Page 20 of Gross Misconduct

“I’m wearing a cup, baby. But if you want my dick, just ask.” Des winks at him.

“Speaking of dicks,” Hank begins, and I know this sentence won’t end well, especially when he turns to me. “I think something went down with you and the blond at the bar the other night.”

“The blond that Griff was blatantly checking out?” Des asks. The other guys gather around.

Shit. And I thought I was being subtle. I really am a newb at this stuff.

“After we left, I had to drive back because I forgot my phone,” Hank says. “I like to play this game that’s basically a Tetris rip-off when I’m on the can. I left my phone on top of the toilet at Stone’s Throw.”

“Why are you giving us all of this unnecessary detail?” Des asks.

“I like my stories to have texture. Anyway, when I went back to the bar, Griff’s car was still there. I asked the bartender, and he said Griff left with…” Hank does a drumroll on the bulletin board, making me blush even more. “The Blond!”

The guys let out loud ooooohs and whistles like they’re audience members in the cheesy sitcom known as my life. I want to deny it, but there’s too much evidence. My face feels so red it could be mistaken for Mars.

“Maybe they just left the bar at the same time by coincidence,” Tanner says.

Hank lets out a booooo like he’s now an audience member at a trashy talk show.

“You can tell us what happened, Griffdog.” Des throws an arm around me. “Did you finally pop your gay cherry?”

I flash back to the rooftop, when all the green lights were there. Jack was gorgeous. He was a key unlocking all of my deepest fears and secrets. How was it so easy to talk to him when I barely knew him? How could I pass all these guys in public and feel nothing, and then spend a few hours with Jack and feel everything?

And then how could I walk away from the greatest kiss of my life, a kiss I initiated?

My head was still a mess from that night. My heart was in worse shape. It shouldn’t be possible to feel a connection like this with someone so quick.

“Nothing happened,” I tell them. It’s mostly the truth, which makes it easier to hide what did happen.

“Nothing?” Hank asks, deflated. “I’ll bet he was into you. Even for a hot night.”

I’m still kicking myself for getting scared and waiting until the last minute to pump the brakes. But I don’t know if I’m built for meaningless flings.

“Maybe it could’ve been something more serious,” says Tanner, perhaps reading my mind. His eyes widen with eternal hope.

I shake my head no. As a divorced, has-been athlete with one fucked-up eye, I don’t bring much to the table. And very quickly, Jack would’ve realized that. I’d rather wonder about what could’ve been than deal with the cruel rejection reality would’ve brought.

“Bill, what do you think?” Hank asks our captain, pacing furiously by the rink.

“I think this team needs to get the hell off the ice. Grab your skates and sticks. We’re going in.”

We march up to the rink. The team is deep into sprints, seeming to have no intention of winding down.

“Hey!” Bill calls out. They ignore him. “Hello! This is our practice time,” he yells.

“They’re fucking with us,” I say under my breath. In hockey, actions matter infinitely more than words. I step onto the ice and stop a puck in the middle of a passing drill.

“Hey!” I yell as loud and forcefully as I can. I pick up the puck and throw it onto the bench. “You’re on our time.”

I motion for my teammates to join me on the ice. It’s quite a contrast, our mishmash of hockey gear versus their sleek, matching black uniforms with a stick logo that could double as a knife, but I don’t let it intimidate me.

“We have the rink now for practice,” I say to the sea of black. “Who’s your captain?”

A guy skates forward from the pack. He takes off his helmet, and my head and my heart and the rest of me plummet through my skates.

Jack might be wearing a hockey uniform and bulky gear, but that spiky blond hair and thin-lipped smile is unmistakable.

“Nice to see you again.” An amused grin hits his lips as he silently puts all the pieces together.

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