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Freddy waves his hand and shakes his head. I don’t say anything, still irritated that he would think talking about Faye like that was funny. But the thing that bothers me most is that she didn’t say anything about it. We’ve texted since then, but I didn’t know Freddy saw her the next day. He looks like he wants to say something, but before he does, he looks up just as a soft hand touches my shoulder.
“Hey there!” Megan stands next to me, wearing a red T-shirt dress that just skims her narrow figure. She looks like a dancer, though she swears she’s not. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail and her blue eyes blink, warily, beneath her dark fringe.
“Hey Megan.” I push the chair next to me out for her, and she takes the seat. “Have you met Freddy?” I motion to him, and Freddy doesn’t need to be told to behave. He turns on the charm and the two of them click faster than I could have ever imagined. Pasha returns with sodas—we’re both pretty strict about not drinking during season, and Freddy’s meds and alcohol don’t mix—and when Megan just asks for water, he gets her a glass.
“Is everyone here? Can we start already?” one of the faux-elderly hosts speaks directly into the microphone, his voice crackling and popping in a painfully comedic way.
“Are you asking if I came? That’s awfully presumptuous and frankly, optimistic,” the other faux-elderly host interjects, setting off a round of laughter. They lay out the ground rules and as their banter ticks up the raunchy scale, I find myself wanting to text Faye to tell her about it. Freddy catches me picking up my phone with a quirk of his eyebrows, and I put it away.
“This is going to be a blast,” Megan says with a cute smile. I smile back, and then we’re off.
The guys are friendly, and I don’t think she notices anything is off. If anything, they’re on their best behavior and she seems super comfortable around them. But the fact that they’re polite when we’re at raunchy BINGO makes everything feel extra weird. Pasha is the first to get a BINGO, and then Megan. By the time we get to a break—or, I guess it’s an intermission?—our cheeks hurt from laughing at the inappropriate humor. And yet, it still feels awkward at our table, and not in a good way.
“How was it being back on the ice in the L.A. game?” Freddy asks, out of nowhere.
“Fine,” I say. Pasha snorts. “You got something to say about that?”
“Me?” Pasha raises his palms in surrender. “Nah. I have nothing to say about any of this.” He stands and offers his hand to Megan. “Want to get a drink?”
Megan glances between us and when I say nothing, she shrugs and goes with him.
Freddy is quiet for a minute, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. As if he sees something he wants to squash.
“You gonna make eyes at me all day or you want to spit it out?”
“I don’t know. Which would make you less comfortable?” I sneer at him, and he chuckles.
“Faye said you shouldn’t have been playing in the Denver game.”
The irritation climbs up my neck again and I roll my shoulders backward.
“You were concussed.”
“I was fine.”
“She said you weren’t. What are you doing, Coop? You know you shouldn’t mess around with concussion protocols.”
“So, what? I should’ve just sat out because of a headache?”
“Did you have a headache during the Denver game?”
“No,” I lie. “I was fine. My team needed me, so I made it happen.”
His nostrils flare and I immediately regret the cheap shot.
“You shouldn’t mess around with this stuff. It’s not good for your game, and it’s definitely not good for your long-term health. She was telling me about these studies—”
“You’re talking to Faye about my game now?”
He shrugs. “So what if I am? We talk. Stuff comes up.”
“You talk?”
“Yeah, we talk.”
“Because you have so much in common?” I roll my eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowns and tilts his head. If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t think anything of the motion. But I know him, and I know it’s about as aggressive a move as he ever shows.
