CHAPTER 9
HAPPY
“Ha! That’s out!” Rusty, our team captain, shouts with a victorious fist pump to his pickleball partner, Alex Henry, our alternate captain. “We win.”
“That was so not fucking out!” I argue.
“Dude, it was out,” Logan assures me with a grin. “By at least six inches.”
I glance from Logan to Alex to Rusty, who’s standing there shirtless, his thick tufted chest hair proudly on display. Tossing my racket to the floor, I throw my hands in the air. “This is a goddamn mutiny!”
“Cry about it.” Rusty snorts.
“Fist my dick,” I retort, because honestly, it’s the best I’ve got.
Alex laughs out loud.
“Okay, that’s enough pickleball for you, my man,” Logan says, patting my back in an attempt to placate me like the toddler that I am when it comes to pickleball.
I don’t know why I do this. Playing pickleball with the guys in our makeshift court underground at the arena only works me up more than it should. This is supposed to be fun, supposed to chill us out before a game, but I suck so hard at this shit, it only pisses me off. And with just seven games left in the regularseason, I can’t afford to get pissed off and let it affect my game heading into my very first playoff series.
My agent, Linc, has warned me to prepare for a potential trade this summer, so I don’t have a lot of time left to prove to Coach Draper that instead of just a second pair reserve, I’m a serious, dedicated, and pivotal cog in the Thunder defense machine. Because I can’t leave New York, so a trade to another team means the end of hockey for me.
Pulling my t-shirt from where it’s tucked into the waistband of my shorts, I use it to wipe the sweat from my forehead as I follow Logan down the corridor toward the locker room when we’re stopped by the social media crew, Brianna and Samara; Samara holds her camera up, and Brianna holds a sign that saysWHO WILL WIN THE MASTERS?
Logan pauses, answering quickly, “Brookes, for sure.”
I look from the sign to Logan and then back to the girls, my eyebrows tugging together.
“Happy?” Brianna asks, a seductive purr to her voice. I’ve never fucked her. But she did send me an unsolicited nude one time. Me and almost every other guy on this team, apparently.
“What’s theMasters?”
“Golf!” Logan balks, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “The US Masters.”
Still baffled, I snort a laugh. “Who gives a fuck about golf?”
“Happy!” Samara groans, lowering the camera. “You can’t cuss on a social post.”
Logan smacks me in my chest. “That’s a five hundred buck fine, my dude.”
Before the girls can set up for take two, a deep voice calls my name, and I spin around, my shoulders falling at the sight of Chris fucking Garret standing there in his stupid suit, with his stupid slicked back hair and his stupid disingenuous smile.
“Got a moment?”
I grit my teeth, forcing a smile. “Sure thing, Chris.”
Casting Logan a sideways glance, his brow furrows a touchas he watches on, clearly dubious like he knows something’s up, but I offer him a reassuring wave of my hand before turning to follow Chris. I haven’t told Logan anything about what happened with Hannah and me over the weekend. And I won’t. Which is why I can’t tell him about showing up at Hannah’s apartment to find this skinny sack of shit wasted, waiting for her. No one knows, and I’ll keep it that way because Hannah told me her biggest fear is Chris’s wife finding out about his infidelity.
Chris pokes his head into the small, uninhabited office that sits between a utility room and a closet, checking there’s no one inside before entering and waiting for me to follow suit before closing the door.
I stand on the spot, folding my arms across my chest, my jaw ticking as he takes his sweet-ass time, moving to the leather sofa and unbuttoning his suit jacket before sitting down.
“Take a seat, Slater.”
Slater?“I’ll stand.”
He looks up at me, one eye narrowing despite his smile. With a heavy exhale, he crosses one leg over the other, laying an arm along the back of the sofa, and I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to look at ease, relaxed, because he’s the one in power here, so he has nothing to worry about. And fuck him.
