“You good, man?” Hen asks.
I tap his helmet. “So good. Let’s win this game.”
Minnesota doesn’t let up on us, and we have to work hard for every play, but we pull it out at the end, winning by a single goal, but that’s good enough.
As we line up at the end, I tap gloves with all the Minnesota players, but when Troy gets to me, he snarls, his left cheek bruised and swollen.
“You’re a fucking dick, Bouche.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know, Troy.”
He huffs as he passes me, but I just chuckle. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win games, and that’s what we do.
Finally in the locker room, I strip out of my gear and head for the showers, keeping my body folded slightly to hide my half-hard dick. I can’t wait to let Wraith get his hands on me.
“You coming to Chirps after?” Hen asks.
“Can’t. I have plans.”
“Plans?” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Do tell.”
“Not my style.”
I wash quickly but pay attention to the parts I hope Wraith will have his mouth on later, even though sweat clearly doesn’t bother the man. But post-hockey-game sweat is next level, and I wouldn’t let him touch me like that, no matter what he said.
I’m out of the shower in record time, drying off and throwingon my suit. I grab my phone just as Jackson, our PR guy, enters the room.
“Bouche?”
“Yeah?”
“Media’s out there. They want your reaction to the fight.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Can’t you just tell them something?”
“They don’t want me.” He grins, showing off his perfect white teeth. “They want you. Five minutes.”
“Fine.”
“You know what to say?”
I blink at him like he switched to a new language. “Are you serious? I know it’s been a while, but I don’t need media coaching.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then what did you mean?” I straighten my sleeve. “Don’t worry, Jackson, I won’t embarrass the team.”
“You sure we can’t get you out for one drink?” Hen asks, pouting.
“Not tonight.” I wink and smile, then push through the doors to brave the media.
I don’t know why tonight’s fight got their attention. I fight all the time. Maybe because we’re so close to playoff contention, or maybe because it’s been a while since they’ve had their microphones in my face.
“Bouche!”
They shout my name and cameras flash as I make my way to the tunnel, stopping about midway.
“What do you think of Patrick Troy as a player?”
