“I didn’t move back from Alaska for the team,” Derek says.
Hank pats his shoulder. “Buddy, I’m making an argument here. Just go with it.” Hank turns back to everyone, but focuses his attention on me. “Look, we need to get Griffin back on the team. We’re like Infinity Stones. You need all of us for the magic to happen.”
I don’t disagree with his logic. The guys nod along. Unfortunately, we can’t compel Griffin to get back on the ice, try as we might.
“I know the last time he played…it did not go well,” Hank says in the understatement of the year.
“It was awful,” Mitch says. We all shudder with the memory of Griffin’s last-ever hockey game senior year. I can still picture the splatter of blood on the ice, and it makes my stomach twist. Maybe Griffin could’ve been one of the greats of the sport; no one ever got the chance to find out.
“I don’t blame him for refusing to play again,” Derek says. “If that happened to me, I’d probably feel the same.”
“He has unfinished business on the ice,” Hank claims.
“He did seem the slightest bit intrigued when I mentioned it to him at the school pick up line,” Tanner says. “He’s still in good shape.”
“Is it unethical to offer him money?” Des wonders, scratching at his clean-shaven face.
“I could try seducing him,” Hank offers as he picks dinner from his teeth. “Though there is the risk of him falling hopelessly in love with me.”
“Right,” Des deadpans.
“Hey!” Hank objects. “I got a pair of zebra print underwear for my birthday. Maybe you can see me in them, if you play your cards right.”
“Look, we’re getting there,” I say, not wanting to go down the Griffin Harper rabbit hole again. (Or hear more about Hank’s underwear for that matter.) As the team captain, it’s my responsibility to keep up the team spirits. “Nobody thinks a bunch of fortysomething guys can become champions again. They think we’re all a bunch of beer guts and bad knees. We’re going to show them they’re wrong. We might be missing Griffin, but we can still make magic. We’re not called the Comebacks for nothing.”
I put my hand in the middle, a forceful move to bolster team unity. You’re either in or you’re out. Tanner is the first to put his hand in, followed by Mitch and Derek. I glance up at Hank and Des, two guys with the most opinions of anyone on the team.
“Come on, guys. We can’t do it without you,” I say.
“Don’t be dicks,” Tanner says, taking us all by surprise with the foul language. Since he has a bundle of little ones at home, he’s usually always keeping it G-rated. Hank and Des are taken aback and quickly shuttle their hands into the center.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, three…”
“Comebacks!” Our yell echoes through the empty rink.
I check the clock, and our time on the ice is up. Another team from the league, the Overbites, made up of a bunch of dentists, waits for us to vacate.
“Is it inappropriate to ask them about this crown I have?” Hank muses as we skate off the ice.
I forget about hockey for a moment when I spot Tate sitting on a bench outside the rink. I can look at this man all day.
“Good hustle out there,” he says.
“You were watching us practice?” I ask, worried that he saw me biff that last shot.
“No. It just seemed like something good to say.” Tate shrugs. I pull him into a kiss, letting his salty lips take me to paradise.
“Save it for the backseat of your car, Bill,” Des says with a wink. I give him the finger while remaining liplocked with my boyfriend, who I can now publicly say is my boyfriend.
The past two weeks have been incredible and also pure torture. Getting to be around Tate all day made me smile nonstop. Not being able to swoop him into a kiss whenever I wanted was rough. I tried to be as professional as possible. And I was, save for a quick fuck in the supply closet…and another quick fuck in my office…and the hinted to hookup in the backseat of my car which I never should’ve divulged to Des…and Tate sitting under my desk and blowing me during a marketing call. Twice. And of course all the dirty texts we sent back and forth.
So maybe we weren’t the most exemplary employees, but it doesn’t matter now because as of five p.m. yesterday, Tate is no longer my assistant.
“Ready for our date?” I gaze into his large eyes, like two rocks perfect for skipping across a pond.
“Oh yeah.” Tate steps back, probably so his cute outfit doesn’t get soaked with my sweat. “You’ve done a great job at keeping it a secret.”
“See? I can schedule and plan things without the help of my trusty assistant.” I had made different plans originally, but then remembered Tate has access to my calendar, where he saw the reservation. I quickly changed it and kept it on my personal calendar away from his eyes.
