I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, mentally preparing myself for the intervention I’m about to deliver.
But before I can drag Mack’s dumb ass out of his current situation, I hear a roar of laughter from the dining room. I turn my head just in time to see Terrance “Terry” Zilkov, our fearless team captain, stripping on the dining room table.
Yes, you read that right.
My captain. My leader. The guy who is supposed to lead into battle on the ice. And he is fucking stripping.
He’s pulling his shirt off in slow motion while grinding to the beat of “Pony” by Ginuwine, which someone, of course, queued up the second he climbed onto the table. The girls surrounding him are screaming like they’re at a Chippendales show and throwing dollar bills and…Jesus Christ, I think someone threw a fucking thong at him.
I put my hands on my hips and shake my head as I storm into the kitchen. “Terry, what the actual fuck are you doing?”
He points at me mid-hip-thrust, grinning like a goddamn idiot. “Taking one for the team, bud!”
“No, you’re about to take one for the internet,” I shoot back, gesturing to the ten different phones recording this absolute circus. “You realize Coach is gonna rip the ‘C’ off your jersey with his teeth if this gets out, right? Get the fuck down.”
Terry, of course, ignores me.
Why? Because he’s too many tequila shots deep and doesn’t give a single fuck. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out if it’sworth risking my life to wrestle his drunk ass off the table before someone uploads this shit.
A loud, dramatic sigh pulls my attention to my left. I glance over and spot Hughie Rourke, our goalie and the human equivalent of a brick wall, standing there with his arms crossed.
Hughie lookspissed.
And when Hughie’s pissed, everyone within a ten-foot radius should start saying their prayers. He takes in the shitshow unfolding around him with a look of pure disdain: Terry’s impromptu striptease, Mack’s free porn demonstration, and the general chaos of the party.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Then he looks at me like I’m somehow responsible for this disaster. Which, I mean, I guess I am. It is my party after all. “I’ll wrestle Terry down. You deal with Mack. After that, we’re shutting this shit down.”
I blink at him. Hughie helping with drunk bullshit? That’s rarer than a goddamn solar eclipse. He rarely, if ever, shows up to the party. He prefers to go home and study or work out or…I don’t really know. He’s a quiet, scary as fuck, kind of guy.
“Deal,” I say quickly, because I’m not about to argue with the big guy when he’s already volunteering. I’ll take the help, no questions asked.
Now, wrangling Mack? That turns out to be an Olympic-level event.
First, I have to pry the two girls off him, both of whom are wasted and clingy as hell. One of them actually hisses at me when I try to pull her away, and I’m momentarily stunned because I wasn’t prepared to get cat behavior from a human being tonight. Eventually, I manage to untangle them and send them both stumbling toward the front door.
Then comes the hard part, convincing Mack to put his dick away and stay in his room. This is when I discover that drunkMack is approximately ten times more stubborn than sober Mack.
“I was just vibing, bro!” he slurs as I shove him toward the stairs. “You’re cockblocking me, man!”
“No, I’m saving you,” I snap back. “You’re welcome.”
He finally stumbles into his room, and I slam the door behind him.
Alone at last.
Jesus.
I’m not the kind of guy to preach about morals or whatever, but one thing I can’t fuck with is sex while intoxicated. Don’t care if you’re a guy, a girl, or somewhere in between, it’s just a hard line for me.
And seeing Mack like that? Yeah, I’d rather kill the vibe than let it spiral into something worse.
By the time I make it back downstairs, I’m shocked to see the chaos has started to…disperse. People are actually leaving. Slowly but surely, the crowd is leaking out the front door, taking their bad decisions and empty beer cans with them.
I stand there for a second, just soaking it in, and I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever been this goddamn relieved in my life.
Hughie comes back into view, dragging a very shirtless and very disgruntled Terry off the table.
“He tried to grind on me,” Hughie deadpans, his expression completely flat.
