Page 24 of Gross Misconduct

“Goodbye, Griffin. Tell your cutie patootie kids I say hi.”

I crack a smile. At least someone in that room has my back.

“Marcy, he was a professional hockey player for several years.”

“Was. He’s not anymore. So long as a player isn’t currently playing in a professional capacity, they’re eligible to play in this league.”

“He has no business playing in an extracurricular, amateur league.”

“You make the rules now?”

“This is a fun, laid-back league, and I don’t think it’s fair to the other players to be thrown in with a pro.”

“No hockey league with you in it is fun and laid back,” she says.

Go Marcy! I mime a silent cheer in the hall.

“He’s unsportsmanlike and obnoxious. Look, I don’t want to be a tattletale, but did you hear how he acted the other day? He refused for his team to leave the ice so we could practice. We don’t want that kind of attitude in the league.”

“We?” Marcy shoots back. “The rink was accidentally double-booked. I heard he played you for it, and it didn’t go so well. For you.”

I smile to myself, trying to remember how sharp I was on the ice…and trying to forget how good Griffin looked in his hockey gear.

“He’s just some rich asshole who wants to slum it in our league,” Griffin says with such conviction it shakes me for a moment. Whatever connection I thought we had, I really,reallymisjudged. “It’s the other teams that I’m worried about. You’re going to have players quit the league if the Blades have such an unfair advantage. Or they’ll resort to finding their own ringers, and the integrity of the league will be ruined.”

“I’ll monitor the situation,” she deadpans. “I’ve known you since you were a teen with bad acne. Watched you on the ice in game after game. You were never one to get intimidated, Griff.”

“I’m not intimidated by him.”

“Are you worried about losing to this guy?”

“I’m not going to lose to him,” he says with absolute conviction.

“Really? Because you did the other morning,” I say.

There are few things that bring me genuine joy in this world. But the pure shock on Griffin’s face as he realizes I heard every word he said about me is definitely one of them.

“Good morning, Marcy! Here’s the signed liability form for you.” I stroll past him and hand her my missing form. She’s everything I envisioned from her voice: big hair, big glasses, a withering stare that could look through the toughest athlete.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says, likely her nickname for all players under the age of thirty.

I turn to Griffin, still white as a ghost. It’s the first time I get to see him in good lighting. His confident nose, the dignified wrinkles just starting at the corners of his face. Even in this ugly fluorescent lighting, he’s gorgeous. Damn him. His right eye is a vibrant, transfixing shade of green. A spring meadow I could lay in and watch the clouds float by. That is, if he wasn’t being such a prick.

“Griffin, I promise, when I wipe the floor with you in our next game, it won’t be because I’m a professional hockey player. Or a rich asshole. It’s because I’m just a better player than you.” I cock my head and flash him the most fuck-you smile in history.

He turns to Marcy, like she’s a ref that won’t eject me into the penalty box. An amused smile crawls onto her lips.

“What are we going to do about practicing?” Griffin asks Marcy, then flicks his eyes to me. “Because it’s obvious the Blades don’t want to share.”

Marcy types on her computer, a desktop with a fat back monitor that’s almost as old as me. “I can move some things around. How’re Thursday mornings at seven?”

“That’s too late for us. That’s crunch time for getting kids to school,” he says.

“The Blades will take it.” I nod my confirmation to Marcy but don’t look at Griffin.

“Thanks,” he utters.

“We respect our elders. Is that sportsmanlike enough for you?” I shoot him a glare.

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