Chapter Text
Eight minutes. That was all it took. Sameen could get all her gear, including her skates, on and laced up in exactly eight minutes and be on the ice. She usually didn't even get into the dressing room until about 10 minutes before the start of a game. That way she didn't have to listen to the pre-game bullshit and she sure didn't have to talk to anyone. That's how she liked to do things and no one else seemed to mind much.
She knew a few of the other women on her team but not too well, and that was how she liked that too. Every now and then, they'd go out for a beer after a game and someone would start chatting her up, staring into her dark eyes, asking her what she did. They'd usually tell her what they did first, which was boring as hell.
Then the prying would start.
"So, what do you do?"
"I'm a professional assassin."
That would shut them up. Or else they'd laugh. And try again.
"No, really. What do you do?"
"I'm in the numbers game."
"Oh, you're an accountant then."
"Nope. More like risk management."
Then she'd smile just a tiny bit and take another swig of her beer, slam her hand down on her car keys while scraping her chair backwards on the floor, stand up and say goodbye. Nice talking to you.
Sameen didn't really like talking, unless it was necessary. She was more into action and not wasting time with inconsequential banter. She realized some people found her aloof but she didn't really care.
Tonight she was anxious to get out on the ice and mix it up a bit. The team they were playing was known for being dirty and trash-mouthed and she couldn't wait to smack down their center Martine. The last time they'd played, Martine had slashed Sameen in the calf and got away with it. Sameen barely felt it but wanted to repay the favor post-haste.
During the warm-up, Sameen noticed her team's goaltender was not in her usual spot between the pipes, so she skated over to the bench to find out what was up.
"Where's Barb?" she asked. Her team's goaltender wasn't that good but she was rather large and could fill up most of the net. While Sameen often wished her team had a better goalie, Barb was better than nothing. And if she didn't show up soon, someone else would have to put on the pads and fill in for her. It was not going to be Sameen.
"She's sick," came the answer. "Food poisoning." Sameen clenched her jaw in irritation. "That's just great," she snapped. "We have no goalie."
She looked across the ice to where her line-mate Gina was talking to the ref. Gina soon skated over and stopped next to Sameen.
"The goalie from the game before ours has offered to fill in. She's already dressed."
"OK, good, let's get going," Sameen replied and skated off to center ice to wait for the first face-off. Sure enough, there was Martine lining up across from her, with a nasty smirk on her face. Sameen couldn't wait to wipe it off.
"Where's your fat-ass goalie?" Martine hissed acidly. "Did she choke on a cheeseburger?"
Sameen was just about to reply when she heard the gate slam shut and spied Barb's substitute heading to the net. She was tall and slender and nothing like Barb at all. She also seemed to be a pretty good skater, which was another plus. So far so good. Before turning around to face Martine again, Sameen noticed the goalie's long brown, wavy hair flying out behind her as she glided to her spot. She must have stared a little too long because the referee barked at her to turn around.
"C'mon let's go," someone else shouted and banged her stick on the ice. Soon the puck was dropped and Sameen was off, skating circles around Martine and deftly controlling the puck as she spun her way through the defence. A few seconds later the puck was in the net and Sameen's team was celebrating.
The game was rough and scrappy and Sameen was in her element. She had Martine chasing her most of the time, but managed to avoid any slashes or body checks from the taller woman. By the end of the first period, Sameen's team was up 4-0.
Sameen grabbed her water bottle and sat down on the bench as the new goalie skated over.
"Nice save," Sameen said, as the woman pulled off her mask and helmet.
"Thanks," came the reply. "You're not so bad yourself." She tossed her head, causing a cascade of hair to tumble down to her shoulders. She smiled, then tossed her head again to flip a lock of hair out of her eyes.
Sameen found herself rather disarmed by the gesture but made an effort not to smile in return. Was she just imagining it, or was that head toss meant to be flirtatious? The woman continued to look her in the eye, holding her gaze. Sameen looked away, embarrassed.
"What's your name?" the goalie asked. Her eyes were soft and brown and her voice light as air.
"Sameen," she replied, still not meeting the other woman's gaze.
"You can call me Root," the woman said before replacing her mask and skating off.
The goalie named Root made some pretty impressive saves during the remainder of the game, managing to cover both sides of the net extremely well and proving herself quite capable of keeping the other team's players out of her crease. She was quick, lithe and just as good with her stick hand as she was with her glove. Sameen watched her, trying not to show her interest, but feeling an odd kind of excitement at the display of agility. She figured Root was probably ambidextrous. She found herself thinking Root was probably pretty good at some other things too.
Sameen ended the game with four goals and two assists and Root had a shut-out. Martine was pissed.
"You got lucky," she spat as she pretended to shake Sameen's hand afterwards.
"Funny how that always happens when we play you guys," Sameen replied, before heading to the dressing room.
Once inside, Sameen stripped off her gear and walked to the shower. She walked past Root, who had her helmet, mask and gloves off but was otherwise still dressed as she sat resting on the bench. Several of the other women were sitting and standing around her, laughing and talking happily about the game. They seemed drawn to Root's easy, outgoing manner as well as her obvious physical attributes.
Sameen said nothing as she stepped into the shower, then turned and noticed Root staring directly at her. Sameen met Root's gaze, expecting her to look away, but to her shock, she moved her eyes up and down Sameen's body as though appraising a shiny new sports car.
Sameen glared back angrily. But Root seemed not to notice, calmly continuing her assessment before finally meeting the eyes of her subject with a smile and then turning away to speak with another woman at her side.
Stunned by this shameless display, Sameen pulled the curtain across the rod and turned back around. How dare she stare like that. She began soaping up, then turned around again to make sure the curtain was completely across. She suspected that if there were any gaps, Root would be trying to get a look at her ass. Who the hell did this woman think she was?
She finished her shower, grabbed her towel and walked back to where her clothes were, dressing quickly and refusing to look Root's way. Once outside the dressing room, she paused, unsure of what to do next.
Should she confront this person about her presumptuous behaviour? Sameen bit her bottom lip as she thought it over. That was probably what Root wanted. She was likely a drama queen who needed attention.
Players were spilling out of the dressing room now, talking about going to the bar for a drink. Did Sameen want to come along? She shook her head.
She waited for about 10 minutes but Root did not come out. She's still in there, probably not even undressed yet, Sameen huffed to herself. What the hell is she doing in there? How long does it take to get changed, anyway? Sameen wondered if Root was showering and washing her hair. Maybe she was blow-drying it like a princess. She huffed again. For God's sake.
Sameen marched over to the door and straight-armed it, heading inside. She was going to make sure this Root person understood her boundaries, if she had to shove them down her throat. She pictured herself grabbing Root by the neck and forcing her up against the wall, hearing the other woman's desperate gasps for air as she covered Sameen's hands with her own.
But when she got inside, there was no one left in there. Root was gone and so was her equipment bag, her stick and all her other stuff. Sameen looked around, confused. When had she left? Why didn't she see her leave? She shook her head, then grabbed her stuff and went home, thoughts of the tall, slender woman tangling together in her mind as a dull ache burned within her, somewhere lower.