Page 2 of Dirty Fighter

“Didn’t bail,” Ben Boerboom says around a bite of something that sounds suspiciously too big for his mouth. “Told you from the start I wasn’t coming. A week away from Lara and Z in the off-season isn’t happening.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Boomer and Lara are total relationship goals. Add in Zamboni, and I guess he’s got dog goals covered too.

I’m not jealous of what they’ve got. But man, how the hell did Boomer, of all the guys on our team— in our league —land a wife before me? “How’s Mrs. Boerboom doing anyway?”

“She’s hot. Smart. Funny. Kicking ass heading up a new project too. So, yeah. Good. When you gonna get your own girl? We’ll plan couples’ nights, take vacations together and shit.”

“Sounds great. Why don’t I just run into the store here and grab one. ‘I’ll take the Cuervo… oh, and actually, throw in the brunette from the top shelf too.’”

Sad thing? Now I’m actually looking through the window to see if there happens to be a woman with a nice smile and an easy laugh behind the counter.

Nope. And the dude with the liver spots and combover isn’t my type.

I’m a decent guy, despite my rep on the team. Really.

I date more than I hook up. I’m not looking for a supermodel or a trophy. And I’m not one of these commitment-phobic players who tells anyone that’ll listen he doesn’t want a relationship… then turns around and is suddenly married to The One he never saw coming.

I come from a long line of relationship guys.

I just haven’t found a woman I connect with in a long time.

An extra heavy sigh blows through the line. “Dude, I set you up. With a very nice, non-puck bunny. Your single status is on you.”

I cough, looking around like maybe there’s someone to hear this shit. “You set me up with your dog walker… who lets Zamboni lick inside her mouth.”

Like back molars, deep.

Hard pass.

I stare through the plate glass of the store at where the guys are waiting to check out.

“Yeah, Z likes her toothpaste, and she doesn’t mind. Which tells you what a sweetheart she is.”

“Boomer, I’ve seen where your dog’s tongue has been. It’s not just dick, man. We’re talking the whole southern hemisphere smorgasbord of meat and salad.”

“Whoa, dude! So judgy. Small wonder he’s still single, right, buddy?”

He’s talking to his dog now. I close my eyes and shake my head.

I want to be indignant, but Zamboni is pretty great. “Give him a scratch for me.”

I wrap it up with Boomer as Lattner walks out into the lot, and the six-foot-five guy waves like he’s some little kid who just found his parent at the amusement park. He has a serious baby face, but not nearly so serious as his slap shot.

And I should probably try to stop thinking of him as a kid. He’s a player, a teammate. A professional.

“Blow Pops, bruh!” He holds up his hand, filled with suckers. “I bought ’em all!”

2

Jason

We meet Bruce at the end of a dock that’s as weathered as he is. At ten years old, he hustled a job out of my grandfather and has been managing the cabin and island for not just my whole life, but my father’s too.

Damn.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the funeral, and there’s a beat where all the shit that goes unsaid passes between us in a single nod.

How you doing?