Koa raises his beer higher. “A toast to the LA boys, who came out to celebrate getting their asses kicked tonight, proving once again that winning isn’t everything.”
“Fuck you, KOK!” one of the Lancers yells back.
Koa drains his beer, slams the empty on the table, and in the blink of an eye, has another full one in hand.
He raises it again. “One more for the bunnies.”
The bar roars.
“To the ladies who know our stats and our sticks,” he says with a grin, “a little heads-up — LA players have tiny dicks.”
The place erupts again — loud enough to rattle the glassware. Dash and Koa slam their beers together, both grinning like idiots.
“How about you come over here and suck mine, second line!” someone yells.
Koa flips the guy off without hesitation. “I’d prefer something with a little meat on the bone.”
“Fuck yeah,” Dash laughs, grabbing a chicken wing from the table and waving it. “Like this?”
Rivera slides in on my other side, his tone dropping. “They’re here to start shit.”
“Damn right, they are,” Stone says from across the table. “But our coach doesn’t need that after last game.”
“Fuck you,” Bass mutters. “Asshole deserved it.”
“Damn right, he did,” Stone fires back, then nods toward the other side of the bar. “Still does. Look at that little fuck.”
Dash sneers. “Johnson’s over there laughing it up with Dingy. I swear, one of these nights…”
“We eat,” Koa cuts in, grabbing a plate from the pile and loading it with wings. “And we let our record do the talking.”
The table quiets just long enough for everyone to dig in. The sound of victory settles around us — laughter, beer clinks, and the faint tension that always comes before the next fight.
An hour later, I’m four drinks in, not drunk, but not sober, and the only reason I’m still here is that the WAGS showed up, and a couple more LA players, too. Feels too heated to leave my team and their ladies.
“What do you say you and I take off?” someone purrs in my ear.
I nod toward the crowd. “You may want to get you and the girls out of here. Tonight’s forecast isn’t looking too good.”
I watch as a little dark-haired chick walks up to Koa, who has a blonde he’s paying no attention to on his lap.
“No cutting the line,” Blondie snips.
“Be nice,” He orders.
“Ooo, a little two-on-one action in the Puck Pad tonight?” She licks her lips.
“I just need a minute, Koa.”
The blonde isn’t reading the room. This brunette isn’t here to play. “Honey, he can give you far more than a minute. KOK is legendary.”
“Oh, wow, that’s so hot,” the brunette says, void of any emotion as she plops on his other knee.
“Ah, what the fuck’s going on over here?” Dash asks as he walks up to Koa, a dark-haired number beside him.
“We’re worshipping the KOK. He’s legendary, you know,” the brunette says, clearly mocking the blonde.
“Fuck,” I shake my head. “Not just LA looking to throw down.”
