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Following dinner, we decide the cocktails just aren’t doing it anymore, and we start hitting the hard stuff. The dance floor calls to us, and I’m pretty sure we’re making a menace of ourselves, but I simply don’t care. I’m having the time of my life, and to be honest, I really needed this. Hell, after the shit I’ve been through, I freaking deserve it.
Dani starts huffing and puffing on the dance floor and demands we take a break from ass shaking. She loops her arm through mine and together we stumble to the bar and take a seat. “Holy shit, this is such a great night,” she slurs as she slaps a hand down on the bar to gain the bartender’s attention. “You-hoo, Mr. Barman,” she yells over the sound of the raging music.
The bartender looks down the bar and gives Dani a quick nod followed by a wink. “Shit, did you see that?” she asks me. “I push a fucking watermelon out my vag, and I can still reel them in. My husband is one hell of a lucky guy.”
“Amen to that, sister,” I laugh as the bartender comes down and pours us each a shot. We clink our teeny-weeny little glasses together and down them in seconds. From there, our night quickly spirals out of control, but I do my best to take as many selfies as possible so we can remember the fun we had for years to come.
After being told to get off the tables, Dani and I drag ourselves back to the bar for our eighth, ninth, or tenth shot of the night. The room spins for both of us, but as far as I know, we’re both going strong.
I laugh as we take our seats between a bunch of guys and a group of skanky chicks, but she Dani drops her ass to the chair, she slips straight off the side and falls to the ground instead. I wobble as I bend down to try and help the klutz to her feet, but my uncontrollable laughter means she has to manage by herself.
“Shit,” I say as the laughter finally settles down. “I’m pretty sure I just peed a little.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a sore ass,” she giggles. “Even worse than the time I let Miller have it. That fucking hurt.”
“Dani,” I laugh. “Are you serious? You should have told me you were going to do that. I could have given you some pointers.”
“Well, I would have been fine if Miller didn’t have such a big dick.”
I burst out laughing and am about to get started on my pointers when the conversation coming from the skank-ass bitches behind me catches my attention.
“The Storm fucking sucks. That new captain is going to destroy them. I’m placing my bets on the Wolves,” the chick sitting behind me says.
My back stiffens, meeting Dani’s stare, knowing without a doubt how this is about to go down. “Oh, no she didn’t,” I gasp, electricity pulsing through my veins, itching to put this bitch in her place. No one talks about my man like that.
“Oh, she fucking did,” Dani says, always down to get messy. Though, let’s be honest, she’ll stand back and watch like a little bitch, while pretending that she’s getting messy.
“I agree,” someone shouts. “It’s about time the Dream Team moved the fuck over and took their asses back to Denver.”
“Shit’s about to get real,” I warn Dani as I get up from my seat and start taking out my hoop earrings. I shove them down my bra as Dani does exactly the same thing, which honestly surprises me. If she hadn’t been drinking, she’d be trying to drag me away, but tonight, she’s right there by my side.
“Hey,” I shout, getting in the girls’ faces as Dani puts her hands on her hips beside me, trying to look intimidating, but she’s like a little fluffy penguin. “What’s your problem with Tank and Miller?”
The girl who’s sitting right beside me grins at my question, clearly thinking we’re some dumb, obsessed fans. “They’re shit. They’re just a bunch of muscle the Storm hired to make them look good for the media. You’ll see. With Tank as captain, they’ll be a sinking ship.”
“Excuse you,” Dani says, stepping forward. “Tank and Miller are the best on the team. They’re taking out the championship, just like they have for the past five years.”
Another girl scoffs. “Shit, look how fucking desperate you are for them. Are you chicks puck bunnies? Going around, trying to fuck the whole team behind the Zamboni?”
“Don’t waste your time,” someone else says. “Tank and Miller are both hitched to some whores. I caught them outside the rink the other night after their game. I offered them a threesome, but the little bitches didn’t have the balls to go for it.”
