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Usually he didn’t allow himself junk food. Then again, he didn’t usually allow himself to hang out with coworkers, so tonight was a new experience all around.
“I know … right?” Head coach Bobby Golden sat on his right. “My wife needs the recipe or the name of the bakery where she can pick them up. She would love them.”
“Harm made them.” Heath shuffled the cards and doled them out like a Vegas dealer.
“Lyric’s twin?” The screamer from Heath’s phone call earlier? Dalton grabbed his cards and peeked at his hand. A king and a couple of queens. Good. Five-card draw was his game and he was winning. He’d never understood people who just played for fun. In his opinion, only winning was fun.
“Your wife has a twin?” Bum Collins, the team’s defensive coordinator, cocked an eyebrow as he checked out his cards.
Heath nodded. “Unfortunately. Her name is Harmony, but Harm fits her way better. Remember that psycho chick from Suicide Squad?”
Everyone yes-ed.
“That’s Harm, only she has less social skills and even more attitude.” Heath fanned out his cards and then laid them face down in front of him. “I fold.” He stood. “She made cannoli too. I’ll get it.”
He left the room and returned a few moments later with a plate of canno
li filled with dark-chocolate cream.
For long seconds, they all just kind of stared at the plate.
“She makes cannoli shaped like guns? I’m raising.” Dalton shook his head as he tossed some chips into the pot. Now he had to meet her. She was a badass.
“I told you. Harley Quinn with more attitude.” Heath passed the plate around, and Dalton was the first to take one. Figuring it couldn’t be as good as the cookies, he bit into it then whistled. “That’s really good.”
“She’s talented, I’ll give her that … crazy but talented.” Heath bit into his own cannoli. “She calls these Take the Gun, Eat the Cannoli.”
Bum grinned as he counted out enough chips to match Dalton’s raise. “I’ll call. Crazy or not, you gotta love a woman who loves The Godfather.”
“The good twin and the bad twin. Is it like that old movie, Twins?” Coach Golden tossed his own matching bet into the pot and then reached for a cannoli. “They’re twins but Danny DeVito got all of the ugly genes while Arnold Schwarzenegger got all of the good genes?”
Heath picked up the deck, ready to deal the draw. “Well, Lyric and Harm are indentical-ish. Except Lyric got all of the good, sane genes and Harm got all of the evil genes. Does that count? In fact—” Heath’s phone buzzed on the table.
He set down the cards and picked it up, glancing at the screen. Then he swiped his hand across it and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, babe.”
Dalton liked the way Heath treated his wife, how she always took priority over whatever he was doing. A settled coach was good for business.
Coach Golden took a bite of his cannoli. “These are better than the cookies.”
Heath sat up and covered the ear that was minus the phone so he could hear better. “What? Wait … slow down. You almost got knifed by an Okinawan hooker?” Five horizontal lines popped out on his brow.
The sudden silence sucked all of the air out of the room.
“I don’t understand. Harm’s trying to talk who into leaving her pimp?” Heath leaned forward as if that would give him better cell reception. “Since when do they have hookers at Chili’s?”
A minute passed and Heath’s expression turned angry. “What do you mean you’re not at Chili’s? Where the hell are you that Harm is giving hookers vocational advice?” Heath stood and his chair rocked backward and crashed to the floor. “Dead Shot? What the hell is that … it’s a bar? A biker bar? What the hell has your sister gotten you into now?”
Holy shit. Lyric and her sister were at Dead Shot? It was a rough place, which was the nice way of saying that murder was more commonplace there than in Washington, DC, and the Twin Peaks restaurant in Waco combined.
Normally Dalton tried to stay out of employee affairs, but he couldn’t leave two women in that place alone. He’d never be able to live with himself if he did.
He dropped the cannoli, then stood up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. “Heath, we need to get them out of there. That place is really bad news.”
The Wrangers’ offensive coach took one look at his face and turned white under his tan.
“Okay, honey. I need you to go to the bathroom and lock yourself in.” He shook his head while he listened to his wife. “Yes, right now. Who cares about Harm? She started this, let her finish it. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you. Bye.” Heath felt around his pockets, presumably looking for his keys. “Sorry guys, but we need to cut this short. Feel free to keep playing or let yourselves out.”
“I’ll go with you.” Dalton caught up with him. He wasn’t big on digging up old wounds, but he wasn’t about to let something happen to Lyric. Heath would be useless for the rest of the season if his wife was hurt. “I’ll drive. I know Dead Shot all too well.”
