Page 33 of No Pucks

I glance at Savage, but he keeps his face schooled. There are a few murmurs, but no one out right asks what Wolfe means.

“Really? No one is going to ask?” Wolfe gives us a disappointed look. “To welcome you all to the Gods, we have a little ritual. So if you’ll all step outside.”

We’re ushered outside to find the entire intersection shut down and barricaded off. In the middle sits some sort of obstacle course, full on Ninja Warrior style.

“How the fuck did you guys manage this while we were all inside?” I ask, kind of impressed.

“His dad is the NYC police chief. We get away with a whole lotta shit we shouldn’t because of it.”

“Magic!” Lovelace wiggles his fingers and pitches his voice up.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder they wanted us drinking.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Savage stands next to me with a dreamy look to his eyes, like the whole thing is his baby.

I guess I would be impressed too. “The cops don’t do anything about this?” I knew people did this kind of thing to illegally street race—I’d grown up with it happening down 5th Ave—but they need spotters, have people distract the police, and it’s a whole thing that still gets broken up by the cops.

“They allow us to do it every year,” Savage says coyly.

I glance between Savage and the blocked off street. “Is this police sanctioned hazing?”

“Adoption ritual.” He claps a hand on my back. “We don’t haze here. That would get us kicked out of the Myth League.”

“Right, adoption. Who is taking the felony for bribing the police?”

“Like I said, Wolfe’s dad is the police chief.” Savage winks. “We don’t bribe anyone. We ask nicely.”

“I’m shocked they just let you—” I cut myself off as the words leave my lips. “Actually, I’m really not surprised by anything you get up to.”

Savage meets my eyes. “Touché. Come on. I’m your sponsored pledge brother and am betting on you. So don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t.” I don’t have a single clue what we are doing, but I’m the fastest on the ice and my balance is incredible, which will translate to something, but when I see the guys pulling out guns, I stop dead in my tracks. “What the actual fuck?”

“It’s fine. It’s just paintball.” Savage tightens his grip on my shoulder, not letting me stop.

“Just paintball? This is Velasca cashmere. I had to wait eight months to get this piece,” I mutter to keep up the act, but I’m excited about this. We are all on an NCAA D1 team. We like competition.

Savage gives me a mock exasperated look, catching my sweater. “I knew you were one of those guys, but Jesus, it’s exhausting already.”

I narrow my eyes. “What guys?”

“That quiet luxury aesthetic.” He pops a hip and sighs while flipping his hand while his voice gets high pitched. “I just know the quality and craftsmanship is different, and I don’t flaunt my wealth with designer labels. Or at least TikTok told me that’s what you’re doing.”

My mouth drops open. “I didn’t get my aesthetic from TikTok?—”

“No, you got it from hundreds of years of insufferable whiteness. You can’t help it.” Savage keeps laughing.

“I mean—you’re not wrong. I’m not happy about it, but I’ve got to give you that one. Can I blame my parents?” I grit my teeth and make a face but then laugh.

His buddy Lovelace butts in. “I’ll allow it.”

We both laugh, and he holds out his fist.

I bump it and nod. “This is a goddamn trap.”

“Damn right it is, and I’m going to enjoy ruining that sweater.”

I pull it off, leaving me in just a thin tee in the crisp air. “I’d give it to you if I thought it would fit, but Christ, man, you’re like twice as wide as I am.”

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