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“I fucked up,” I admit, closing my eyes while tension seeps through my body.
“You did,” he agrees but then he softens. “Can’t let assholes like Carter get under your skin.”
“Don’t I know it,” I reply.
“Guys, we need to take Evan out for drinks,” Brett says. He’s another one of our teammates. He likes to party and live it up with the puck bunnies.
“Don’t want to drink tonight,” Evan states. “We got another game tomorrow.”
“I need to eat,” Kaleb adds. “Let’s head out for a good steak.”
“I’m freaking starved,” I agree. Some grub and time with my teammates should take my mind off what went down tonight because Carters words are still fresh in my mind and they are eating away at my insides.
“Where are we going to go to just chill though?” Evan asks. “I’m not in the mood for all kinds of attention.”
“I second that,” I say.
“I know a place.” Brett nods. “It’s out of the way. Hopefully we can sit in peace.”
“Lead the way,” Evan says.
“I’m heading home,” Wolfe mumbles. He usually doesn’t hang out with us after games since his wife just had their second kid not long ago.
We get ready and head out of the arena.
Brett orders an Uber and a minute later a Tesla pulls up to the curb.
“This is us,” Brett announces. We all pile in.
“This place better have good food. I’m so hungry I can eat a cow,” Kaleb warns.
“Remember The Firken?” Evan elbows me in the stomach a little too hard. His comment reminds me of our college days and a pub off campus that had the best grub. It also reminds me I spent my college years trying to forget a painful past unsuccessfully.
“I could go for one of those burgers right now,” I tell him and my stomach grumbles in response.
We drive for a good twenty minutes until we get to Brooklyn. At least there wasn’t much traffic this time of night.
We stop in front of a place with a bright neon-blue sign that says Bill’s Diner. I look at Brett. “This place looks like a dump.”
“Don’t be acting all spoiled.” Brett laughs. “It’s a grease pit, but it’s good.”
“This is going to be my birthday dinner. I wanted some prime meat,” Evan pouts, and I think his words may have a double meaning.
“Any of the good steakhouses would have been booked last minute and you said you weren’t in the mood for attention,” Brett reminds him.
We all get out of the Uber. A homeless guy is sitting on the ground with a blanket over him. I pass him a fifty. He does a double take when he’s realized what I’ve given him.
“Thanks, man,” he says.
We head inside the diner. It’s just past ten o’clock, and maybe five tables have patrons. There’s a sign that says seat yourself. We go ahead and pile into a booth. The place reminds me of one of those diners you see in an eighties movie. The booths are all pink with gray tables. There are jukeboxes at each table. I pick up the menu.
“What do you recommend?” I ask Brett.
“There is this hot server who works here. I banged . . .”
I’m holding up my hand. “It’s not a server I need. What food do you recommend?” I clarify.
Brett laughs. “Sex is just as important as grub. Should we be talking about why you haven’t hooked up in forever?” he asks. I don’t know why, but my abstinence really bothers Brett. He keeps telling me I need to get laid to play hockey properly. His theories make me laugh if nothing else.
