Unfortunately, it necessitated a rewrite of the beginning. LOL. I laugh because this is my M.O. I start and restart and restart my books. Such is the life of a writer who plots as she goes. Here's the new opening...
The San Diego Barracudas
reload with Locke, Stoccetti and Barringer, but will they be shooting blanks
this season? Marc Stoccetti left the Oilers under a cloud, but Coach Marchand
thinks the seasoned center still has some pow left in him. Personally, I’m not
sure. All three of these guys are on the far side of their prime, but Lord
knows the Barracudas are a young team in need of strong, experienced
leadership.
--Breakaway Baby, a hockey
blog
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
Marco Stocchetti was jogging on the treadmill with his two good
friends in the Barracuda's workout room. Christian Barringer had asked the question.
“I was ten,” Marc said.
Simon Locke, captain of the team, laughed. “The fuck you
were.”
Marc chuckled. “All right. I was sixteen.”
Barringer nodded. “Hey, I was sixteen, too. Marissa Clairmont.” He
sighed. “What sweet fucking pussy she had. I swear to God it tasted like peach
pie.”
“I lost my cherry to Alison Chase,” Marc said. “In the back of her
car.”
“Oh yeah? What did she taste
like?” Barringer asked.
Marc shrugged. “I never went down on her,” he admitted. “But her
mouth always tasted like Big Red gum.”
Barringer nodded as he adjusted the speed on his machine. “There was an old lady on
my street when I was a kid who gave out Big Red on Halloween. You’d knock on
her door and she’d give you one stick. That pissed me off so bad. I used to
think she was cheap, but now I realize she was probably just on a
fixed income.” Barringer sighed. “Maybe I should look her up. See if she needs
some money.”
Locke cleared his throat. “If you two are done with your stroll
down memory lane, I’d like to get back to the matter at hand. You can’t have
the number sixteen,” he said to Marc. “That’s Carpenter’s number.”
“Shit.”
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