Page 20 of Hat Trick
SUDS & BUDS
DOMINIC
“Banner,” Cole groans from the other side of the parking lot. “Not this songagain.”
?1 It’s me. I’m Banner. The series of events it took for them to come up with this nickname never fails to amuse me. But then again, what’s a hockey player without a ridiculous nickname?
My last name is Foster, which then turned into Banana Foster, which quickly proved to be too long. Banana lasted all of two days before I had to put an end to it. I just couldn’t. So then they collectively decided on Banner—which they swear sounds like banana, even though it doesn’t. But I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, I accepted it and moved on.
Em says it’s fitting consideringsometimes I have the persona of Bruce Banner. You know, the Hulk. Especially on the ice.
Anyway, I just turned on “Pink Pony Club” for probably the fourth time this afternoon over the wireless speaker. Because let’s face it, this song fucking slaps, and I will never not shake my ass to it. Plus, the ladies love it. “It’s the price you pay for letting me be DJ for the day, Cap.”
Cole’s last name is Evans, and weirdly enough he looks kind of like Chris Evans.
Evans. Chris Evans. Captain America.
You get it.
“Baker, please get him under control,” he groans.
Because Emerson is well, Emerson; he’s just Baker.
Huffing a laugh, he drops his sponge in the bucket at his feet. “If I had any control over him whatsoever the song would have never played in the first place.”
We’ve never told any of the guys that the two of us hook up. Not that we’re embarrassed but because, quite frankly, it’s none of their business. However, they do know that the two of us—more often than not—are attached at the hip. And none of them are blind. They see the way we act toward one another. Even though we never show blatant public displays of affection, we never shy away from one another. If the guys suspect anything, they never bring it up. And if they did, I know that despite the occasional razzing, they’d be nothing but supportive. My team is filled with some of the best men I know.
I grin widely at him before looking back over atChris. “You’re looking a little dry over there, Cap. Remember, the girls like the abs lookingmoist.”
“For the love of god, please stop saying moist,” Emerson groans, and I can’t help but laugh.
The car we just finished with drives off, and the next one pulls up. I’m so busy shaking what my momma gave me—have to lure the ladies in somehow—that I don’t even notice the car that pulls up until I hear Em curse, “Well, fuck.”
Through the windshield of an all-too-familiar Honda Civic, I see the adorable face of Liliana Campos.
She looks equal parts horrified, embarrassed, and turned on.
Honestly, that’s her usual expression anytime I’m around.
I love it.
This is the first time we’ve seen her since we got back from, what I’m now referring to as, our “sexcation.” As amused as I am, I’m also vividly aware that this is less than ideal. The moment we landed, the three of us got sucked right back into our regularly scheduled programming. Emerson and I with school and hockey, and Lil with her business. Hell, outside of practice and our game yesterday, I’ve barely even seen Emerson. We haven’t even stayed at each other’s places since we returned, and we rarely run into one another on campus anymore. With it being our senior year, he and I are both busy with our respective senior year classes. Him in journalism and mass communication, and me in audio engineering. Safe to say our classes don’t cross over whatsoever.
Outside of both of us sending Lil the occasional lunch or sweet treat, because the woman constantly forgets to feed herself while she’s working, we’ve barely even had time to communicate. Let alone go into detail about what all ofthismeans now that we’re home.
And as much as I want to hear her every thought about the subject, a hockey team carwash on campus is not the time or place.
“She seriously needs to get a new car. That thing is an accident waiting to happen,” Em says under his breath.
I roll my eyes. He’s such a grouch sometimes. “You and I both know she’s attached to that car,” I tell him as one of our teammates starts hosing down the relic.
“I’ll buy her a new one then.”
I side-eye him. “You think that woman would ever let youbuy hera car?”
Emerson huffs a dramatic breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Plus, I already have it scheduled for a maintenance appointment for next week. Cap is going to drive it there one afternoon when I take her out to lunch.”
