Unwelcome
The Icehawks are on the verge of earning their first playoff spot. The city is behind them with sellout crowds every game. This is a team that’s found their identity. With their four equally competent lines, they are hard to play against because their opponents never know which line might have a good night. I’m confident this team is going places. Kudos to Brian Werkle, Inez Lewis, and Duke Jefferson for putting together a team without superstars that epitomizes the true meaning of teamwork. My only criticism is their decision to keep Drakos Lenkov, but nobody’s perfect. —Aria at All Hockey News
~~Drakos~~
What the fuck is Aria Reed doing here of all places?
Talk about pouring frigid ice water on what could’ve been a good time.
And my teammate Koko, is he that dense? Or is he that devious? I vote for both.
The asshole takes a seat at my table with his date, who’s also my archenemy.
The entire team knows how I feel about Aria Reed, yet Koko chooses this table? I glance around and verify his options are endless. He doesn’t need to torture me with her presence.
I scowl at them and mutter an appropriate curse in my native Ukrainian to amplify my displeasure. I haven’t been to my homeland in years and have pretty much lost my accent. I’ve worked hard to move on from that chapter in my life. All I have left are painful memories I prefer not to dredge up.
They may not understand the words, but they can guess the intent. Koko grins, an indicator that he in fact did this on purpose just to needle me because he’s an asshole. Aria’s condescending smirk gets under my skin, too. Her appearance ruins my evening. She knows it, and she’s enjoying this moment way too fucking much.
I’ve been looking forward to this brief respite from the grind of playing the eighty-two regular season games. We’re tied for a playoff spot with six games left in the regular season, and it’s been an intense month of April.
Since the Icehawks have a rare three days off before the next game, the team rented a dinner boat for a cruise on the Columbia, complete with dancing, enough food to satisfy the appetites of twenty-plus hockey players, and tons of booze. It’s my kind of party—except for the absence of available women. I chose to come stag. I’m not sure why I made such a stupid decision, yet here I am.
“Where’s your latest catch of the day?” Aria sneers and shoots me a pointed look. The All Hockey News staff writer has made it a habit of lobbing insults in my direction as often as I shoot pucks at the net.
“I’m taking the night off.” I force a smile to show her that she’s not getting under my skin, even though she is.
“I didn’t know you ever took a night off when it came to women.”
“Even someone with my stamina needs a day to recover.” I don’t bother to disguise my disdain for her, and she expects nothing less from me. We snipe at each other every chance we get.
“Or maybe you’ve gone through all the available woman in Portland.” Aria beams with evil joy. I can’t stand this woman. We’re enemies, and everyone knows it. I’m not putting up with her shit, not tonight. This is supposed to be a fun, relaxing evening but not with her sitting across from me.
“Not you,” I point out.
“Dream on.”
“Look, babe, I know you want me, but I have standards.” I smirk with satisfaction as her eyes narrow to slits. She’s not liking what I’m saying one little bit, which gives me immense joy.
Grabbing my beer, I stalk off to another table and take a seat with several of the older veterans on the team. Within thirty seconds, I realize I’ve made a grave error. I’m not sure which is worse, dealing with Koko and Aria or sitting at a table with a bunch of married or attached guys talking about their kids and wives or girlfriends.
Boring.
I cover my mouth to suppress a yawn and wish once again I’d brought a date. I’m a guy who needs constant stimulation, and this isn’t doing it. I could return to my previous table, but my pride won’t allow me. I’m still stinging from my leaving that table in the first place and giving Aria a win. She’s gloating right now. Her triumph is written all over her face, and it’s all my doing. I’ve allowed her to ruin my good time, and that gives her too much power and satisfaction.
I rack my brain for an appropriate game plan to extract revenge and glance at Aria for inspiration. She looks as bored as I feel but attempts to look interested, while Koko jabbers away. He’s a self-centered jerk and oblivious as usual. Aria looks as if she’d rather be anywhere but sitting at that table.
A crazy, devious idea pops into my head.
If you can’t beat ‘em, force ‘em to join you.
Before I lose my nerve, I stand, take a deep breath, and walk purposefully to Aria’s table. I ignore the curious and surprised stares of my teammates. They’re expecting an altercation, but I’m not giving them one. After all, I’m an alternate captain and need to set a good example. Not that my leadership role has been a deterrent to my bad behavior in the past, but a guy can change. Or pretend to when it suits my purposes.
Aria glances up as I approach. She’s wary and already on the defensive. I can almost see the hackles rise on her back. This is going to be fun.
“Let’s dance.” I hold out my hand so there’ll be no question as to who I’m asking. I study her in the dim light. Fake candles flicker on the tables and give her pale face an otherworldly glow. I’m struck by how blue her eyes are and how striking she is in that short black dress that hugs her curves, accentuates her toned legs, and shows a daring amount of cleavage. Funny, I’ve never noticed her body before, but then I’ve never seen her in anything but khakis and polos. Regardless, what’s on the inside is rotten to the core.
“Dance? With me?” She’s incredulous, and I grin with glee.
