Page 76 of Sin Bin
“We are a great team, Olls,” JT says smoothly, saving my ass. “And that’s what we need to focus on—being a team. I’ll check in with Wagner and make sure he’s seen this tape. They leave a gap right here,” he says, pointing to the screen, “and if Flo can get to this spot, and Wagner can pass the damn puck, we’re golden.”
Everybody nods in agreement and starts putting their laptops and papers away. We need to head to the arena in a couple hours, so our strategy session is winding down. I need to relax and clear my mind so I’m ready for the game. A meal and a nap will definitely help, but ultimately, I have to have faith that everything will work out—not just for the games this weekend, but also with Fallon. As crazy as it probably seems to some people, including her grandparents, I know that she and I have what it takes to go the distance. I know that what I feel for her is genuine. I know it’s love.
And I’m pretty sure she feels the same. What started out as a celebratory drink between almost-friends has evolved into something incredible. Something that will last.
But really, should I be surprised? I’m a matchmaker. I’m practically a love doctor. Is it so surprising that I made the ultimate love match for myself?
“What are you smiling about?” JT asks, elbowing me as he takes a sip from his water bottle.
“I’m a happily married man,” I say. “I’ve got a lot to smile about. You know I’m happy to give you pointers, seeing as how you’re headed down the aisle pretty soon.”
JT flips me the bird while Van laughs. “I’ll help you out, too, Coach Vandaele,” I say, nodding in my former teammate’s direction. “I’ve got you—whatever you need. Tips on how to continuously woo your lady, how to spice things up in the bedroom. You name it, I’m here for you.”
“My bedroom is deliciously spicy, fuck you very much,” Van says, his cheeks turning red when he realizes what he just said. I gotta give him credit, though, when he blushes and owns his statement. “Possibly TMI, but true all the same.”
“Good to hear,” I tell him. “But if you need help proposing, you let me know. A woman like Josie? You better put a ring on that finger. That’s all I’m saying.”
These guys are nice enough—and professional enough—not to mention the fact that I don’t even remember proposing to my wife. I have no doubt that if the rest of the team were here, they’d be giving me endless shit. But as Captain, I get to hang out with my alt-Captain and our coaches and we’re all very mature.
Well, they are.
“They don’t call me The Love Doctor for nothing,” I remind everyone at the table. “So if you guys need advice, just come to me. You, too,” I add, gesturing to Novotny and Baylor. “I don’t believe in gatekeeping. I’m an open book.”
“No one calls you The Love Doctor, Ollie,” CoachBaylor says. “And I don’t need your ‘expertise,’ but I am adjourning this meeting, and I am heading up to my room to call my wife. Don’t bother me unless the hotel catches fire or another one of my players gets himself hitched.” With that parting quip, Baylor leaves the room as we all laugh. I’m not even mad about the air quotes he used because I’m so damn glad he and Jules worked things out after they hit a rough patch earlier this year.
“Offer still stands,” I say, pushing my chair back. “What about you Novotny? Are you seeing anyone? I could find the perfect woman for you.”
Our Senior Assistant Coach looks horrified. “I don’t need a woman. I have—” he pauses to clear his throat. “I’m a single dad to a five-year-old daughter. Reese keeps me plenty busy, so there’s no time for dating.”
My major is Philosophy, but I really should have minored in People Watching. Do they have a program for that? They totally should. Coach Novotny’s not fooling me with that whole throat clearing business. Either he’s in a relationship or he wants to be. The man claims he doesn’t need my help, but no one who says that actually means it.
We all gather our things and leave the conference room. Talk has turned back to hockey, for some reason.
It occurs to me that my genius is wasted on these guys. I don’t care what Aven says. I need my own podcast.
33
Fallon
Ollie’s at an away game in Houston, so when Grandad called earlier today and said he wanted to cook for me, I caved immediately. Things have been strained between us since that awkward dinner last week and I figured they wanted a chance to apologize and clear the air.
I was wrong.
I’m seated across from them at their dining room table, and I can’t begin to count how many meals we’ve shared just like this.
But right now, Grandad’s chicken pot pie sits like lead in my stomach.
“We’ve been so distressed since we met you for dinner on Wednesday, “ Gran begins. “Honestly, we have been distraught since you called to tell us you were married. People don’t just decide to get married in Vegas, Fallon. We figured that young man was up to something, and it turns out that he was.”
My mind is spinning. What on earth do they think Ollie is up to? And they were the ones who interrogatedhim and insinuated he wasn’t good husband material, whatever that is.
“At first,” Grandad says, “we thought he was after your trust. But it’s far more sinister than that. We hired an independent contractor to do some investigating, and we’re awfully glad we did.”
Gran’s hands are shaking as she reaches for my granddad's hand. “Fallon, dear, please forgive our vulgar language, but that man who conned you into marrying him has a pornography account on a site called MyFans. He records naked videos of himself and puts them on the internet. And people pay to watch!”
Good. Lord.
My grandmother is totally scandalized, but I have to interject. “I know all this, Gran. Ollie shared all of it with me. I know it’s upsetting to you, but I promise it’s no surprise to me.”
