Page 74 of Scoring Zone
We huddle against the building, waiting for our rideshare. He thought I ordered one, and I thought he did.
The team reluctantly leaves us when Grayson taunts them. “What, you think two petite little things like us can’t make it home in the big bad city?” A few guys shout out to text them when we get home.
“Bunch of worriers.” I wave at the last departing car.
Gray checks his phone again. “It says two minutes, but it said three minutes five minutes ago.” He pockets his phone and blows on his fingers. “If it weren’t so windy, or if we had on toques, I’d say we should walk.”
“Yeah, hats would’ve been good, but I’ll keep you warm.” I rub against his shoulder.
“Get a room,” a guy in his late teens or early twenties sneers as he passes by with a friend.
My temper flares, and Gray subtly grips my coat sleeve, muttering, “Let it go.”
“Hey, that’s Ace Lapointe. Great game, man.” The very drunk friend of the sneerer stumbles toward us.
“Thanks.” I plaster on a friendly smile.
He trips again, and Gray reaches out to prevent him from falling on me.
“You need a bodyguard?” the surly guy asks.
“Does he?” Gray growls as if daring the guy to get closer.
“Your team is full of—”
“Shut it.” His friend cuts him off and attempts to pull him away, but he resists.
“Listen to your friend,” Gray says, stepping between me and the guys.
“Excuse me. Do you have any idea who I am? You’re a nobody!” The guy yells and lunges. I’ll never know if he was posturing or meant harm because I hit him.
As I’m mid-swing, we hear a voice holler, “Hey, is everything all right?”
Another guy in a hoodie race-walks toward us with his hands in his pockets. My fist connects with the guy’s face, and he goes down.
“He hit me,” he cries. “Ace Lapointe hit me.”
“No, he didn’t, you idiot. I did. Are you so delirious you can’t even tell who hit you?” Gray stands over him with a menacing glare.
“Let’s go.” His friend tugs him up, and they back away as the stranger reaches us.
Gray turns to him, ready for a fight.
“Those guys give you any trouble?” he asks, and the wind exposes his bright red hair.
I instantly recognize him as a rookie for the New York Nationals, our rival hockey team. “Hey, Rhys.” I relax and explain. “One of them was obnoxious and I—”
“He was too polite to them, so I punched him,” Gray interrupts me. “Do you know them?”
Rhys grimaces. “Unfortunately. I played in high school with the one with attitude. He’s entering the draft this summer. I followed them because they were harassing a few women and I…” He waves his hand as if to explain. “It never occurred to me they’d bother two big guys.”
“He was a cocky little shit and basically pulled the do-you-know-who-I-am card.” Gray has visibly relaxed, but I can tell he’s still tense.
“His father rides his ass, and they are politically connected. The asshat’s sure he’s immune to consequences,” Rhys says.
“I’m glad I put him in his place.” Gray quips as our rideshare pulls up. “Can we drop you somewhere?”
“Nah, I live close.” He turns to me. “Not to be a total fan, but it was nice meeting you when you’re not trying to kick my ass, Ace.” Rhys holds out his hand and I shake it.
