Vale Campbell... pretty as hell and nice to look at but I dread having to hang out with her. That's because she's one of the assistant athletic trainers for the Cold Fury and most importantly, working with me on my strength and conditioning. She would most certainly say Snickers, Cheeze-It's and Mountain Dew are not on my approved list and then she'd have me doing burpees, mountain climbers and box jumps until I puked.
So I won't tell her about this little cheat and I'll gladly take whatever she hands out to me during training camp. I'm committed to going into this season as strong as I have ever been, and I'm going to get the coveted starting goalie position which became available when Ryker Evans announced his retirement this summer. The Cold Fury is a championship team and I smell another one in the making. Not about to let two major injuries in as many years get me down.
No, I'm coming back with a vengeance and a need to prove myself to my team and fans.
Watch out hockey world... Max Fournier is back.
Pulling the door to the convenience store open, I immediately see two guys at the cooler checking out the stock of beer. Both wearing wife beaters stained with grease and faded ball caps. I, myself, pull my own hat down further to hide my face, as I don't feel like getting recognized tonight. It's late, I want to get my junk food and get gone. We've got an early morning practice tomorrow.
I turn right down the first aisle which houses the chips and other such snacks, slightly aware the other two customers are heading to the counter to check out. I keep my back to them just to be safe and peruse the options.
Funyons.
Potato chips.
Doritos.
Corn nuts.
Reaching for a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, I hear one of the guys drawl in a typical North Carolina redneck accent, "Hey sweet thang. How 'bout a pack of Marlboro Reds and how 'bout handing me that there box of condoms. The extra large size."
The redneck's companion snickers, and then snorts. I turn slightly to see them both shoot conspiratorial grins at each other and one guy nudges the other guy to egg him on. While the clerk turns to get the condoms, the redneck leans across the counter and stares blatantly at her ass. The other guy says loud enough that I hear, so I know the woman hears, "Mmmmm... that is a fine ass."
Turning my body full so I face the counter, I see the woman's back stiffen and she turns her face to the left to look at a closed doorway beside the rack that holds all of the cigarettes. I'm wondering if perhaps a manager or another employee is in there, and she's hoping for some help.
But she doesn't wait and turns to face the two assholes, squaring her shoulders.
And goddamn... she's breathtaking. Looking past the polyester red and gold vest she wears with a name tag--clearly a uniform--her face is flawless. Creamy skin that glows, high cheekbones, a straight nose that tilts slightly at the end, and a sexy as hell mouth that I bet would be full and lush were her lips not flattened in a grimace. Her hair is not blond, but not brown. I'd describe it as caramel with honey streaks and it's pulled back from her face in a ponytail with a low fall of bangs falling from left to right across her forehead.
While she faces the two men resolutely, I can see wariness in her eyes as she sets the cigarettes and condoms on the counter in front of them. "Will that be all?"
Her voice has a southern accent but it's subtle. She looks back and forth between the two men, refusing to lower her gaze.
Redneck number one nods to the twelve-pack of beer he had previously placed there and said, "That was the last of the Coors. You got any in your storage room?"
"Nope, that's it," she says firmly and I can tell it's a lie.
"Are ya sure?" he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter and leering at her. "Maybe you could check... I could help you if you want, and we could make use of them condoms there."
I'd roll my eyes over the absurdity of that attempt to woo a girl that is way out his league, but I'm too tense over the prospect that this could be more than just some harmless goofing by some drunk rednecks.
"What do you say, sweet thang?" he says in what he tries to pass as a suave voice but comes off as trailer trash.
"I say there's no more beer back there," she grits out, gives a look over her shoulder to the closed door, and then back to the men.
And that was a worried look.
A very worried look, so I decide that this isn't going any further. Grabbing the closest bag of chips my hands make contact with, I stalk up the aisle toward the counter as I pull my hat off with my other hand. I tuck it in my back pocket and when I'm just a few feet from the men, the woman's eyes flick to me, relief evident in her gaze. I smile at her reassuringly and drop my eyes down to her name tag.
Julianne.
Pretty name for a really pretty girl.
The sounds of my footsteps finally penetrate and both men straighten to their full height which is still a few inches below mine, and turn my way. My eyes go to the first man, then move slowly to the other, leveling them both with an ice-cold glare. With the power of my gaze, I dare both of them to say something else to the beauty behind the counter.
Because I suspect the only sports these guys watch are bass fishing tournaments and NASCAR, I'm not surprised neither one recognizes me as a goalie with the Carolina Cold Fury. Clearly the lovely Julianne doesn't either, but that's also fine by me.
The sound of fingers tapping on the cash register catches everyone's attention and the two men turn back to her. "That will be $19.86."
One of the guys pulls a wallet out of the back pocket of his saggy jeans and nabs a twenty out, handing it to her wordlessly. Now that they know there's an audience, neither one seems to be intent on continuing the crass game they were playing. At least I think that was a game but I'm just glad I was here in case their intents were more nefarious.
Julianne hands the guy the change and they gather their purchases and leave without a word.
As soon as the door closes, her shoulders drop and she lets out a sigh of relief. Giving me a weak smile, she looks at the bag in my hand and says, "Is that all?"
"Uh, no actually," I say as I give her a sheepish grin. "Got distracted by those assholes. I need a few more things."
"Yeah," she agrees in a tired voice, brushing her long bangs back before turning away from me to an open cardboard box she has sitting on a stool to her left. She reaches in, pulls out a carton of cigarettes which she efficiently opens and starts stocking the rack of cigarettes behind the counter. I'm effectively dismissed and there's no doubt in my mind she doesn't know who I am.
I head back down the chips aisle, take a bag of Corn Nuts and continue straight back to the sodas. I grab a Mountain Dew, never once considering the diet option because that would totally destroy the point of having a junk food night, and then head straight to the candy aisle. Two Snickers in my hand and I'm set.
When I get to the counter, she must hear my approach as she turns around with the same tired smile. Walking to the register, her eyes drop to the items that I set on the counter, robotically punching in the price of each one. I watch her delicate fingers work the keys, taking in her slumped shoulders as she rings in the last item and raises those eyes back to me.
They're golden... well, a light brown actually but so light as to appear like a burnished gold.
A piercing shriek comes from behind the closed door, so sharp and high pitched that it actually makes my teeth hurt. I also practically jump out of my skin, the noise was so unexpected.
The woman... Julianne according to that name tag... does nothing more than close her eyes, lower her head and let out a pained sigh. It's such an agonized motion that for a brief moment, I want to reach out and squeeze her shoulder in sympathy, but I have to clue for what I'm empathizing because I don't know what that unholy sound was. I open my mouth to ask her if she's okay when the closed door beside the cigarette rack flies open and a tiny blur comes flying out.
No more than three feet high, followed by another blur of the same size.
Another piercing shriek from within that room, this time louder because the door is now opened and for a terrible moment I think someone must have been murdered. I even take a step to the side, intent on rounding the counter.
Julianne moves lightning fast, reaching her hands out and snagging each tiny blur by the collars. When they're brought to a full halt, I see it's two little boys, both with light brown hair and equally light brown eyes. One holds a baby doll in his hands and the other holds what looks to be a truck made of Legos.
Looking at me with apology filled eyes, she says, "I'm so sorry. This will only take a second."
With firm but gentle hands, she turns the little boys toward the room and pushes them inside, disappearing behind them. Immediately I hear a horrible crash, another shriek and the woman I know to be named Julianne curses loudly, "Son of a bitch."
One more screech from what I'm thinking might be a psychotic pterodactyl and my feet are moving without thought. I round the edge of the counter, step behind it and head toward the door. When I step over the threshold, I take in a small room set up to be a combo office/break room. Small desk along one wall covered with papers, another wall with a counter, sink and mini fridge under, and a card table with rusty legs and four folding metal chairs.
It also suddenly becomes clear what manner of creature was making that noise that rivaled nails on chalkboard.
A little girl, smaller than the boys, is tied to one of the chairs with what looks like masking tape wrapped several times around her and the chair, coming across the middle of her stomach. Her legs are free, and the crash was apparently a stack of toys she had managed to knock off the top of the table.