His jaw ticks and his smile falters, but it just lasts for a couple of seconds. His usual, easy going grin is back in the blink of an eye. “Yeah, I know. I tried to grope Bex and made a fool of myself. Don’t remind me.”
That wasn’t my intention, but I would be a shitty friend if I didn’t look out for him. “You promised Coach you would keep the drinking under control. I don’t think drinking and driving is the way to start the summer.”
Tucker lowers himself into the chair next to mine, and his voice goes down so that I’m the only one who can hear him in the crowded outdoor area of Joe’s bar.
“I bought a round of tequila, but my glass is filled with water. I asked the bartender to keep giving me water all night.”
I shake my head at his revelation. “Why fake it? Who cares if you aren’t drinking?”
“The guys and I are trying to get Mack laid.” He says, as if that explained everything.
“And?” Tucker’s thought process isn’t always linear.
He shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t want to be a party pooper. I think the man needs a few drinks in him to make sure he doesn’t cave when Gen shows up. Talia told me the bitch’s on the warpath and wants Mack back.”
“Wait a sec, didn’t she dump him? That’s what I heard her saying last week at the graduation party we threw for Luke and the others.”
Tucker shakes his head. “No. He ended things with her. Fucking finally.”
I try my best not to meddle in other people’s love lives, but I can’t help but agree with Tucker. “I hope he stands his ground. Gen is beautiful on the outside, but the rest could use some serious work. She and Mack go way back, though, right?”
“Yeah, they grew up together. Their fathers used to be teammates and best friends.” Tucker confirms.
“Do you know what made him pull the plug on their relationship? Did she cheat or something?”
Tucker lowers his voice again. “It’s not my story to tell; you’ll have to ask Mack. But let’s have fun tonight and make sure Gen sees that our boy has moved on, yeah?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But what about you? Still holding a candle for Bex?”
“Shut the fuck up, dude.” Tucker’s tone hardens for a moment, but it’s fleeting. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and I’m not completely over her. I know it’s stupid because she’s never seen me that way, but I can’t turn my feelings on and off that easily.”
I feel bad for Tucker. Most people stop at the front he puts on and think he’s a jackass. But if they bothered to look beyond his cocky exterior and the endless pranks, they would see an entirely different man. The Tucker I know is a loyal friend and devoted big brother, and has a huge, sensitive heart he hides from anyone outside his inner circle.
“No one is talking about feelings.” I tell him. “You should just get laid to take your mind off of Bex.”
He barks out a laugh, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, pass. Been there, done that. On the other hand,” he lowers his voice again, pointing out our new teammate Nash, who’s just coming back from the restroom. “Our new boy there looks awfully tense. We should make sure he finds a hookup too.”
I grab his shoulder in the hope that for once in his life Tucker will listen to me. “Leave him alone, dude. He just got here. He might have left a girlfriend at his old school. We know nothing about him.”
As predicted, Tucker is one stubborn motherfucker. “He’s single. I asked him earlier, while we were connecting all of our game consoles to the TV in our new apartment at camp.”
“Still.” I caution him. “Give him a second to acclimate before you make him one of your pet projects.”
“No can do.” His grin widens. “The dude needs to relax before training starts. Or he’ll never survive one year under Coach Harrison.”
It seems that Tucker’s plan to get people laid is to lower their inhibitions with alcohol.
“Here, Nash.” He offers him a shot from the tray he brought to the table. Then he raises his voice to get the attention of the rest of our teammates who are spread out across two more neighboring tables. “Does everyone have a shot? Let’s toast to summer training and to another season at the top of our game. Frozen Four, baby!”
Everyone raises their shot glass and joins in.
“Frozen Four!” we all yell before tossing back our drinks.
“So,” Tucker rubs his palms together in anticipation. “This year there are some really cool rides on this pier and I think we should try them all. Who wants to ride the mechanical rocket?” He points out a mechanical bull in the shape of a pink rocket—whoever chose that shape and color was either trying to be suggestive on purpose or very naïve—”I bet I’m gonna stay on it longer than all of you.”
There’s a middle-aged man climbing on that thing right now and he lasts less than two seconds.
“Oof.” I flinch when he lands on the mat in a humiliated heap. “No, thanks. That’s an injury waiting to happen. And if we get hurt riding that rocket, you might as well find a real rocket and leave the planet when Coach Harrison finds out how you got hurt.”
