Page 81 of Hat Trick

For the first time since I walked away from Marshall, I grin. It’s small and pathetic but it’s mine and it’s full of hope. “It’s actually my middle name. But I’m bringing it up because I need yourhelp.”

“Of the cocktail variety?” she asks with just-theretrepidation.

“Of the photography variety, which isyourmiddlename.”

“I’mdrunk.”

“Even better,” I tell her. “Drunk planning gets way more creative, and if I want to show Marshall that he should trust me again, I’m going to need somethingelaborate.”

“Like John Cusack inPretty inPink?”

Something tells me Marshall wouldn’t be impressed with me holding a boom box over my head while playing “In Your Eyes”loud enough to wake his neighbors. Unless I was naked.Maybe.

“No,” I say finally, “but I have anidea.”

33

Hunt

“If you keep drinkinghot chocolate at the rate you are, it’s scientifically proven that you’ll turn into an asshole who breaks his girl’s heart,” Beaumont tells me from across the planeaisle.

I’m pretty sure there’s no evidence to back up that particular theory, and I don’t bother to correct Andre on the fact that Gwen was the heartbreaker in this situation. Her pain is hers, however, and I’m not the sort of guy who goes running at the mouth and tells the entire world someone else’s personal baggage. It’s easier to let my best friend and the rest of my teammates believe that I’m DouchebagNumeroUno.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Gwen in two weeks. Christmas and New Year’s Eve went by without a word. I’d promised myself that I would give her the space she clearly needed—nothing good ever comes from pushing a person toward something they aren’t ready for yet. But, damn, it’s been hard to keep my distance. Even harder not to show up at her apartment and demand she see me. If I manage another twenty-four hours without reaching out to her, I’ll consider it awin.

You could use the excuse that your phone wasstolen.

Yeah, I could totally do that. Just a little text to let her know that if she needs me, she’ll need my new number since my last phone was swiped from the locker-room after a game last week. A reporter, maybe, or someone from the cleaning crew. For what it’s worth, it seems I have shit luck with phones lately, considering my first is still with the policedepartment.

The only good news to happen since Gwen walked out of my life is that Dave and his crew were caught, thrown in jail, and my career is still rolling onward like nothing everhappened.

There’s a reason I pay big bucks to my lawyer and publicist. Within a week of the tabloids circulating that I was one foot out of TD Garden, they changed their tune. Now, the magazines are discussing my childhood since it’s all been aired to the public. According to my publicist, it was the best way to go about it. Since his plan worked, I gave him a massive Christmas bonus and told him that he’s stuck with me forlife.

But even knowing that my professional life is better than ever, it’s been at the expense of my lovelife.

I drain the rest of my Starbucks hot chocolate, just to shut Beaumontup.

And yes, I’m aware that drinking hot chocolate from Starbucks makes me out to look like a lovesick idiot. Everyone knows I’m a diehard Dunkin Donutsfanatic.

“Hey guys,” my best friend announces, “anyone wondering where America’s most charming hockey player disappeared to? Pretty sure he died the night of my engagementparty.”

“Fuck you,” I growl, dropping my hand to our makeshift table on our flight from Los Angeles back to Boston. We wrapped up our road games on a high note against the Kings, and overall kicked ass for three out of our four games. “Deal the cardsalready.”

We’re playing Go Fish like true adults, mainly because none of us feel like losing money tonight with poker. And poker’s no fun without money riding on the line—according to Jackson Carter,anyway.

Beaumont shuffles the deck for longer than necessary before they disappear beneath his drop-downtray.

“What the hell are youdoing?”

“Putting the cards where I know you aren’t about to reach for them,” he repliesdarkly.

“Youwouldn’t.”

His hands come up, not a single card in sight. “You want to play cards, you’re going to have to reach into my pants forthem.”

The guys allgroan.

“Fuck you, Beaumont!” calls out Carter from two rows ahead. “I was up next, youasshole.”

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