Page 76 of King of the Crease

“It’s just a hangover. We’ve all survived hangovers. Everyone needs to chill. Once we get on the ice, we’ll get in the zone,” Griffin grumbles, not really believing himself. “How come you and Nick don’t seem fucked up? You two looked rip-roaring drunk.”

“Indoor voices, everyone. Please,” Tanner says in a half-whisper.

“We switched to water halfway through.” I feel fine. Really fine. Like, maybe I should run a marathon after this. Sex with someone I’m rapidly falling in love with turned out to be a great cure for a hangover.

Nick gives me a small, secret smile. My stomach flips despite the locker room stench. Des catches us and despite feeling like shit, shoots me a supportive wink.

“Thank you for being responsible,” Bill says. He turns on our ‘90s jams and paces in front of us. “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit comes on. “We still have a game to play. I bet you anything, the twentysomething pricks on the Blades aren’t hungover after that bar crawl.”

“Jack is pretty hungover,” Griffin says, shaking his head. “Even after a 3 a.m. Taco Bell run.”

“I like Taco Bell,” Tanner mumbles. “Whatever happened to that little chihuahua? Is he still alive?”

“Why are you hungover, Tan? You left after one drink,” Griffin says.

“I have four kids. Two of them couldn’t sleep last night, and my husband was too wiped to help. So I’m functioning on two hours of sleep. Does anybody have a pillow?”

“Here, babe. Lean on my back.” Des sits next to Tanner. They lean back to back, supporting each other.

“This is bullshit. How are we supposed to play?” Bill paces around the locker room. “Where the hell is Derek?”

He storms out.

Griffin looks between me and Nick. “You two were the hit of the bar crawl.”

“We won an award,” Nick says. “Cutest Couple.”

I thought I had imagined that, but the memory is real, and it’s golden. The trophy is sitting on my dresser.

Cutest couple. What a title. My soul sings. I really missed being in a couple.

“Are you guys…” Tanner points at us. “That?”

Nick and I exchange a loaded glance. We called each other boyfriends, but was that something only said in the heat of alcohol and lust?

“We had a lot of fun last night,” I say, leaving it there. I wait for Nick to chime in with his opinion, but he’s blushing too much to speak.

Bill rushes in holding steaming cups of coffee, Derek coming behind him with breakfast pastries and a shopping bag of Gatorade bottles. We rush up to them and gobble up the coffees and carbs until they’re empty-handed. Bill passes out Gatorades to each of us.

“Thank you.” Griffin kisses Derek on the cheek.

“I read that hot coffee is better for hangovers instead of iced,” Derek said.

“You are a lifesaver,” Tanner says.

Nick and I clink coffee cups and drink. Despite feeling fine, the coffee helps us become more alert. Bill smacks a blue Gatorade bottle in my hand.

“I don’t like blue,” I say of my Gatorade. “Can I switch with someone who has red?”

“You’ll drink your blue Gatorade, and you’ll like it.”

When we hit the ice, it becomes immediately clear this is going to be a disaster.

Des and Tanner are usually magic together up front—years of chemistry, no-look passes, that smug little nod they give each other before carving through a defense. Today? They look like they’re trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions.

Des feathers what should be a clean tape-to-tape pass, but it wobbles off his blade and dribbles uselessly into open ice. Tanner lunges for it half a beat too late, over-skates, and nearly collides with him instead. They end up tangled along the boards, arguing softly about whose fault it was while the other team skates the puck the other way.

Bill claps his hands at them. “Skate! Move your feet! You look like you’re underwater!”