other apps. For FF, I’ve never played with real people I know. So now that we’ve gone head-to-head . . . it’s fun. The other games are a huge time suck.
GW: I hear ya. I don’t have extra time during playoff/championship season—except for when I have nothing to do between games. So this has worked out.
ME: I stopped in to watch Mimi’s practice last night, but you weren’t there.
GW: Refereeing in Stillwater. I swear I could ref games 24/7 this week. They’d have me do it too, if they could get away with it.
ME: But you enjoy it?
GW: Not as much as coaching.
ME: Are any Lakeside teams good enough to play in any championship games?
GW: No. But I’m prepping my teams for a consolation tourney that all teams that didn’t make the finals can play in. If Jax wants club teams that are competitive, he’ll have to make some staffing decisions. Soon.
ME: Can you help him with that?
GW: If he asks. He’s got other things on his mind. And I just work for him, Nolan. I’ve got no skin in the game at Lakeside.
ME: That sounds ominous.
GW: It wasn’t meant to. I’m just tired.
ME: Of hockey?
GW: Never. Okay. That’s a lie. Some days I wonder where I’d be in my life and my career if I would’ve taken a job outside of hockey after I graduated from college.
ME: Gabi, babe. You wouldn’t be you.
GW: Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
ME: Rough day?
GW: Yeah.
ME: What can I do?
GW: I don’t suppose you own a beachfront house in Hawaii I could rent out?
ME: Nope.
GW: Story of my life.
ME: Seriously, are you okay?
GW: I am, Nolan. And thank you for asking. I’m just a little punchy tonight.
ME: For what it’s worth, everyone questions their career choices.
GW: Even billionaire tycoons?
ME: ESPECIALLY offspring of billionaire tycoons who aren’t 100% sure of their place in the family biz.
GW: Does it make me a jerk if I admit I’m happy to hear that it isn’t always I LOVE MY JOB with you either?
ME: No. It makes things real between us. So when the time comes that we need to vent, or even discuss changes, we both know we’ve got someone we can rely on for an honest opinion.
GW: I concur.
ME: Hilarious since that’s the word you beat me with.
GW:
ME: Get some rest.
GW: Back atcha.
FRIDAY NIGHT
ME: I’m home, mindlessly flipping through channels, when I land on one of those bachelor/bachelorette-type reality shows. I never watch them. Not even secretly.
GW: Okay. And you’re telling me this . . . why?
ME: Patience, Welk. So these two characters go on a date and the topic question they pull from the magic coconut is . . . Tell me something about yourself that nobody knows.
GW: Umm, coming from someone who watches those shows without apology, that is a standard question.
ME: I’ve dated a lot, like more than is healthy probably, and I’ve NEVER had a date ask me that. So I don’t get the reasoning behind it. To build drama?
GW: No, I think it’s an exercise in trust.
ME: But if I haven’t told anyone about it, why would I be inclined to tell a stranger . . . in front of a camera . . . on TV? That is the opposite of trust.
GW: What I’m getting from your confusion is that you have a deep, dark secret you’ve been dying to tell someone, and you’re wondering if I’m interested in being your confessor.
ME: I am not.
GW: R2
ME: D2
GW: Dork
ME: I hate shorthand texting.
GW: You can’t mean emojis because we both use the shit out of them.
ME: Bet your middle finger emoji is your most used.
GW: That one and the booze ones. Especially tonight.
ME: Getting your drink on?
GW: Made myself a vodka cranberry when I got home and I went a leeeeettle heavy on the V.
ME: So you’re my drunken confessor?
GW: You’re really gonna tell me a Nolan nugget no one knows?
ME: Eww. That sounded gross.
GW: I’ll rephrase.
Nothing for two minutes.
ME: Welk, you there?
GW: I had to pee. Now where were we?
ME: I was about to sign off and leave you in your cups.
GW: No! I wanna know your secret. Pleeeeeaaassseeee?
ME: Strictly confidential?
GW: Scout’s honor.
I seriously doubted she’d been a Girl Scout.
ME: In seventh grade I took a zero on an algebra test after the teacher caught me “cheating” looking at Amber Mahoney’s paper. I never told anyone that I wasn’t looking at Amber’s paper, I was looking down her shirt.