AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you think it’s why you guys dropped the game last night?”
I shake my head, the 4–1 loss still feeling fresh. “No, I think the main reason for last night’s loss is me. I just didn’t have a good night at all.”
“You didn’t get much help from your offensive lines, though,” she says.
“Yeah, but excuses don’t win games. That one’s on me.”
“Well, I was actually hoping to take a nontraditional approach with this interview,” she says, turning to a clean page in her spiral-bound notebook.
“Sure, I’m game.”
“I’d like to talk about how the team is gelling, but not on the ice. It’s really interesting for me, getting to cover a new team from its very first game and see how teammates grow and develop together.”
“Sure, sounds good.”
A server comes by and takes our orders. I opt for water, a turkey club, and a side of pasta salad. I had a rough practice this morning after last night’s loss, and I’m ravenous.
“How do you think Maverick is doing as team captain?” Allie asks me.
“Really well, honestly. Everyone respects him. Maverick never asks anyone on the team to work harder than he does, but he works the hardest and expects us to match him. He really cares about us as a team, and individually, and is always trying new things to motivate us.”
“Who’s your favorite teammate?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Really? You’re going to make me pick one?” I consider her question seriously though. “Ah, let’s see. I’ll go with Marko.”
“And why is that?”
“He’s a really good guy, and he takes zero shit. I could see Marko punching me in the face in the morning and then running into traffic to save me in the afternoon. You know, like when people say they’re allowed to talk smack about their family, but no one else better even think about it? That’s Marko.”
“It’s hard not to like a guy who lets his wife cut his hair,” Allie says with a grin.
I cringe. “It’s the worst haircut I’ve ever seen in my life. But please don’t quote me on that.”
“No problem.” She crosses something off in her notes. “So I hear you and Kingston like to make bets. And I’m intrigued, because no one will tell me what the bets are about.”
My pulse spikes at the mention of those bets, but I keep my expression neutral. Who the fuck said something to her? If I find out who it was, they’ll find out how wrong they were to tell a reporter—or anyone outside our locker room—about that.
I regret ever making the bet about Indie and all of the others. I can’t risk Indie finding out about it.
“Nothing much,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Who can score the most goals in however many games, who can take down more tacos in one sitting, that kind of thing.”
“Well, it is Vegas, right? Betting is kind of our thing.”
I laugh and nod. My stomach is churning nervously, though. I have a strong feeling that the truth of my sexual conquest bets with Kingston is going to come out, and it’s going to be the end of me and Indie.
Fuck. I really like her. I haven’t even been pursuing her because of the bet. I just like her and I like spending time with her. But this whole situation feels like an out-of-control train barreling down the tracks, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“I hear Pax is the team prankster,” Allie says, moving on.
I grin and continue answering her interview questions, not letting on how panicked I am, but in the back of my mind, I’m reeling from the realization that’s starting to set in.
When you care about someone, you respect them and want to protect them. I can’t let Indie find out about the bet from an online article or social media post. So that means I’ve got to do something that’s going to be painful.
I have to tell her about the bet myself.
Later that afternoon, I’m pacing between my living room and kitchen as I wait for Indie to arrive.
What timing. Less than an hour after I decided to tell her about the bet, she texted me asking if she can stop by my house. This will be the perfect time to tell her—while we’re alone.
I’m so stressed I’m about to blow a gasket. I need something to calm me down or distract me until Indie gets here. I pick up my phone and scroll to the picture Kylie sent me earlier of Jasmine in her dance recital outfit. She’s smiling proudly, gaps from missing teeth on full display, wearing a white leotard, a fluffy-looking pink tutu, and pale-pink ballerina slippers.
If I didn’t have to travel for a game tomorrow, I’d be flying to Kansas City to see my niece’s dance recital. I still haven’t made it to a single one because of my hockey schedule.
