Page 2 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“You don’t have anything like that in Denmark?” Travis asks him.

“Not like the East Coast of America. It’s more sports related. You all seem to hate each other just for existing.”

Travis chuckles. “It’s a thing. Boston is the best city in the country, but New York gets all the hype because of its fancy landmarks. We have the history though. We started America, for fuck’s sake.”

“Technically, that was Virginia,” Nilsson says. He’s a huge US history buff since getting his citizenship.

Travis blows a raspberry. “Shows you want you know. You can’t rely on history books for true knowledge. Boston is the epicenter and I will hear no slander or lies about other settlements.”

I smile as I rinse my hair. Trav gets worked up when he talks about his home city. He’s one of the few players lucky enough to have been drafted to his preferred city, but there was no way Travis wasn’t getting whatever team he wanted. He’s that good.

We finish showering and get dressed, the locker room filled with excited chatter, hyping me up and draining me at the same time. If we keep up this pace, we could very easily be looking at the playoffs and—I stop myself from thinking any further than that. No sense jinxing us this early in the season.

“Alright, boys,” Trav says, leading us as the team captain. “Have fun, but don’t stay up too late. We have an early flight out to New York tomorrow.”

Trav slips on his teal suit jacket, adjusting the cuff of his crisp pastel pink shirt underneath. He always wears bright colors and fashion-forward stuff, but he pulls it off. As we walk out, he holds out a stick of gum to me. “It’s black pepper and mixed fruits,” he says. “Got it from my international snack box. It’s from Japan.”

“I’m good.”

He shoves a stick into his mouth. “I’ve had a stick every game night for a week and we’ve been winning. Coincidence? I think not. I ordered a box.”

“Whatever keeps you dominating on the ice works for me.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “You looked good out there tonight. Not that you don’t always, but there was some magic in the air.”

It’s you, I want to tell him. I put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him into me briefly before letting go. He’s the magic that holds this whole team together, and it’s contagious. I’ve never played better than I have since I met Trav.

We enter the bar to playful boos from some of the Tampa fans. Trav waves at them and blows them kisses, making the rest of us laugh.

This is the part where my energy drains. Social settings are not my jam, and I used to avoid them until I joined the Magic and it became pretty much expected that I show up for a little while at least. Travis is in his element though, holding court and bouncing around from conversation to conversation. I stick close to him like I always do, letting him be my buffer.

Several fans who are brave enough to be wearing Magic jerseys here in Tampa approach us, and Trav does all the talking, chatting about statistics and hyping me up to them. All I do is smile and nod when I’m part of the discussion.

“I think Fischer is kind of a bully, don’t you?” one of the fans asks me.

Shrugging, I look at Trav, who nods at me, as if giving me permission to speak. “He’s just doing his job,” I mumble, so low that Trav has to repeat what I said so the fans can hear. Under the table, I squeeze Trav’s wrist in silent thanks.

After the fans leave, Trav turns to me, gripping my shoulder and rubbing it. “Did that Fischer hit leave a bruise?”

“Probably,” I grunt. “He is kind of a bully.”

“Yeah, duh. But you’re big and strong.” He winks, drawing a ripple of laughter from me the way only he can, then squeezes my bicep. “Look at this muscle. Fischer ain’t shit.”

“Except he has, like, fifty pounds on me.”

“What’s the saying, it’s not the size that matters?”

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” I deadpan.

Travis laughs, waggling his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t know. No one’s ever said that to me.”

I shake my head, grinning as I lift my beer to my lips. He’s all talk. For a guy who has fans crawling the walls to get to him, he’s pretty careful about hooking up. He never wanted to be one of the guys with that kind of reputation, but he’s gotta be suffering. It’s been months since he and his last girl broke things off, and as far as I know, he hasn’t been hooking up with anyone. And I would definitely know since we room together on roadies and live across the hall from each other when we’re at home.

That’s where he and I differ. I’ve never had an actual relationship and I can go a long time without a hookup. My hand suits me just fine. Sure, I’ve had a few girls I’ve seen more than once, but my first love is and always will be hockey, and most women aren’t interested in playing second fiddle to my career.

Fair, really.

Exhaustion starts to sink in, but I rally a little longer, watching my best friend hold court for a while before I finally give in.