Page 11 of The Worst Pucking Deal

“It’s all standard shit,” Soren says. “Nothing to be alarmed about, Mickey boy.”

Mickey pulls over to the side of the road, reaches for his phone and taps away on the screen. Less than five minutes later, they both confirm they’ve signed the NDA and returned it, which is confirmed by a text from Tom that I get almost instantaneously.

Tom Redding: Mickey and Soren have signed the NDA. You can tell them.

I don’t bother replying to the text since there’s nothing to say. Instead, I ask Mickey to hurry the fuck up. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change first?” Mickey asks for the third time.

I shake my head. “Nah, man. If I have to behave like a trained monkey, I might as well dress like one.”

Soren chuckles, but is wise enough not to comment further. “So, where are we going to eat? If you want to go to an actual restaurant I should probably change,” he says, gesturing at his overwashed jeans.

“Why?” I ask from the back seat. “We’re fucking royalty in this town. They’ll let you in anywhere, even if you are naked.”

With how big hockey is here, I feel pretty certain my statement is true. More often than not, we receive invites to different clubs and restaurants, basically begging us to show our faces. Not that finer dining is our scene, not unless it’s one of the sponsor or team events we can’t get out of.

“So the usual haunt?” Mickey asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, let’s go to O’Jackie’s.”

Though it’s early on a Thursday, the multi-roomed Irish pub will be almost full. That’s the way it always is. The place is nice, and it’s our go to whenever we want to go out without being seen or having to deal with fans. Fuck, that sounds bad. But sometimes we just want to eat food and hang out without having to worry about the public.

Parking around the back, we use the back entrance like we usually do. As soon as we’re through the doors, we’re greeted by Jackie herself. “My guys,” she greets us in that warm way of hers. She looks behind us, her eyes narrowing when she realizes three are missing. “Where are the others? Did you scare them off by making them dress all formal?” She gives me an accusatory glare.

Used to Jackie’s antics, I chuckle. “You wound me with your accusations.” I waggle my eyebrows at the woman that’s easily twice my age. “I only dressed up for your benefit, so you’ll finally realize I’m your favorite.”

She playfully punches me in the stomach. “Behave yourself, Sawyer. You know your charms don’t work on me. Besides, I could never be with a man who has longer hair than me, and a beard that hides his face.” Turning to Soren, she asks, “How the hell do you guys put up with him?”

Mickey grins. “You know us, Jackie. We’re always up for some charity work.”

The matron wraps her arms around Soren and Mickey, leading us toward one of the quieter and private rooms. I’m not sure she ever lets anyone but us in here, and the thought is humbling. This woman is tough as nails and with a heart of gold.

As soon as we’re seated, she removes the wine and hard liquor card from the table. “I ain’t serving you anything stronger than beer tonight. And you can only have two each. If you want more, you’ll have to go somewhere else.”

“Jackie,” Mickey laughs.

She holds up her hand. “No way, no how, boy. I’ve seen the news. I know why that one is wearing a suit and why you’re here hiding in my backroom.” Then she turns to me. “Tell me something.”

“What?” I ask.

“Did he deserve the beating?”

Before I can answer, Soren growls, “He deserved that, and so much more.”

Jackie nods, pleased with the answer. “In that case, you can have three beers. But that’s it. Now, do you want to pretend to peruse the menu, or should I just go ahead and whip up my famous steaks for you?”

I laugh and wink at her. “We want your steaks, Jackie. Please.”

With the menus in hand, she leaves, all the while mumbling something about us being the bane of her existence and that we were put in her path as a test from God. Jackie’s one of a kind. She’s odd, but apart from my teammates, she’s the realest person I know.

When I first met her a couple of years ago, she was quick to tell me what’s what, demanding that I don’t cost us the season after I’d fumbled a goal in the previous game. She’s never been one to sugarcoat things, so you always know where you stand with her. But she’s also protective, and has more than once, personally, thrown paparazzi out on their asses when they’ve followed us here.

“Okay,” Mickey says, leaning closer to me. “Now that we’re here, tell us exactly what went down with the lawyers and Tom.”

I don’t answer until Jackie has brought us our first beer, and I vow to myself this is the only one I’m having tonight. “The lawyers got the guy to drop the case after I agreed to attend anger management sessions.” I roll my eyes, still not happy I have to do that. I don’t have anger issues, only asshole issues.

“Is that it?” Soren prompts, knowing it isn’t.

I take a large swig of my beer, loving the taste of Jackie’s own brew. “Nah. I also had to agree to fake date someone for the season. Apparently, I’m damaging the family brand and sponsors are threatening to walk if I don’t change.”

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