Page 67 of Puck Sweat Love

I exhale. “I should. I will.” I rest a hand on my midsection. “My stomach’s just more freaked out by all this than I expected.”

“Popcorn,” Stone says, pushing the bowl my way. “Start there. Small pieces, low commitment. No one should have to chew a huge hunk of poorly cooked carrot at a time like this. No offense, Steph.”

Steph grins “It’s a sweet potato actually, and it’s delicious. And no offense taken.” She extends her arm, wiggling her fingers toward Cruise. “Here, scootch the laptop over. The remotecontrol, too. I’ll get us set up on the big screen. I have to do this kind of thing all the time when I teach at conferences or festivals.”

Cruise sags with relief as he pushes his computer her way. “Thank God. Libby always does this stuff at home. Kindergarten teachers know their shit when it comes to A/V setup.” Once Steph is on the case, he sits back in his stool, stretching his arms overhead with a groan. “Damn, I’m sore. What a first fucking week, huh? I’m going to have to do an ice plunge before bed if I don’t want to wake up crying into my pillow like a baby.”

“Beer also helps,” Stone says. “I have pale ale or hard cider. What’s everyone drinking?”

Justin and I both request a beer. Steph says, “Hard cider, please,” before turning to click the remote at the giant T.V. In just a few more clicks, she has Justin’s desktop mirrored on the big screen.

We pop our beers, toast her brilliance, and then…settle in to wait.

The next fifteen minutes are excruciating. I can’t sit still, alternating between pacing behind the couch and staring at the feeds, as if I can make Garcia appear through sheer force of will. I force myself to shove a few bites of dinner into my mouth in the name of giving my exhausted body fuel, but I’m too keyed up to actually feel hunger.

So keyed up, I nearly jump out of my skin when Cruise shouts. “There! Douche snozzle’s car just pulled up outside.”

We all turn to the screen, watching as Garcia emerges from his sleek black BMW.

“Get comfortable, boys and girl,” Stone says, sinking onto the couch. “It’s showtime.”

Garcia glances around the exterior of the warehouse, scanning the area in all directions, twitchy and tense, like he’s expecting to be jumped. It takes a good five minutes for him tomake his way to the door, which he pushes open with equally jumpy energy, sticking only his head inside.

Thankfully Dan seems prepared to play it cool.

“S’up,” he says, giving Garcia a chin lift of acknowledgment as he finally steps fully into the space. “You Garcia?”

Thanks to the mic he’s wearing, Dan’s voice is crisp and clear. Garcia’s, “Yeah. You Dan?” is fainter, a little tinny, but still easy to make out.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders to release some of the tension that’s crept them closer to my ears. First hurdle cleared. The tech is working. Assuming Garcia implicates himself in something sketchy, we’ll have the evidence on lock.

“Yep.” Dan leans against the table, oozing “I own these mean streets” confidence. He arches a brow. “Heard you were looking for some information about one of my clients?”

Garcia looks around once more before stepping closer. “Yeah. Pro hockey player. Big guy, dark hair, last name LiBassi, but goes by Tank. Pill head, but could be into other stuff, I don’t really know. I sent a picture of him to your friend.”

My fists clench at my sides as I stand ramrod straight behind the couch, fresh anger surging through me all over again, even though I knew this was coming. This fucker is just the fucking worst.

Steph rests a gentle hand on my back, a silent reminder to breathe, and that she’s here. I’m not alone. I reach for her hand, grateful for the anchoring feel of her fingers threading through mine as we watch Dan take a leisurely sip of his energy drink, letting the suspense build before he answers. “Yeah. I might be familiar.IfI were, what would you want to know? More importantly, how much are you willing to pay for the information?”

“I’d be willing to let you name your price,” Garcia says, gaining confidence. A hint of his usual cockiness creeps into hisvoice as he adds, “But only if you bring me hard evidence. I’d need you to film him paying you for drugs. Or at least get it on audio or something.”

“Oh, the irony,” Justin mutters, “it burns us…”

“It really does,” Steph whispers, shaking her head. “Who knew hockey players were so devious?”

“Hush,” Stone says, leaning in. “We’re close, people. I can feel it.”

Dan laughs, a harsh burst of sound that echoes in the empty warehouse. “Well, then I can’t fucking help you, dude.”

Garcia frowns. “Why? You wouldn’t have to show your own face. You could blur it out or film it so you’re not in the frame or whatever.”

“Nope.” Dan shrugs. “I don’t sell to that guy. Or any NHL players for that matter.”

“But your friend said that you said sold to pro athletes all the time.”

“I lied,” Dan says, draining his energy drink before crushing the can in one strong hand. “Saying I sell pills to pro-athletes gives me legitimacy. Makes me the kind of thug you can trust to get you shit that isn’t laced with garbage that’s going to kill you. But I don’t actually sell to any.” He turns to throw the can, but pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the last minute. “I mean, unlessyou’relooking to score. My supply is as clean as they come, man. Whatever you need to take the edge off, I?—”

“No, I don’t want drugs,” Garcia cuts in, scowling hard enough that his eyes are in shadow. “You’re serious? For real? Did your friend show you the picture I sent?”

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