I have other than my work clothes—and they smell like burned toast. I check my reflection in the mirror; I look like a street person.
Holes pepper the knees of my pants. If I look close, I can see skin through a pea-sized tear at my hip. I hope Randy doesn’t notice. After the sports bra and the old University of Guelph shirt with bleach stains on it, I pull on my hoodie. I’d like to say this is an improvement over my T-shirt. It’s not. I finger-comb my hair—no brush, of course. I’m a hot mess today.
I jam everything into my bag, aware that I’m taking a long time. I half expect to find Randy waiting for me in the hall. I’m actually a little surprised he didn’t end up in here with me. As I round the corner to find him, I run into someone I definitely don’t want to see.
“Benny!” I step out of the way before we end up in a head-on collision. Benny is Benji’s older brother. They’re only a year apart, and they could almost pass for twins. I have no idea what his parents were thinking naming them something so similar.
“Hey, Lily. How’s it going?” He’s laden with heavy-looking boxes.
“Uh, good.” I look over his shoulder, past him. “I didn’t know you were still working here.”
“I picked up a couple of shifts this week ’cause they needed some help. You look—” He glances at my horrible outfit. “Well.”
“Thanks. You, too.” This is so awkward.
“So I’m guessing it’s done for real this time with Benji, eh?”
I knew the question was coming. I haven’t seen Benny since before the camping trip.
“Yeah, it is.”
He nods. He looks like he’s about to say something, but his walkie goes off. “Shit. I gotta go. They need these upstairs, like, ten minutes ago. Guess I’ll see you around.” He gives me a weak smile and hurries off.
I heave a sigh of relief that there wasn’t more to that conversation. Eventually I’m going to have to get my stuff back from Benji, but that’s not my concern right now. There’s a seriously hot hockey player waiting for me.
Randy’s still talking to parents when I return to the rink. Now he’s discussing something with a dad whose son, who can’t be more than eight, is staring up at Randy like he’s a god. I totally understand the feeling from a very different perspective.
Randy smiles at me, then looks back at the dad and kid. “It’s been nice meeting you, but we gotta head out. You keep it up, buddy, and I’ll see you in the pros in a few years, hey?” He holds out his fist, and the kid bumps it, his smile toothy.
Once they’re gone, he turns to me. “Wanna get outta here?”
“Sure.”
He slips a finger under my backpack strap and lifts it from my shoulder. “Let me take that for you.”
I’ve got two bags and a purse, so I let him be a gentleman. That’s the heavy one anyway, and it’s sweet of him to offer.
“You guys played amazing last night. That was an awesome goal you scored.”
“You watched?”
“I saw the highlights reel. I was at work until late.”
“Right.” He nods. “I wish you coulda been there. We woulda had a good time last night.” His grin is lascivious.
I hold in a shiver of anticipation. I sure hope today we get to have the same amount of fun, although I assume the post-win high must make for some incredible sex. Fingers crossed I get to enjoy that sometime in the future. Casually, of course.