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From across the table, the Razors’ goalie held up his hands. “I’m good. Whatever scheme you two are coming up with, count me out.”
“Vince, if it’s about women, believe me, you could use all the help you can get,” Marc shot back.
On that score, Jordan had to agree. Vince Tedeschi was a big, hulking, taciturn guy. He was the team’s rock, but he let others do the razzle-dazzle.
“It’s ’cause you’re such a straight arrow that you’re perfect for this gig, Vince,” Jordan said.
“Which is?” the goalie asked warily.
“I need you and Marc to cook.” Jordan paused. “On air. On my mother’s show.”
Vince groaned.
“Hey, you’re used to being on television.”
“But not cooking, man.”
“It’ll impress the ladies. They’ll be calling and writing in.”
Vince knitted his brow. “What’s the demographic of Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti? My grandmother watches.”
Next to Vince, Marc swallowed a snort. “And there’s your answer right there.”
“You won’t be the only ones on it.”
Now Marc looked intrigued.
“My physical therapist will be judging our cook-off.”
Now Marc burst out laughing. “Great, I’ll have a chance to kick your butt on air.”
“Yeah, think of it as a golden opportunity,” Jordan said drily.
Marc liked to indulge in the occa
sional prank, and Jordan had had his butt slapped by a hockey stick on more than one occasion.
“You’ve recruited your physical therapist, too?” Vince seemed perplexed.
“Serafina Perini,” Jordan said. “She’s an in-law.”
Marc’s brows shot up. “Do tell.”
Jordan shrugged. “She’s Cole’s wife’s cousin.”
Vince grumbled. “Jeez.”
Marc raised his hand. “Hold up, Tedeschi. Is this Serafina under eighty?”
“Yup.” Jordan was tight-lipped.
“Single.”
“Yeah.” Jordan didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading.
“Attractive?”
Jordan narrowed his eyes.
