Chelsea Curto

For the girls who don’t only like to read about sports, but like to play them too.

(And for the girlies who love to see the six-foot-four NHL captain get on his knees and beg like a good boy–Maverick Miller is for you)

That’s because you’re prickly, not because you’re a woman. You’re my little cactus.”

If she’s the sunshine, I’m the storm cloud

There’s still time to walk away, sweetheart.”

Given them a lesson on what hockey should look like, because she’s the gold fucking standard.

A smile—the tiniest, faintest smile I’ve ever seen—pulls at her lips, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world.

I want to set off a confetti cannon. Hang a banner from the rafters of the Civic Center that says I MADE EMERSON HARTWELL SMILE. Put it on a T-shirt and wear it around town.

Look at you. You’re already learning things about me

Says the guy who follows people around like a lost dog.”

“I’m just looking for an owner I guess.”

Right between the eyes. Every time.”

“Atta girl,”

“Pardon my language, but that’s not going to fucking fly around here. Treat my teammates with respect, or I’ll make sure we remove your press access for the foreseeable future. You can watch games on channel 5, not from the cushy media box, asshat.”