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“Nah,” Zanetti said over his shoulder. “We’re good.”

“Did you reserve us a table? I didn’t realize they took reservations.”

“They don’t.”

“Then what⁠—”

“We’re just back here,” Zanetti said, turning the handle of a door that led to a small function room in the back that Eli had known existed but had never used.

And there, amid green, white, and red streamers—the Trailblazers’ colors—tacked to the walls and clusters of green, white, and red balloons anchored to the floor by frilly balloon weights, were a dozen of his teammates seated at a long table.

A chorus of “Hey!” and “Eli!” and “Surprise!” followed his entry into the room, and he grinned wide enough to hurt his cheeks.

“What? What are you all doing here?”

“It’s a surprise birthday party,” Deeley said. “Obviously. Here, sit.” He pulled out the chair between himself and Sandbaker, and considering how joined at the hip they were, it said a lot about how they felt about Eli that they were allowing him to sit between them.

Floating on air, Eli sat, noticing as he did so the table against the nearest wall, overflowing with presents wrapped in shiny paper and shinier gift bags.

For him? He did a little dance in his seat.

Zanetti grabbed the last remaining chair at the other end of the table, near where some of the older guys were seated. Eli tried to catch his gaze so he could thank him for the party, but Zanetti was already greeting Colter “CC” Clarke and Michael Hughes.

This was so much better than pub hopping.

As if he’d read his mind, Deeley said, “I was thinking we could start at the Church Street Tavern tonight. Grab a beer and dinner before we head elsewhere.”

“We should dress up,” Sandbaker added.

Across from Eli, their goaltender rolled his eyes. “It’s a little late to find decent costumes,” Matty Coates said. “Unless we wear our jerseys and go as ourselves.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Deeley said.

“Actually, it’s a great idea,” Eli countered. “It’d be like hiding in plain sight. Except instead of pub hopping, can we go mini putting?” He’d checked, and according to his phone, he didn’t have any appointments or meetings tonight after all. Go figure.

And seeing as the Trailblazers had a very rare Saturday off due to a training session that basically everyone was attending except for the players, Eli figured if the guys were going to take him out for his birthday, they might as well do something he wanted to do.

And what was cooler than glow-in-the-dark mini golf?

“Ooh, yes.” Matty Coates slammed his hands down on the table, making the cutlery rattle. “That. Let’s do that.”

Steepling his fingers under his chin, Eli batted his eyelashes at Deeley. “It’s my party, and we’ll do what I want to,” he sang to the tune of Lesley Gore’s “It’s My Party.”

“Oh my god, stop.” Laughing, Deeley shoved his face away. “Stop giving me those puppy-dog eyes. Fine, we’ll mini putt instead. I’ll bring the beer.”

“Leave the beer at home,” Eli said. “We’ll do pizza and beer at American Flatbread afterward.”

“I’ll make us a reservation.” Matty Coates tapped on his phone. “For . . . four? Five? Do you think DeShawn will want to come? I didn’t ask him to go pub hopping since he’s underage, but . . .”

Eli leaned his chair back, balancing it on its back legs. “Yo, D. Want to come for mini putt and pizza for my birthday tonight?”

DeShawn gave him a thumbs-up behind Prinnie’s back.

“Five,” Eli confirmed to Matty Coates, who, for reasons Eli didn’t understand, always went by his first and last names. He lowered his chair back onto all fours, the legs making a thunk on the floor. “How come you go by your first and last names?”

Matty Coates grinned. “Because there were three of us on my college hockey team: me, Matty Cross, and Matty Clarke. We all went by our first and last names, and it followed me to the big leagues.”

“We should dress up tonight,” Sandbaker interjected.