Page 12 of Hard to Get

I find the game channel but it hasn’t started yet so we watch SportsBuzz.

“We have the same dog,” I tell them, throwing myself down onto my sofa with my beer. Frank immediately joins me, on my lap almost before my ass hits the cushion.

“You share a dog?” Cammy’s forehead creases not unlike Frank’s.

“No. Our dogs are the same breed. Even the same colour.”

“Aaaah.” Cammy sits on the couch, too, and Frank abandons me for him. Luckily, the guys all like dogs.

“You could’ve cancelled,” LG says.

“No, he couldn’t!” Gus sounds outraged. “Don’t be that guy.”

“That’s just rude,” Rocky agrees.

“I, for one, would totally understand.” Bish sits in a chair. “Hoes before bros.”

“That’s not how that goes,” I say. “It’s bros before hoes. You’re supposed to prioritize your male friends over a potential love interest. Also, calling women hoes is offensive.”

Bish rolls his eyes and looks away. But… did I detect a hint of guilt? Probably not.

“Love interest?” LG asks. “That sounds pretty serious for someone you haven’t even dated yet.”

I wave a hand.

“That’s not what the bro code says.” Rocky carries over a bowl of chips and sets it on the coffee table. “If a guy friend gets between you and a potential “love interest”, is he even your friend?”

“Right,” Bish agrees. “Didn’t Jerry Seinfeld say all plans between guys are tentative?”

Rocky laughs. “Yeah. If you have a chance for some action, you take it. Never mind what your friend plans are.”

“I knew a guy who was late for his buddy’s wedding because he hooked up with someone he met on the way there.” Gus nods.

“That’s bullshit,” I say.

“True story!”

“Maybe, but that guy’s an asshole.” I shake my head. “That whole bro code thing is misogynistic as fuck.”

“Mr. Enlightened,” Bish says.

He’s always got the snark. I ignore it.

“You’re right,” LG says to me. “Bros before hoes, I mean, women, sounds good, but what happens when that whole bro code means guys are covering up for each other’s bad behaviour?”

I wince inwardly, my stomach knotting. Memories from my teenage hockey career still make me squirm with misery. “Happens all the time in hockey,” I mutter. “Isn’t that the hockey code? Protecting teammates? Even when someone does something shitty?”

“There are a lot of rules in the hockey code,” Sammy says, speaking for the first time. He’s a quiet guy, but when he talks, he actually says something. “Not all of them are bad.”

I give him a look. “Lots of them are, though.”

“I don’t disagree. Covering up bad shit is, well, shitty.”

I’m glad someone’s on my side.

Actually, most of these guys are. I know them. They talk shit but deep down inside… I’d like to think they wouldn’t accept shitastic behaviour. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking that.

“Protecting your teammates is a good thing when someone stabs you with the blade of their stick or whacks you across the head with it,” Sammy says.