Page 94 of Interference

Anthony laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

We held off on the drinking games, but we did end up cracking open that second bottle of wine. By the second intermission, we were both buzzed enough to be laughing our heads off over everything, drawing weird looks from Lily and the cats. Yeah, we were probably being stupid, but I didn’t care. It was fun. It felt good.

And what could I say? There was something jaw-dropping about Anthony cutting loose and laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. He had such a beautiful smile anyway, and when he wasn’t wound up…

Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous.

During the third period, after yet another fight, one of Denver’s players was arguing animatedly with a ref.

Anthony swung his glass at the screen so wildly, he almost unloaded its contents all over Moose, who was sprawled across the coffee table. “Oh my God, that’s Lars Olsson. We were teammates… I don’t know, three seasons ago?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. He was a rookie.” Anthony cackled. “One of those guys who was so timid, he wouldn’t even check someone unless he had to.” He gestured at the screen with his glass again. “Someone’s balls dropped.”

I snorted. “Hey, it happens eventually, right?”

“It does.” Anthony took a swig of wine and then reached for the bottle to top us both off. “He’s a nice kid. Loved hanging out with him.” As he put the bottle back down, he added, “Fucking hilarious on Casino Night.”

“Casino Night?”

“Mmhmm. It’s this charity thing teams do every year. All of us—the players—deal blackjack and roulette and whatever.”

“Like, for the fans?”

“Yep. Super fun. And Lars”—he nodded at the screen—“had this huge crowd at his table the whole night because he’s funny as hell.” Anthony paused. “Well, and every woman and half the men in Seattle thought he was hot, so…”

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned. “So you must get a big crowd at your table, too, don’t you?”

To my surprise, he actually blushed. “I, um… I get a few, yeah. But not like him.” He chuckled as we watched the teams onscreen set up for a faceoff. “He’d just make up rules randomly, talk all kinds of shit to everyone. People were so used to him being this scared kid on the ice, but in person…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“That whole thing sounds fun as hell. The casino thing.”

“Oh, it’s a ton of fun.” He turned to me. “It’s coming up in… February, I think? I could probably swing you a ticket if you want one.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, then brought up his wine for a sip. “It’s great, and it’s all for charity.”

Some of my demons elbowed their way in to remind me that I avoided casinos like the plague because fuck crowds, but I ignored them. Maybe I was just too drunk to think much about my trauma, but the idea of watching Anthony play dealer at a charity casino event sounded like a blast.

“Could be fun,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” His giant hopeful—and somewhat drunk—grin made me absolutely sure I wanted to go, demons be damned. “You want to?”

“Sure.” I returned his grin. “As long as I get to play at your table.”

“Deal. Just, uh—there’s a reason I play hockey for a living. Math is… not my strong point.”

“What? You only have to count to like twenty-one.”

“Uh-huh.” He held up his glass. “And you think I could count to twenty-one right now?”

“Are you…” I gasped melodramatically and put a hand to my chest. “Are you saying you deal while inebriated?”

His cackle did more to make my head spin than all the wine I’d put away. “Dude, I’m always shitfaced by the end of the night.”

“Well then.” I grinned. “Sign me up.”

---