It’s one thing when this happens at home and it’s our fans. It can get tricky when we’re on the road. Some of us, like Vaughn and Camden Locke, our goalie, are more recognizable than others. And these guys zero in on Cam immediately. He’s an elite goalie in the league so his face is out there a lot. Not to mention the ladies seem to think he’s extraordinarily good-looking.
“Oh, look who it is,” one guy calls out, smirking. “The Lauderdale Losers.”
“Easy,” Cam murmurs when Milo stiffens. “Let them talk.”
Unfortunately, we lost tonight.
“You boys sure you’re not pregnant?” someone says. “You missed a few periods.”
“Very funny,” I mutter under my breath.
“Should we take our food to go?” Milo asks me.
I shrug. “Nah. Fuck them. It’s part of the life. Just ignore them.”
“Hey, Locke—I’ve seen coupons that save more than you did tonight.”
Cam rolls his eyes. He’s heard this shit a million times.
It’s annoying but I mostly let it roll off my back. We could get into a pissing contest but that doesn’t change anything and it’s pounded into us that we shouldn’t engage.
“I’ve heard better chirps from a dead bird,” Milo calls out, keeping his head down.
“Say hi to your mom for me, kid!”
Milo’s head snaps up, a scowl on his face.
“Don’t,” I say, nudging him. “You know damn well that’s the oldest one in the book.”
He grunts and slumps down in his chair.
Maybe we should take the pizza and go.
The chirps go back and forth for a while, and it’s exhausting. Sometimes it’s fun, and most fans understand that this is a job and shouldn’t be taken too seriously off the ice. Unfortunately, this group of guys already appears to be inebriated and they just ordered six pitchers of beer.
“This is fun,” Vaughn mutters as the comments keep coming.
“How come you boys haven’t flown out of here yet?” one of the group yells. “It’s not like you’re welcome here.”
“Knock it off, Kevin,” one of the waitresses snaps.
“Just shut up and pour the beer,” he retorts.
That irks me because I hate seeing staff being abused by patrons. Jude and I exchange a look—I know he feels the same way.
“Miss, can we get the check?” Wolf asks the waitress.
She nods wearily. “Give me just a minute. Do you want takeout boxes?”
“Please.” Wolf is pretty even-tempered. He’s a big guy, well over six feet, and imposing both on and off the ice, but rarely gets mad. For him to be asking for the check, it’s obvious the tension is growing.
I start to pull money out of my wallet but Wolf shakes his head. “I’ve got it. We’ll settle up another time.”
Everyone nods.
At this point, we just want to get out of here.
“I smell smoke,” the main offender yells out. “You boys trying to think of a chirp?”
