Page 5 of Gross Misconduct

Fuck, I want to believe. I want to let the hope and passion enveloping his words lift me up, like I’m a lost parishioner in a preacher’s tent. I almost get there, too. I let myself dream about playing again, the feel of the stick in my hands, the high that comes with the crack of slapping the puck into the goal. When I was eighteen, my hockey career went down in flames, and unfortunately, it needs to stay there.

“Sorry, guys.” I pull on a smile to lighten the mood. “My hockey days are over.”

Their faces sink, some more than others.

“But the next round is on me,” I quickly add, and that gets a round of cheers. We may not be teammates anymore, but we can be drinking buddies.

* * *

It’samazing how fast time can speed by when hanging out with good friends. We spend the evening sharing old memories and catching up, laughing until it hurts. It’s been months since we’ve all gotten together, but it feels like no time has passed. That’s the power of a strong friendship. We share recent stories about our kids, each time Des chiming in that he’s so glad he doesn’t have them. I may not be playing hockey with them, but I’d gladly join them for after-game drinks. I thought I’d spend a half hour tops at Stone’s Throw, but another ninety minutes fly by.

The only thing that pulls me from the conversation is the feeling of eyes on me throughout the evening.

I scan the bar for the culprit, a bit of a challenge with the dark lighting. Through the noise and hubbub, I spot a guy at the bar. Broad shoulders. Fit body. Short, tousled dirty blond hair. My heart makes an extra-deep thump in my chest, wondering if we’ll make eye contact, and wondering what that would be like. The bartender hands him another beer, grabbing his attention and snuffing out whatever moment I thought I felt.

“Did you see someone you recognize?” Bill asks.

“No. I thought I did.” I brush it off and return to my friends. Des is so fired up about something, his cheeks redden.

“Hold up, Tanner. Did you actually say you wanted to have another kid?” Des’s eyes spring open in shock and horror. “You already have four!”

“Lulu is already four years old. I miss having a little baby.” Chance gets moony-eyed about the prospect.

A flash of panic zips through me. I barely have a handle on co-parenting two.

“I don’t know how you do it, man. One tired me out,” says Derek, whose daughter is in high school.

“It’s really not that bad. Lena is thirteen, so she helps with the younger ones,” he says. “And I always wanted a big family. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be doing it on my own, but such is life.” Tanner shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t seem mad or bitter about his late wife. He takes it in stride and with the loving way he’s talked about his kids, has an aura of gratitude driving him. I could learn a thing or two.

“I don’t know why you’ve all chosen to do this to yourselves,” Des says, sipping his martini.

“Do what?” Bill asks.

“Procreate.” Des checks himself out in the window reflection and fixes the lapel of his blazer, which probably cost more than my whole wardrobe combined. “When I turned twenty-one, I got myself a vasectomy and a bottle of Macallan single malt scotch. I don’t need little Des crotch goblins roaming this earth. Best investment I ever made.”

“Is it? Do you still need a vasectomy if, you know…” Hank waves his hand, hoping Des will fill in the blank.

“You know what?” Des mimics his fluttering hand.

“You know…” Hank raises his eyebrows in addition to his hand, abandoning any attempt at being subtle.

“The only thing I know is that your body seems to be malfunctioning right now.”

“Because of the t-e-s-t-c. Wait. t-e-s-t-i-s-t. Fuck.” Hank scratches at his thick eyebrow. “Does anyone know how to spell testicular cancer?”

“How the CIA never thought to recruit you is beyond me,” says Des.

“Does your missing ball ever tingle, like a phantom limb?” Hank wonders. He’s never shy about asking weird questions, and frankly, it’s one we’ve been curious about since the operation.

“It’s not missing, Hank. There isn’t a picture of my nut on a milk carton somewhere.” Des knits his eyebrows together. “My other guy is strong as hell and punching above its weight. It could get a woman pregnant if it wanted to. Ergo, the vasectomy.”

Hank throws up his hands in surrender.

“At least I have Griffdog, my brother in removed body parts.” Des holds out his fist. My left eye wasn’t removed, but I’m not gonna leave him hanging.

We bump fists, and for some reason, I instinctively turn to the bar for the mysterious blond. I feel eyes on me again, sending a current of excitement across my chest.

“Now that we’ve discussed hockey, there’s another important topic we need to cover,” Hank says, hunching forward in his seat. “Griffdog’s sex life.”

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