LaFonda’s is a longstanding steak house in the older part of Harristown. It’s one of those places with velvet interiors that plays Frank Sinatra hits and still smells faintly of cigar smoke.
Dove
Only politicians go to LaFonda’s.
Corey
You’re so adorable. Many of our town’s finer residents eat at LaFonda’s. I’d like to take you there, get you accustomed to the finer things.
My eyes roll, and I imagine smashing an overripe peach against his forehead.
Dove
I’ve eaten in nice restaurants, Corey.
Corey
I’d also like to renew my proposal for saving your precious trees. You know I don’t want them destroyed. Let’s talk.
Everything stops at that sentence.
Dove
I guess I’ll see you on Friday at LaFonda’s. But I’ll meet you there.
Corey
See you at seven.
31
MAVERICK
“Shit, Mav, tell us how you really feel.” Akers drops beside me on the bus, phone in hand.
We’re on our way to the arena for Game 4 of the final. We’ve won the first three games by the skin of our teeth, and if we can pull a win tonight, we’ll take home the Cup.
“What are you talking about?”
He turns his phone to me, and I see a thick, black headline across the screen: “Small-Town Boy, Big-Town Star.” Susan Jackson’s article is online.
Leaning my head back against the seat, I couldn’t care less. “What did she see fit to print?”
“Although the darling of LA hockey is reluctant to say it, being sidelined was nearly a deal breaker,” Akers reads aloud. “Murphy feigned ignorance of trade discussions earlier this year, which would have made him the highest-paid player in Carolina Bolts history.”
“What’s this about us going to Carolina?” Owen walksup the aisle in his gray suit, grinning down at me. “You know I wouldn’t object.”
“Feigned ignorance,” I scoff, shaking my head. “That offer must’ve got lost in the mail.”
“Didn’t know you had a thing for Don.” Saxon scrubs the top of my head from the row behind me. “And all this time I thought you were my puck boy.”
“Guess you thought wrong.” My eyes drift over to Donovan’s, and he lifts his chin.
Of all the shit, I don’t mind her printing that item. It’s no skin off my back, and it takes the heat off our captain.
Besides, I’ve just finalized my own plans, and once they’re made public, all these rumors will seem pretty silly.
We’re almost to the arena, almost time for our walkout in designer suits—one of the traditions Coach Leek insisted we maintain—when a text appears on my phone.
