“I’ll take another.” Linc held his empty tumbler toward the bartender.
“Same again?”
It was one of the few bars in town that didn’t ask too many questions when it came to ID, and the staff either didn’t notice a fake ID, or didn’t care.
He shouldn’t, but what the hell? Linc nodded.
“I feel like you might wanna reconsider, Linc.”
Jeremy Lewis leaned on the bar, cradling a bottle of beer and sporting a shit-eating grin. “Man, if I had a buck for every time I felt like bailing on a game and hitting the bar, I’d be rich. Didn’t have you pinned for someone who’dactuallydo it though.”
“Shouldn’t you be on a bus back to BFE Alabama, Lewis?”
“We’re staying the night.” He tipped his empty bottle to the bartender who placed two fingers of scotch in front of Linc. “I’ll take another please. Where are your teammates, Lincoln?”
“Where are yours, Jeremy?”
“Is this really where we’re at? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, man, if we’re at elementary school level of “I know you are, but what am I?” I will win. I am the master of being a childish douche nozzle.”
“This isn’t the usual post-game bar.”
“I know. It’s why I’m here.” Jeremy slid onto the stool beside him and accepted the bottle from the bartender. “Guessing it’s why you’re here too. Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.” Linc swirled his glass, and the golden liquid rolled over the two ice cubes. Maybe if he stayed focused on the drink in his glass, nothing else would matter.
“This have anything to do with Johnny White’s face looking like a kaleidoscope of color?”
Nope. This prick isn’t gonna let it drop.
Apparently the growl Linc intended to keep inside was audible, because Jeremy chuckled.
“Thought as much.” He took a long pull of his beer. “Not that there’s any love lost between him and me. I mean, he’s a grade-A douche canoe. We have our own issues. But maybe I wanna throw a few cheap shots at him for funsies for whatever he’s done to piss you off. Bros before a-holes and all that jazz…”
“I’m not talking to you about my private life, Lewis. We’re not friends.”
“We’re not. Colleagues at best. Kinda sorta, since we’re on opposing teams. But it looks like you’re going to break that glass into a million pieces any second now from how tightly you’re clenching it.”
Lincoln loosened his fingers around the tumbler.
“I’m going out on a limb that you might need to talk, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m the only poor fucker here. So I guess that falls to me.”
The bar was empty save for a couple of old guys shooting pool in the corner. It was a rundown dive bar on the edge of town, away from everyone he knew, which was kind of the point.
“I’m fine.” He gulped down half his drink. The bartender appeared with an ice pack wrapped in a cloth. “I’m fine.” Linc wasn’t sure if he was repeating himself for the barman, or to convince himself, but he took the ice pack and put it on his swelling knuckles.
The bartender arched an eyebrow, gave a half shrug, and moved along the bar to wipe down the counter.
“Do you do anything outside of hockey?”
Jeremy tipped his head and looked up at the ceiling, pursing his lips. “Isthere anything outside of hockey?”
Linc snorted. “Yeah. We’re not talking about this.”
“I wanna play pro, Linc. That’s the dream. But it’smydream.” He picked at the label on his beer with his thumbnail.
“Some people get into college on a full ride and they have no intention of playing pro. They want free schooling and are good enough to make it happen. No shame in that game.” He picked up his bottle and swirled his beer around before taking a drink. “You not wanna play anymore?”
“It’s not that. I love the game. We both know it’s in my blood.”
