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“Define partying,” Pike says, walking up to Dane in challenge. “Just because some of us don’t drink a warm glass of milk and curl up in bed with a heating pad by eight on nights we don’t have games, that doesn’t mean we’re out partying.”
Dane holds his gaze, not backing up an inch. “And some of us don’t get shit-faced every night and just use hockey as a way to get more ass.”
“Shut up and sit your asses down, both of you!” Bear yells. “All of you, quit your bitching and listen good.”
Great. Lecture time. I sit on the bench and glare at Dane. He gives me the finger.
“If you think playing for Vegas means it’s party time, get your ass out of my locker room!” Bear rants. “You’re a piss-poor bunch of undisciplined bastards that I’m trying to mold into a cohesive unit, and it’s hard enough without guys showing up hungover and thinking about getting laid!”
I school my expression into one of concern. Bear’s right about some of the guys needing to get their shit together. Playing as a team for the first time is harder than I thought it would be. None of us are used to each other. We’re at a disadvantage compared to all the other teams who have been playing together for a long time.
We’re starting from scratch. And Bear has a reputation as a hard-ass who demands the best.
“You, Hagen!” He points at me, and I sit up a little straighter, wondering what he’s about to say. “You’re our team captain, so act like it. I expect no partying and no women. If we get to a point where we’re playing way above five hundred, maybe that’ll change. But you boys need to earn it. Quit playing like a bunch of junior leaguers with your thumbs up your asses.”
My mouth drops open, but I close it again immediately.
“You got something to say, Hagen?” Coach challenges.
“I’m just…you mean I can’t have sex, or none of us can?”
His eyes bulge and a vein pops out on his forehead. “The married guys can, but the single guys, I better not hear one fucking word about you chasing tail on the Strip! Not one word. Hit the gym, skate extra drills, and act like you deserve the contracts you were signed to. You got that, Hagen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The rest of you got it?” he bellows.
Everyone nods and affirms that they heard him.
“I could be on a beach somewhere, sipping mai tais and having oil rubbed on my back by some lady in a grass skirt, but I was asked to make this team into something great, and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with slacking.” The vein is almost pulsing now, looking like it’s about to explode out of his head. “I’d better see you boys in here early tomorrow, looking well rested and ready to play some hockey. We clear?”
The room echoes with all of us saying either “Yes, Coach,” or “Yes, sir.”
He walks back into his office, slams the door, and immediately closes the mini blinds.
“Nice job, fuckface,” Pike mutters to Dane.
“How does Bear’s asshole taste?” Grady asks Dane. “It’s all crystal clear now—why your breath smells like dirty asshole.”
Dane shoves him, and I step between the two of them.
“Get the fuck out of here, both of you,” I say in a low tone. “You didn’t get enough just now?”
Dane gives me a murderous glare before grabbing his bag and walking out.
“Guess we’re not going out tonight,” Pike says, sighing.
I turn to him, arching a brow. “We won’t get drunk, and we won’t pick up women, but we’re sure as hell hitting some off-Strip poker rooms.”
He grins back at me, holding out his fist for a bump. As I comply, I’m already itching to get back to the poker table. Specifically, a table Gia is sitting at.
Chapter Six
Gia
The moment “Achy Breaky Heart” starts playing over the casino’s sound system, I curse myself for coming to Harrah’s.
This is my least favorite place to play poker in Vegas, because I’m not a country music fan and it’s all they play here. I’ve been sitting at a table of amateur players for almost an hour now, and I almost feel guilty taking their money. They seem like nice people, and all of them look over fifty years old. It’s more fun to watch frat boys’ cocky expressions change as their pots start shrinking.
“I enjoyed watching you play,” an older man with a tanned, deeply lined face says to me as he passes the dealer a tip.
He touches the brim of his cowboy hat as he stands, nodding at me. A couple of other players turn my way to stare, looking both surprised and stumped. One woman’s eyes widen as she sees how many chips I have in front of me.
