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“Really? That works?”
“The wink shows boyish charm. Trust me,” Soren says. I have to hand it to him, he manages to keep a straight face through all the bullshit he’s spewing.
Bailey nods. “I can do that.”
Ah, what the hell.
“You know what line also always works?” I jump in. “‘You know I’m a hockey player? Means I know how to handle my stick like a pro.’”
“That one works like a charm,” Soren agrees, still dead serious. “Also this one: I’m a hockey player, why don’t you give me a shot?”
I nod. “And this: I’ve been called a dirty player. Wanna see how dirty we can get tonight?”
“Babe, I’m a hockey player, and I see my puck in your goal tonight.”
“I’m a hockey player, so you know I always wear protection.”
“Wait,” Bailey says. The dude’s starting to look confused. “Which one do I use?”
“Whichever. They’re all pure gold. Tried and tested by yours truly,” Soren assures him. “I’ve spent years on this research. Can’t go wrong with any of those.”
Bailey looks a bit like a person who’s trying to cram in a semester’s worth of knowledge five minutes before the exam as he migrates back to his cubby, muttering under his breath.
“Fucker,” I say, glancing at Soren.
“Right back at you.” He shrugs. “It’ll just be so damn entertaining to watch.”
“He’ll get kneed in the balls.”
“Nah. Drink in the face max. Besides, there’s a party. I’ll nudge him toward Stacey. He’s got that whole innocent country boy thing going on. She’ll get a kick out of him.”
“It’s fucking weird you keep pimping rookies out to your sister.”
“I’m her wingman. I’d be a pretty shitty one if I didn’t direct rookies toward her.”
He saunters off with a grin. I shake my head, finish taking my gear off, and go take a shower.
“Ryk! Party at our place,” King calls from the other side of the locker room once I’m out again. His real name is Finn Kingsley, but it got turned into Short King and then shortened into just King. At six five, he’s nowhere near short, but he is an inch shorter than his brother, who’s also on the team.
“Not tonight,” I call back. “Got plans already.”
“We won, man. What’s more important than celebrating?” he asks.
I shrug in reply. “Got shit to do.”
I don’t really need additional questions about what I’m doing, because honestly I have no fucking clue myself. I just know tonight is the night to do it because everybody I know will be at that party, so I won’t run a risk of bumping into any of my teammates or friends. Or, the risk is lower than usual, at least, and that’ll have to do.
King sets his sights on the next person. “Hayes? You in, man?”
Hayes looks up from his seat and quirks his brow the tiniest bit. “Fuck that. Some idiot is going to upload something stupid to Instagram, and then Coach will hand us our asses on Monday.”
“He’ll assume you were there anyway,” King argues, admittedly reasonably. “Might as well enjoy life while you can when you’re going to pay for it anyway.”
I finish getting dressed while King continues to badger Hayes about the party, call out a “Bye,” and get out of there before I chicken out.
It’s the kind of chilly January evening that’s bordering on freezing. I put up the collar of my jacket while I walk to my car.
Once inside, instead of heading home, I take a left.
