Page 10 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “I don’t want to take anyone, but a lot of the guys feel like they should—especially after what happened to you at the last—”
“I get it. If you don’t want to, don’t take a date.” My gut clenches, realizing Iwillbe taking a date—the last thing I would ordinarily do. And my date is going to be the last sort of woman I would normally go for. Shit.
“Good. We can both go dateless. Play each other’s wingman.”
I grunt. “Like that helped me last time.”
“Fuck. Sorry about that. I was busy. You know.” He looks pained so I let him off the hook.
“Not your fault. It’s not like you were supposed to watch me every second.” It would have been nice if he’d cut in and danced with Mrs. Boylston before I was forced to get blunt with her. But neither of us expected she’d be so vindictive and no one except my best buds would believe that I didn’t force myself on her like she claims. Especially not her fucking husband.
Now I’m stuck with Vivian Frost, a naive little college geek, to babysit—though I know she thinks she’s babysitting me. Maybe I should give the scenario a test drive. Run it by Aiden. See what he thinks.
“What if I met someone and she turns out to be special?” I say.
Stopping mid-bite, he stares. “You’re shitting me, right?”
If Aiden thinks I’m pulling a joke, I know I have my work cut out for me. I shake my head.
“Never mind.” I can’t bring myself to get into it now. I have a week to figure it out.
He’s sufficiently distracted by the food, because it’s fucking delicious, and because there’s nothing Aiden loves more than Italian food. I think that’s why he suggested keeping the roommate situation permanent, because the North End of Boston is famous for its Italian food. I agreed because it cuts my bills in half and because, truthfully, I don’t like living alone.
* * *
The pads feellight today as I skate onto the ice to the home team net. It’s a good sign that we’ll win. My muscles are ready and primed for fast response times. I’ll need to react like lightning to stop Parker and the New Jersey Devils, currently our prime competition in the race to the playoffs. If we can beat them tonight, we pass them in the standings and get a first-round bye.
Moving side to side, I drag my skates across the crease, scraping the ice in preparation for the game. When I’m finished and my teammates come by and tap my pads before warm-up drills, I find myself looking into the stands, to where my guest tickets are, but I don’t see her. She’s not here. Mary isn’t here either in her usual spot a row behind the bench.
The blip of nerves I feel as we line up for the anthem has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with meeting up with Vivian fucking Frost—what a name—after the game. I’m looking forward to it like a sentencing for a crime. Fuck. I can’t let her or this situation divert me from having a perfect game, a shut-out tonight. Nothing less will do.
Three periods later and unfortunately the shut-out didn’t happen. But I made enough saves to let only one goal in and we win two to one. We’re congratulating each other on a great game as we head to the locker room, sweaty, tired, and energized all at once.
“I’m famished more than thirsty,” Aiden says to O’Rourke, who says beers at The Fours are on him.
“They have food too,” O’Rourke says. “You getting picky when it’s a free beer suddenly?”
“Free food, too? I’m in.” Aiden slaps my back as I lumber by him to my locker, unstrapping the unwieldy pads as I go, carrying my mask in one hand. “Sounds good, eh?” he says to me. “We can order steak on fucking moneybags O’Rourke.” Then he calls out for everyone to hear, “O’Rourke is playing to get a dish named after him on The Fours Hall of Fame Menu.” Laughs smatter around the room. O’Rourke gives Aiden the finger with a grin. Aiden grins back like he just got a gold star from the teacher.
I grunt as I sit and start the task of undressing. I make quick work of it because I can do it in my sleep after so many years. The guys like to give O’Rourke shit about all his money and fame, but truth is I admire him. In addition to being a kick-ass center, best in the league, he’s built himself an empire with promotions and business investments. He’s where I want to be. Except he’s engaged to be married for real.
“You in, Reed?” O’Rourke asks me. I don’t know why he’s singling me out. Shit. Maybe he can sense my hesitation. Several pairs of eyes are on me now. Maybe they’re all sensing my relative lack of enthusiasm because I’m usually the first to jump on the bandwagon for beers after the game.
“Not tonight,” I say. Leave it at that.
“What the fuck?” Aiden says. O’Rourke raises his brows and lets me alone with a speculative glance. Whatever he suspects me of, he doesn’t say. Though how could he or anyone suspect anything is up? No reason. I haven’t showed up with a serious date yet. When I do, they’ll know the world has gone to shit, because that has never happened. I’m the most confirmed fucking bachelor in this locker room, giving any and every guy with a girl shit about their own dates. Including O’Rourke when he announced his engagement.Fuck.
I’m down to my jock strap and I grab a towel to head for the shower. “I have a hot date,” I say to Aiden. “I need to get out of here.” It’s not a complete lie.
“Wait—what? Hot date?” Aiden says loud enough to catch the attention of the entire fucking locker room. “The ultimate bachelor, fucking Finnegan Reed has a date so hot he can’t bring her out to meet the guys?”
“What’s this?” Brady Mack turns a sly smile on me. I’ve ridden him pretty hard in the past for his relative domestication. Now I can see payback written in his eyes. Fucking shit.
“Who is this date? I assume it’s a woman?” Mack says. I give him the finger.
“Knowing Finn, it’s probably a pair of women, maybe twins,” Aiden says, coming to my rescue. “And the bastard doesn’t want to take a chance on losing them to the competition.”
