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Oh, I found Mehmet at a wrestling meet. He’s an exchange student from Turkey who loves wrestling. English is his second language, so he never dreamed of reporting. I have to edit his pieces, but his authentic voice comes through loud and clear.

I didn’t even know we had a wrestling team, says Ethan.

Andy smiles. Mehmet is the opposite. Wrestling is such a huge sport in his country that he can’t believe that hockey is bigger here.

All of us laugh at that idea.

Is everyone on the team happier with the hockey coverage now? she asks.

Sure, we’re happy. Right, guys? asks Mats, and everyone nods. Jacob knows hockey better than anyone, except maybe the coaches.

Neko stalks in, tail in the air. She sniffs Andy’s ankle.

Oh, hello. You guys have a cat? This is like a real home. She reaches down and pets Neko, who purrs loudly then snakes through her legs.

Mats volunteers at the shelter in St. Viola, I explain.

Your house is a lot nicer than I expected, Andy says.

This is only the B house, Swanny explains. The A house is next door, and it’s even bigger.

The game’s starting, says Ethan. Mats excuses himself to do homework, but Neko chooses to sit on my lap for the game. Andy pets her, and I can’t ignore how close her hand is coming to my cock. A guy can dream.

Wow. Not just one hockey expert, but four, she comments.

You better believe it, says Bergy. You’re going to leave here full of hockey knowledge.

Hashtag goals. I suspect that Andy is being sarcastic, but on the other hand, she’s already picked up tons more about hockey. I figure I’ve got about a month left until she doesn’t need me anymore.

You sure you don’t want a drink? Not a beer, but maybe a… I scramble to figure out what Andy would like. A cup of tea?

Fancy a nice cuppa? Ethan mocks in a British falsetto.

I’m fine, thanks. Andy pulls out her trusty notebook and one of the black pens she favours. When she settles back in, her thigh rests warmly against mine.

If you’re getting drinks, I’d like a beer, says Bergy.

Don’t see a piano tied to your leg. There’s no way I’m leaving this couch while Andy’s pressed up to me.

We watch the puck drop. Tonight’s game is the Minnesota Wild vs. the Calgary Flames. I chose it because the Wild are favoured to win, and it’s always more fun if the team we’re cheering for wins. I’m actually a San Jose Sharks fan myself, but I’m willing to switch allegiances for tonight.

Have you guys all been to an NHL game? Andy asks.

Everyone’s eager to share their experiences.

Swanny attended his first game when he was only a baby.

His parents took him to a Wild game with those giant ear protectors on.

Ethan went to a Colorado Avalanche game when he was ten, and Bergy’s first game was the Wild last year.

You’d never gone to a game before that? Swanny asks.

Nope. My dad was too cheap to take us. It was on my bucket list when I moved here, so I waited until they were playing my team—the Blackhawks. And it was fucking amazing. The arena is so beautiful, and the players were so fucking good.

Just then, the Wild score, and everyone cheers. I use the replay to show Andy how the goal happened.

Right there, Jones skates into the path of the defenceman. That gives the puck carrier a little more room to set up a play. I replay the replay so she can see it slowed down.

Ethan tsks. Shoulda been an interference penalty.

I shake my head. It’s subtle. Ref’d have to be really sure.

More likely to get called when there’s a goal, though. The Flames coach is going ballistic, says Swanny. We watch as the coach yells at the ref, who only skates away.

I’ll never remember all the penalties, sighs Andy. I’ve even got a rule book now.

Don’t worry. There are only about ten that get called regularly, I say.

And most of them say exactly what they are. Like tripping, says Swanny, making the swooping motion with his hand.

Wait, there are hand motions too? Her voice rises in panic.

Relax. Most people don’t know those. I pat Andy on the thigh. Her leg feels warm and firm. I close my eyes and imagine gently parting her thighs, pulling down her silky panties, and getting a chance to—

Score, yells Bergy.

Already? My eyes fly open and I watch a beautiful coast-to-coast play by the Wild’s defenceman. That’s my favourite kind of goal to score—even though it’s showboating, it’s so much fun.

Unfortunately for the Flames, it’s not their night. The team looks flat and slow, possibly because they played in Winnipeg the night before.

When the Wild score their fifth unanswered goal, Andy comments, It doesn’t appear that hard to score in this league.

The four of us stare at her, slack-jawed.

What? she asks.

The NHL is the toughest league in the world, Swanny says.

And the Flames are on the second of a back-to-back, says Bergy.

Andy giggles. Sounds dirty.

Of course, that immediately has me picturing Andy’s naked back as I take her from behind. I blink and try to clear my dirty mind.

Like to see you score a goal, scoffs Ethan.

Well, I’m not a hockey player. But the Wild seem to be scoring at will, she says.

Ethan scowls at me. Educate your woman.

I’m not a possession, and certainly not Jack’s. She doesn’t sound angry, more like she’s setting the record straight. Of course, she’s right, but there’s no need to remind her. These Unger guys are ruining my life.

She stands up, and I immediately miss her warmth. This game seems to be decided, so I think I’ll get going now. Thanks for all the info.

No problem. Feel free to come over anytime, especially with cookies, Bergy offers.

I walk into the front hall with Andy. As I put on my coat, she looks at me curiously. What are you doing?

I’m going to walk you home, I say.

You don’t have to do that. Our campus is very safe. I walk around at night all the time.

I want to. Andy is so cute I can’t believe she doesn’t get hassled constantly. Besides, I like spending time with her.

She frowns. It’s so unnecessary.

Instead of arguing, since she would win any debate, I say nothing and put my shoes on. It’s cold outside, and as I shut the door behind us, Andy shivers and pulls on a toque. I wish I could wrap an arm around her to keep her warm. We start off down the street.

Can I ask you something? I begin.

You’re already doing it, she says.

The sports section is humming along now. But are you unhappy that you don’t get to cover the hockey games anymore? Andy seemed to want to keep writing, even though she was doing a crappy job.

Wow, I can’t believe you picked up on that. She gives me a look that’s almost…admiring. You’re very perceptive.

Not this guy, I scoff. However, I did notice that you’re avoiding my question.

She smiles. Oh, it’s kind of selfish. Of course it’s better to have experts write the sports coverage. And I really enjoy editing. But right now I’m not writing anything at all, so I have nothing new to show prospective employers.

That’s too bad. You’re such a good writer, I reply.

She looks up at me from under those long lashes. You know, I’m not sure that a few pages of my journal are a fair evaluation of my writing skills.

I could read a few more entries and then decide? I offer. Maybe I’ve even been featured in her journal. Then I could find out what she thinks of me now. Or maybe that’s too dangerous.

Andy’s laugh cuts through the chilly night air. Dream on.

We walk in a comfortable silence, leaves crunching beneath our feet.

Actually, I’ve read every story you’ve written for the Messenger , I say.

Now I have her full attention. Really? That’s surprising.

They were all interesting, and I could see your writing getting stronger. At first, Andy’s stories were short and more factual. Her later opinion pieces were the best—original and challenging.

Oh, thanks, Jack, she replies softly.

We turn onto the main boulevard that cuts through the Monarch campus. With the stone buildings lit up, it looks like the setting for a picturesque college movie. And we’re the main characters. Once in a while we brush up against each other, and I feel the warmth of her body against mine.

Andy is deep in thought, but eventually says, I have this idea.

What if I wrote profiles on some of the school’s athletes?

I heard about this player on the women’s hockey team who suffered a serious injury last season and she’s been rehabbing for almost a year.

That could be inspiring to read about. And maybe there are players on your team with human interest stories too.

I’m sure there are. But no one on my team comes to mind right away. Let me ask around and get back to you.

It’s okay, Jack. That’s the kind of research I like to do myself. But what do you think of the idea? She watches closely for my reaction.

It’s a fantastic idea. I enjoy reading about athletes. And I think fans would love it. It gives them a more personal reason to support the team, a deeper connection.

She nods. I got the idea from those sports writers you and Mats suggested to me. I think I’ll give it a try.

Now we’re at the steps of Humphrey Hall. Before she can say goodbye, I ask, Can you skate?

Well, not to your level, but sure.

I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. How about a hockey lesson at ice level?

She scowls. Is this about ‘educating your woman’? Because I’m not here for that sexist B.S.

Of course not. It’s about being the best sports editor the Messenger has ever had. You’ll learn a lot out there. It’s also about getting her on the ice with me in a kind of stealth date. The rink is the one place I feel most at home.

She considers my offer, then nods. Okay. Let’s do it. Message me the details. See you later. Then she runs up the steps and into her residence.

Once she’s safely inside, I do my fist-pumping goal celly. I’m definitely making progress with Andy.