Page 3 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

Leaning in, I whisper to Trav, “I’m gonna go back to the hotel.”

“Let me finish up and I’ll go too.”

“Nah. Have fun. I can make it one block by myself. The team needs you here.”

Travis nods. “I won’t be too long.”

I glance at his full glass of freshly poured beer and know that isn’t true. “Cool.”

After saying quick goodbyes to the team, I head toward the door, pausing by a couple of fans who ask for autographs. It never stops being surprising that people want my signature on something. I’m just a kid from Indiana who got lucky being good at a sport.

I step outside and pause on the sidewalk, breathing in the warm, heavy air. It’s quickly cooling down in Boston since it’s already October, but here it’s still balmy as summer. I love autumn, but this is a nice change of pace.

As I make my way to our hotel, an idea begins to bloom. It’s rare that I get any alone time on the road since Travis and I are almost always joined at the hip.

Heat flutters low in my gut. A little quiet time would be the perfect way to end a great night.

TWO

SHOW

I don’t know what it is, but the energy in the bar noticeably shifts once Beau is gone. It’s not like he’s all that chatty when we’re out like this, so it’s not actually any quieter, and everyone else is still carrying on exactly like they were before, but something just feels… I don’t know, more empty when he’s not around.

“One more?” Nilsson asks, pointing at my beer.

“Sure, why the hell not?” One more couldn’t hurt.

He waves down the bartender and gestures for another round for all of us. The TV behind the bar is playing sports news; it’s too loud in here to hear any of it, but there’s a picture of Damien “Baddie” Badeaux, forward for the Montreal Coqs on the screen, so I’m guessing they’re talking about his latest marriage… Or maybe he’s already divorced again by now. I can never keep track. Then they move on to highlights from our game tonight and I reach over and clap Elijah Klaussen on the shoulder. He’s my right wing and I couldn’t have made half the goals I scored tonight without him.

“You played like a beast tonight, man,” I compliment him again, even though he’s been getting nothing but praise all night. That’s what it’s all about though, right? You’re supposed to get noticed when you’re good at shit. That’s, like, ninety percent of the point of bothering to be good at shit in the first place.

“Look who’s talking Mr. Hat Trick. You fucking owned that ice tonight.” He nudges me back.

I grin wider, preening. “Couldn’t have done it without Bozy.” I pick up my fresh beer and take a sip. “You know what we should do? Let’s get a round for the whole bar.”

I don’t wait for Klaussen or any of the other guys to weigh in before I push my glass aside and climb up on the bar.

“Hey, excuse me!” I cup my hands around my mouth like a funnel to project my voice over the din of the bar. People start turning their heads to look at me, some of them quieting down, others still talking at full volume. That’s fine; I can be loud. “I just want to say a big thanks for your hospitality tonight on behalf of the Boston Magic, and let you know that your next round is on us.”

Cheers erupt, along with a few stubborn boos. I’m sure they’ll take the free drink, but they’re not about to cheer anything about another team in their own city, especially not when they lost tonight. Respect.

“Dude, get down before you slip and break your neck and we have to get a new star center,” Harlson says, shaking his head at me.

“Why would I break my neck? I’ve got reflexes like a cat, bro.” Just to prove my point, I bust out some moves, doing a little jig right on top of the sticky bar.

“If you’re expecting us to stick money in your G-string, you’re going to need to upgrade your face card and grow a pair of tits,” Nilsson calls.

“Please, I am certified prime beef.” I pull up my shirt to flash him my hard-earned abs and catch a couple of women wearing Tampa hats a few seats down eyeing me with appreciation. I shoot them a wink. “See? They want some of this.”

I shake my ass one more time in Nilsson’s general direction just for the laughs it earns from everyone else, then I finally climb down off the bar. Both the women slide off their stools and head in my direction with an unmistakable look in their eyes. They’re hot, that’s just an objective fact. Curves in all the right places, long hair spilling over their shoulders, thick thighs that I know would feel fucking fantastic wrapped around me. Even before they reach me though, I already know I’m just not feeling it tonight.

“That was really cool of you to offer to buy a round,” the blonde says while the brunette reaches out and runs a finger along my bicep.

“Thanks, but it was actually Klaus’s idea. Do you ladies know Elijah Klaussen? I’ve never met a nicer, more generous guy in my life.” I point him out as I talk him up, and Klaussen swivels on his bar stool to give them a once-over and a friendly nod. “And between you and me, I’ve seen him in the locker room, and he’s hung like a horse.” I stage whisper the last part to them and they both giggle.

Mission accomplished. Klaussen shoots me an appreciative grin and I wink at him to let him know it’s no problem. While everyone’s occupied, I toss a wad of cash down on the bar without bothering to count it. Should be more than enough to cover the round I offered to buy the bar plus a generous tip. Then, I slip out.

It’s humid outside, and my ears ring with the sudden quiet once I’m on the sidewalk. I take a deep breath of the fresh air and pull up the map on my phone to find the way to the hotel from here. I replay the highlights from tonight’s game in my head while I walk and make some mental notes about things I could’ve done better. Sure, we won, but it could have been by a lot more than one goal. I’ll go harder tomorrow night. Fuck a hat trick, I want a double hat trick in the next game. Only a handful of players can claim that, and I want to add my name to the list.