Page 20 of Pucker Up
“Do you guys want to order something to eat?” She leaned on the table.
My stomach growled. “I don’t suppose you have Reuben sandwiches on the menu, do you?”
She laughed. “No, but we have a Waygu beef on focaccia that’s pretty close.”
She might be an expert in doing her hair, and showing off her cleavage, but the girl didn’t know a thing about sandwiches. “That will do.” I shot her a smile.
“What about you?” She rested her hand on Banksy’s shoulder. “Are you interested in anything…to eat?”
The innuendo was as subtle as a slap shot from the blue line. A smile crept across Harrison’s face. An expression that said the only thing he was going to eat was the bartender.
“Maybe later.” He winked and swayed a bit on his barstool as he sipped his IPA.
After the bartender left, Ethan rolled his eyes. “Are you going to leave any bartenders un-fucked in the west end?”
Harrison shrugged. “I can’t help it. I like their authority, and the way they grab the bottles.” There was a slur in his voice, but there was likely one in mine too.
“Watch it.” There was caution in Ethan’s voice. “Coach wants us to stay focused.”
Banksy scoffed. “What’s the point? We’re fucked.” He sipped his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, Ace.”
I knew exactly why he was apologizing. He blamed the team’s bottom-of-the-standings position on the Bailey brothers. “Why are you sorry? We’re in last place and unless we pull off the Toronto Tigers’ miracle on ice, our golf season will start in a few weeks.” Until management figured out how to get rid of us, the team was screwed. We truly needed a miracle.
“But really, what is up with your brother?” Ethan was drunk enough to push the issue. As he took a sip of beer, Harrison elbowed him and it splashed onto his jeans.
“Enough work talk,” Harrison grumbled. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“No.” Ethan took a napkin and dabbed at the beer on his crotch. “I’m serious, Ace. Your brother has the biggest ego I’ve ever seen. Sometimes, ego is good, but he plays like he’s the only guy on the ice.”
Ethan was right. Gideon was selfish, both in life and on the ice. “That’s just the way that he plays.”
Mikey decided to enter the conversation. “He wasn’t always like that. I’ve seen old game tapes of him. He led in assists in his junior year. Heiscapable of passing the puck, or at least he was.”
“He’s like a moldy lemon,” Banksy said.
“What?” I asked. “Like he’s sour?”
Harrison Banks laughed. “Well, yes, but when there’s one bad lemon in the bowl, it contaminates the others. It’s like that. Ever since he came around, his bad attitude has spread faster than the bartenders’ legs are going to later.”
I hoped to hell she hadn’t overheard. “He’s under stress too.” I wasn’t sure why I was defending my brother, but it wasn’t as though he wanted to be a shitty player. Sure, he had wide shoulders, but that didn’t mean he had to take all of the blame for the team’s standing.
“He’s one of the highest paid players in the league. The only stress that guy has is buying enough fancy houses to make surehe’s got enough write-offs.” Ethan finished his pint and filled up everyone’s glasses.
They had Gideon all wrong. He didn’t give a shit about the money, or the houses. He loved the game, and even though we hadn’t spoken off the ice in almost a year, I knew that his piss-poor performance had to be getting to him. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him. Hopefully coach can get it sorted out.”
“I hope so too.” Banksy finished his beer. “You still haven’t told us why he hates you so much.”
There it was.
I shrugged. “He’s competitive and we’re not close. I don’t really consider him my brother.”Anymore, I wanted to add. I had always looked up to Gideon, a tiny step shy of idolizing him.
“So you didn’t fuck his girlfriend?” Ethan looked me right in the eye. The room tilted and the loud electronic music dulled. My hands gripped the edge of the table, not in anger, but in an attempt to stop myself from toppling off the stool.
“Ethan. That’s enough.” Holmes raised his voice for the first time in the conversation.
I cleared my throat and the music and din of the restaurant returned to their original volume. “No. I don’t know where that rumor came from. But that’s all it is, a rumor.”
“If you say so.” Ethan didn’t seem convinced, but I didn’t care. I didn’t owe him, or anyone, an explanation. The only person in the world that needed to hear what really happened was Gideon, and he chose not to believe me. My own brother. Why would I waste my time trying to convince a couple of third-string defensemen that I wasn’t a total piece of shit?
