Page 100 of Sure Shot
“He just told me I’m like a tampon,” Trevi says as the ice girls do a quick cleanup during the media break. “Only good for one period.” He snorts. “Musta been saving that one up.”
“Yeah? He told me he’d seen better hands on a digital clock,” Baby Bayer says.
“Well, I got a Hispanic slur,” Castro says, guzzling his water. “He called me abeaner, and told me to go back where I came from. I told him—that’s Minnesota. And we’re playing there next month, so…” He shrugs.
“He’s flipping his shit.” Crikey chuckles.
“Nobody promised him any queso dip, obviously,” O’Doul adds.
“QUESO DIP!” yell two or three guys at the same time.
“Quiet, morons,” Coach says. He taps me between the shoulder blades to indicate that I’m up again. “Stay cool now.”
“Will do,” I promise. Because getting that goal past Palacio made staying cool a hell of a lot easier.
And now I have no trouble visualizing the scoreboard, because it keeps lighting up in our favor. We put four goals on it by the time we’re through.
Thirty-Two
Another Epiphany
Bess
When the buzzergoes off at the end of the Dallas game, Tank looks gloriously, transcendently happy. I hadn’t known his face could smile that wide.
The final score is 4-1 in favor of Brooklyn. That asshole Palacio managed to flick one past Silas in the third period, but it was still a major victory, and everyone in the increasingly quiet stadium knew it.
“Let’s hustle,” Becca says, tugging on my arm after the buzzer. “We have a party to set up.”
“You’re not going to stay and give a statement?” I ask.
“Nah. Georgia is handling it. The press doesn’t need to hear any posturing from the owner tonight. Let Tank have the last word. Besides, someone has to make sure the cheese is hot and the beer is cold.”
“I like the way you think,” her husband says. “This way, ladies. The car is waiting.”
* * *
I’m whisked to the Ritz-Carlton bar by the Rowley-Kattenbergers. The hotel staff fall all over themselves to serve Rebecca, so it takes shockingly little effort on our part to set everything up.
“I can’t believe you ordered these!” I say, holding up a napkin. It says:Congratulations! We knew you could make Dallas cry. “What were you going to do if we lost?”
“Put ’em back on the jet for the March matchup.” Becca shrugs. “But I didn’t have to, did I? Excuse me!” She waves down the hospitality manager. “Could you bring out about four times as much queso dip as I asked you for? I bragged about it to my hockey players, and we can’t let them down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says sweetly.
I finish laying out the napkins, while Becca inspects the bar setup. “Well.” She claps. “This will be fun. I might run up to my room and fix my lipstick. They could be another forty minutes.”
“Go for it,” I encourage. “I’m going to check my email. You never know who’s having a weeknight calamity.”
After she flits off, I sit down on one of the comfortable banquettes that line our roped-off portion of the bar. It’ssupposedto be comfortable, anyway. The sexy, red, lacy thong I bought myself is abrading my ass. Sexy undies are another thing—like heels and makeup—that make me feel like I lost my copy of the Girl Manual. When I’d waltzed into a Brooklyn lingerie shop yesterday and asked for something splashy, I’d simply gone with the salesgirl’s suggestions.
Boy, am I sorry now. Holding a strip of lace between my ass cheeks had sounded like a bad idea at the time, but I’d hoped it was one of those things that would make more sense after I tried it. Like avocado toast or Uber.
But no. That perky little salesperson had steered me wrong. Not only am I uncomfortable, but every time the lace pokes me in the fanny, it reminds me of the other reason I’d come to Dallas. To seduce my man.
He’d looked so wonderful tonight—confident and radiant. Like he’s finally found his footing. I can’t wait to congratulate him. And I wouldn’t want to do anything to dent that big smile.
I shouldn’t have come. No—that’s too harsh. I shouldn’t follow through with my Day 14 seduction. It’s not right to expect something that he may not be able to deliver. It’s not fair. Even if he never suspects.
