Page 75 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“How so?” I asked.

“It’s filled with young professionals,” he said with disgust at the crowd’s youthful energy. “On weekends, this is the best spot to pick up divorcées.”

Hank rubbed his hands together. He was recently one of them. He and his ex-wife shared a fifteen-year-old son who was smarter than all of us put together.

“Hank, I don’t have enough alcohol in me to hear about your recent dating adventures,” said Bill.

“Well, we can talk about your dating adventures for a change. Oh wait, one must actually go on dates to have stories to talk about.” Hank tossed a peanut into his mouth.

Bill rolled his eyes at the implication, and something told me this was far from the first time Hank had brought it up.

“You need to step into your divorced dad power. These women spent decades in unfulfilled, sexless marriages. They’re wild in the sac,” said Hank, who turned to Des. “They’d even love you and your one ball.”

Des punched his arm back, playfully but with force. “Me and one ball could run circles around your pair.”

“Then come back with me on a Saturday night, dude!”

Des rolled his eyes. He was a hell of a defenseman who was like an attack dog on the ice. He’d beaten testicular cancer a few years ago, and he’d already cracked a few jokes tonight about having one ball. He’d told me that humor was a necessary element to fighting cancer. He was truly indestructible.

“Why does every conversation come back to Des’s one ball?” Bill asked, a no-nonsense look etched on his face. He was our captain, just as he had been in high school, a natural-born leader who’d been grizzled even as a seventeen-year-old. He’d had a rough family life and channeled that frustration into being a ferocious hockey player. Having a daughter had softened him, but only a little.

“One ball to rule them all,” Des said, smiling into his beer.

“I’d rather hear about that than Hank’s sex life,” said Mitch.

“And I’d rather hear about Hank’s sex life thanA Mountain Man Christmas,” I said.

“Me, too,” groaned Mitch. “That actor Lucien McDipshit broke an aged bottle of Glenfidditch on his last day of shooting.”

“Was he trying to spin itCocktail-style?” Des asked.

“No. He was holding the bottle in a scene and dropped it. He said he overmoisturized his hands that morning.”

The film shoot was a month of hell for Mitch, but on the bright side, it would provide hilarious stories that would last a lifetime. It felt good laughing with buddies. I’d missed the camaraderie of teammates.

“Back to the business at hand.” Bill wrapped his knuckles on the table. “We need a name.”

“What about the Has Beens?” Hank asked.

“Who said we were has beens?” I asked in mock offense. “We’re just getting started.”

“Speak for yourself.” Mitch rubbed his leg, old injuries from high school coming back.

“All those in favor of being called Has Beens, raise your hand,” said Bill, although by his tone, we all knew where he stood with that name. None of us, not even Hank, voted for it.

“Where are your bright ideas, Bill?” asked Hank.

Bill shot him a glare that dared him to ask that again.

“What about the Comebacks?” I tossed out.

Instantly, a silence took over our table as the guys mulled it over.

“That’s not half-bad,” said Des.

“I don’t hate it,” said Hank.

Mitch nodded along.

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