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“You want to order delivery for dinner?”
“No, let’s go out. I’ll bring a travel mug of coffee.”
He kissed me, and I started reconsidering my suggestion that we go to bed early.
“Won’t that keep you up late?” he asked.
“If it does, I guess we’re not going to bed early,” I teased.
“In that case, pour an extra big cup. And I’ll take some, too.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Ford
“Boys,you can lose another game. A different game,” Dom said, the entire locker room listening to his spur-of-the-moment speech. “You can have an off night some other night. You can have the worst game of your fucking career! But not tonight. Not fucking tonight. Do not be the douchebag who keeps me from enjoying our captain’s girlish screams as hot wax is poured onto his asshole and then ripped off.”
The room erupted into hoots and cheers and I shook my head. How the hell had I gotten myself into this? If we won tonight’s home game, which Elle was attending, I’d probably be getting waxed tomorrow. I’d hold up my end of the bargain, but fuck, I was not looking forward to it.
“My asshole isn’t hairy,” I said.
“You’d be surprised,” Colby said. “You probably haven’t seen it close up enough to know.”
“I’m live-streaming it,” Dom said. “I’ll play offense, defense, and goalie if I have to tonight. This is happening.”
“You aren’t live-streaming shit,” I said. “I never agreed to that.”
“No body parts will be shown. Just your face.”
“Still no.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “Come on! Beau almost broke his ankle scoring the game-winning goal against Tampa. And you can’t let me video you?”
That was hyperbole, which was typical from Dom. Beau’s ankle was twisted. But Dom had given me an idea.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If we can win five more games—a total of fifteen—I’ll do it and let you live-stream it.”
Groans and boos were lobbed at me. Dom shook his head and gave a dramatic thumbs-down.
“You’ll have to make us a much better offer than that, dickhead.”
I considered. How long could this streak last? No hot streak lasted forever. All we had to do was lose one of the next six games, and I’d be home free.
“I’ll get a tattoo,” I offered.
“Of what?” Dom asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know…the number fifteen? Or the number of games we’ve won when the streak ends?”
“Pfft,” Seth said. “Lame.”
“Yeah, no,” Dom agreed. “We’d only consider this if it was a tattoo of our choosing.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Dom thought about it. “We’d tell you when we got to the tattoo place. It would be a team decision.”
I tossed my damp towel into a laundry basket, scared of this proposition.
