Page 39 of Hard to Handle

We’re talking about you needing to remember why you play the game.

We’re talking about you needing a new agent who appreciates you.

We’re talking about you and me deserving a second chance.

But none of those reasons fall from my lips. Nope. Instead, I chicken out and give him the answer that will satisfy him. For now.

“I need to watch a prospective client’s game. I thought you might want to watch him and provide some feedback.”

He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “What?” The word comes out in a disbelieving laugh.

“Humor me,” I say and turn to look in the back seat. “I think I have a beanie. Would a beanie work?” I ask as I begin to rummage through the travel bag I have there.

“Why do I need a hat?” he asks as I produce a nondescript black beanie.

“Voila!” I hold it up. “You need a beanie because you’re not here to be Hunter Maddox, the hockey god. You’re here to be Hunter, an average guy with an even more average-sized dick who’s going to enjoy a game simply to enjoy a game.”

He eyes me for the longest time and I wait for him to say something, for him to express the caution fleeting through his eyes, but he nods and slowly slides the beanie over his head. “But it’s more than average in size. This beanie-wearing guy might be average, but his dick definitely isn’t.”

I laugh. “I should’ve known you’d say that.”

He shrugs. “Average guys need all the love they can get.”

“Let’s go, bigger-than-average Hunter,” I joke and open the door, needing the blast of the cold air to shock me to my senses from realizing that we’re actually getting along. And from thinking how much I want a second chance with him . . . despite how he hurt me the first time.

But is it hurt when you both go into a situation with the same expectations and yours change? How is he to blame for that?

Jesus, Dekk. Get over it. Get over him.

But it’s been three years and obviously, I haven’t. What exactly does that mean?

Our shoulders bump as we walk through the lot like other college co-eds on their way to one of the biggest games of their season against Dartmouth.

“Wait.” Hunter tugs on my hands and stops me so I can look at him. “Why in the hell do you have a Kings hat in your car?”

“I have clients on most teams.”

“So, what? You dress the part at their games?”

I shrug and offer a coy smile. “Sometimes.”

“You’ve been on the road with us this whole stretch. I’ve yet to see you wear a LumberJacks hat.”

“I’ll only wear one once they’ve won the cup.”

“Ohhhhhhhh,” he says and then bursts out laughing. “Fucking brutal.”

But his laughter as we head toward the arena is all I focus on.

It’s all I hear.

It’s all I want.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DEKKER

“YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT one?” Hunter asks as he slides a pint of beer onto the table. The tavern is dim with Dartmouth paraphernalia lining its walls and teeming with college students excited after tonight’s win.