Leclanché ducked into the room, waving goodbye to someone outside. When he saw Blair, his mustached face lit up with a shit-eating grin.
"Boyer! My pancake!" The big redhead plodded over to him, walking carefully on the blades of his skates.
A few of the guys nearby chuckled, all of them in various stages of undress.
"Leclanché! My... crepe!" Blair tried.
Across the room, Conrad gave him a thumbs down.
Blair continued to wiggle out of his clothes. He heard the word "pancake" several times as he did so, but he willfully tuned it out. Hockey players could never let a single thing go. Ever. In their lives.
The door swung open again, revealing the now-familiar looming bulk of their new Russian acquisition. He'd removed his helmet, finally giving
Blair a good look at him.
