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By the time I got back to the ice, Madison was long gone.
I skated out to center ice and that’s where Lay, Reid, and Abel stood, talking hockey.
“Weird morning,” Reid said.
“Beyond weird,” I said. “Didn’t realize we needed a personal photographer for a fucking hockey season.”
“Oh, man, you’re just pissed she shut you down, huh?” Lay asked.
“What did you just say?” I asked.
Lay laughed. “You had her in the locker room all alone and you didn’t get her? That’s too bad, Mav. If that were me? I’d still be back there. I’d give her something to take a picture of. She’d need a big lens for sure.”
Lay grabbed between his legs and nodded.
“Love the dirty talk,” another voice said.
Alonso stepped up next to me and Lay.
He grabbed for Lay’s hockey stick.
I shook my head at Lay.
Lay cringed and made aneekface.
Alonso stepped up to a hockey puck, then got into position to take a shot.
He flipped his tie up over his shoulder.
He took a slap shot that easily rivaled the power and speed of Abel’s shot.
From center ice, the puck flew through the air and into the net with ease.
Alonso then nodded. “Still got it, huh?”
“That’s a hell of a shot,” Reid said.
“So’s this,” Alonso said.
He then swung the stick like he was chopping a piece of wood.
He managed to break the stick on the first swing.
Then he picked up the pieces and handed them back to Lay.
“Get the point?” Alonso whispered to Lay.
“Loud and clear,” Lay said.
All of us got the point.
That was a message from our new GM.
Stay the fuck away from his daughter.
