Page 9 of King

Penn faces me again, a slight tinge of irritation in his voice. “Look… I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s not lost on me the importance of camaraderie. But I don’t do that shit. It’s not something I like or need. And before you argue that it will make us better and stronger as a line or as a team, save it. We’re doing great as is.”

I can’t argue with that. Penn is dominating the points, our team has the highest plus/minus rating in the league and Drake is on fire with the best goals against average. On top of that, we’ve made the power play our bitch by capitalizing on nearly every man advantage we get and my favorite stat, as a defenseman, is that we have the best penalty kill percentage in the league.

Christ, I wish I could figure the guy out. Maybe he’s just a social introvert but that doesn’t vibe with the fact that he’ll talk to you all day long as long as it’s about hockey and nothing personal. He’s not shy with reporters or the cameras. And he’s great with his fans. It seems to only be his teammates he has a problem hanging out with and it doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve been in the league over three years now and your teammates are your brothers.

But not Penn.

I refuse to give up though. “Any interest in just going out for a single beer with me? We can grab some wings. We can talk about the game.”

It’s a bold offer and if he accepts, the guys will be pissed since I promised to be their DD tonight, but I’ll pay for their Uber.

For the briefest moment, I think I see something shuttering in Penn’s eyes. Is that yearning I see? I can’t be sure, but whatever it is dies a swift death and his eyes go flat. “Thanks, but I’m tired and just want to get home.”

“All right,” I say, and hold my fist out for him to bump. He doesn’t hesitate to give it to me. “It’s a standing invite if you ever want to take me up on it.”

“Good game,” is all he replies before giving me his back to rummage around in his cubby. I’ve been effectively dismissed.

“King… you coming?” Rafferty calls from the door.

“I’m coming.”

“You better be since you’re our DD!” he replies, jerking his head for me to step it up.

With a sigh, I turn away from Penn and my futile attempts to get him to be an actual part of this team.

♦

I push openthe heavy glass door of Jerry’s Lounge and step inside, instantly greeted by a handful of bikers sitting at the bar. Back thumps and fist bumps accompany our entrance as North, Rafferty, Atlas and I push through the throng.

To my right, the long, polished wooden bar stretches nearly the entire length of the wall. A row of gleaming beer taps lines the bar, each one unique, showcasing different craft beers, local brews and classic favorites. Behind the bar, shelves made of the same dark wood are stocked with an impressive array of liquor bottles. Neon beer signs dot the wall and the bartenders move skillfully, mixing drinks and chatting with regulars. Their practiced movements add to the lounge’s lively yet relaxed energy.

Scattered throughout the main area are sturdy wooden tables and high-backed chairs, and a jukebox in the corner currently plays a rock song I don’t recognize but surely was popular in decades past. I learned on prior visits that the music runs classic in this bar and reflects more of Bear’s tastes than anything.

We make our way back to a grouping of high tops near the three pool tables, their green felt surfaces inviting a game. A few of the guys are already playing, the smacking of pool balls heard above the music and the low-level hum of conversation. Beyond the pool tables, there are electronic dart boards mounted on the wall but those stand empty for the time being. I’m sure as the beer flows and the competitive nature of my teammates loosens, there will be games played for money.

I note most of the team is here, I’m guessing because it’s a Friday night but also because we only have a team meeting tomorrow. While professional athletes aren’t above getting drunk when the occasion calls for it, we always have to balance the timing of partying with games and practice. I expect a few headaches tomorrow as we review game video.

After wishing Bear a happy birthday and giving Stevie a hug, Atlas, North, Rafferty and I snag a high top near the first pool table. A blond waitress by the name of Chrissy takes our orders and as soon as she’s gone, I’m incessantly teased by my mates.

“Dude… are you going to ask her out?” Rafferty asks with a waggle of his brows.

I roll my eyes, tired of their ribbing when it comes to women. For some reason, they consider me a “pretty boy” and have pointed out on numerous occasions that women seem to drool over me. I don’t see it though and even if I did, I’m not into random hookups. Never have been.

Instead, I change the subject. “I tried to get Penn to come out with us.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Atlas says grimly.

“What’s his deal?” North grouses. “Does he think he’s too good for us?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” I muse, drumming my fingers on the table as I watch Stone and Drake playing a game of pool on the table before us.

Admittedly, I have no good hunches.

“Eight ball, bank shot, corner pocket,” Drake says, tapping his hand on the exact pocket he just called.

“There’s no way,” Stone says confidently, leaning against his pool stick. “Twenty bucks says you miss.”

Drake looks up, a smirk on his face. “Forty.”

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