By the fourth time Crosby has hung up on him, Alex has to admit that this has gone from funny to, frankly, a little hurtful.

"The biceps peeking out of the sleeves, stretching the material thin and tight, are a lot more impressive than Geno remembers. He would have remembered if Sid had arms like that."

By the fourth time Crosby has hung up on him, Alex has to admit that this has gone from funny to, frankly, a little hurtful.

And of course, because Sharpy is the most ill-mannered Canadian ever, he opens up the newspaper like he doesn't have the most entertaining thing in Chicago across the table from him anyway. He's totally pretending to read it, just to make Patrick salty, but two can play at that game, so he snatches the Sunday inserts out of the folds, smirking at Sharpy. But he glances down and staring up at him, looking like, all of eighteen and strangely soft and sweet is Jonathan fucking Toews.

Sid didn’t introduce himself in the hallway, and he certainly doesn’t assume that people know who he is. So it would only be polite to thank Malkin again, this time more personally. He could write him a letter. An email? No, a letter.

“Vancouver!” Sid turns and shouts at the last second as she goes through the doors. “Vancouver!” Geno yells back. (Sochi timestamp.)

"Frankly, it’s a miracle that the house is finished- carpet in place, furniture assembled, decorative hand towels on the racks- and Sid really can’t help being proud. And if that translates into telling everyone he can convince to stay still for longer than thirty seconds, he’s sorry, but not that sorry."

"What are you saying?" Johnny says slowly, because this sounds like she's trying to pick him up, which is impossible, because if Kaner has one concrete rule, it's ‘anyone but teammates.’ "We can help each other out here," Kaner suggests, crossing her legs in her too-short skirt. "That's all. Two friends helping each other out in a dry spell. You're free to do whatever. It wouldn't be a big deal."