Page 118 of Hot Stuff
Gripping the handle tight with one hand, I place the other on the bottom of the bucket and tip it.
Right on Branton Lattimer’s head.
He comes up swinging and cursing and I jump back to get out of the way.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” He wipes a large hand down his face. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your savior or your worst nightmare.”
“Huh?” He shakes like a dog, spraying water droplets all around him. “What?”
“Your savior or your worst nightmare. You choose.” If I were being honest, I’d tell him I’m probably going to be both.
“Bran.” Walker moves next to me.
“Cap? What the hell?”
“When did you eat last?” Walker asks, while offering a hand.
“Dunno. What time is it?”
“Almost midday.”
Branton eyes me. “What day?”
I suck in a breath and hope to hell my coaches aren’t steering me wrong here. “Thursday.”
“Huh.” Branton looks around the room before his gaze settles on the coffee table. “Not even one bottle.”
I’m not sure why he’s pointing that out. It’s more than enough for me to worry about taking this guy on.
“How are you doing, Bran?” Walker pointedly stares at the bottle.
Branton laughs. “You think I’m drunk all the time?” Shaking his head, he tugs his shirt over it and slaps his abs. “Do these look like I live on alcohol?”
I have to admit he’s in good shape. At least it looks that way.
Walker smiles. “Wanna put those to good use?”
“Doing?” Branton asks with a raised brow.
“Playing.”
“Ha! Like any team is going to want me after what I did.”
“The Rogues want you.” My words snap out. “We need someone with your skills and experience to guide us to the finals.”
“Who the hell are the Rogues?”
“The new NHL franchise.” Walker claps him on the shoulder. “I want you on my team.”
“You’re playing for them? When did you leave New York?”
“When Blanchett slammed me into the boards and left me unable to play at a professional level.”
“Wait. You’re not playing? Then how the hell would I be on your team?”
“I’m head coach.”
