Page 1 of The Fake Play

Chapter 1

Luke

Smokey’s is my favorite bar but that’s no surprise.

It’s the favorite bar of every player on the Atlanta Fire hockey team.

The guys on the team always head to Smokey’s after practice on Fridays—it’s a good place to meet up with fans and girls.

The bar is packed, no different from any other Friday night.

Some of my teammates are out on the dance floor dancing with random puck bunnies. Normally, I’d be right out there with them but I got caught up listening to another one of Esai’s stories about the time he spent training the Nevada Sidewinders. He points at a yellow and black broken hockey stick on the wall. “…right there. My contribution to Gabriel’s collection.”

“Seriously, you broke it on the guy’s helmet?” Sebastian asks. I’m surprised he came out tonight. He’s got a new kitten at home and is still figuring out whether or not his dog is going to eat it. Lucky for him, he found the best wife in the world and she gave him the night off to hang out with the guys.

Esai nods once, a bashful smile slowly forming across his face. “Well, it might have been the crossbar that actually did the breaking?—”

“I knew it!”

“But either way,” Esai smirks and takes a sip of his beer, “the guy pissed himself in front of the whole arena and that’s all that matters.”

Alek shakes his head. “Why were you on the ice during a game, anyway?”

It’s a fair question. Not common practice for a trainer, or the coach for that matter, to be on the ice while the game is being played.

“I overheard some of the wives talking about what happened to his girlfriend, why she was in the hospital instead of being at the game.” Esai takes a long pull of his tallboy. “Real men don’t rough up their women.”

Sebastian knocks the neck of his beer on our trainer’s. “Damn straight.”

Various other hockey paraphernalia decorates the dimly lit bar, all of it the real deal. No replicas here like at other cheap sports bars. Smokey’s is owned and operated by a former hockey player, Gabriel Moreau, who happens to be the father of one of my teammates, Xavi.

I like Xavi. Women do, too. Usually.

But after seeing him get shot down by the curvy redhead at the end of the bar, I can’t keep my mouth shut as he sheepishly returns to our table. “Struck out, huh?”

He grins and slugs my shoulder. “Think you could do any better, Luke?”

I eye her again, not that she notices. Thick-rimmed black glasses, red hair tied back in a bun, fluffy ivory sweater that belongs on a cozy couch, not a crowded hockey bar. She’s way too deep into her book while everyone else around her shouts at the TV’s situated around the place, having a good time.

Who the hell brings a book to a bar?

Heavy bass pulses through the speakers, urging me to take her to the dance floor. Clearly, she needs someone to show her a good time. Might as well be me.

“She appears to be the kind of girl who needs an excuse to have fun. And I am the perfect excuse,” I tease Xavi as I set my beer down and straighten out my collar. “How do I look?”

“Like you’ve been knocking back beers for two hours,” Alek says with a snort. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“Better than hearing your tale of the rabid salmon again.” I can’t help teasing him about that.

Indignation makes his faint Russian accent hit harder. “It tried to take off my arm!”

“You know salmon can’t get rabies, right?” Sebastian asks.

“They can in Canada,” Alek insists. All things were possible in the Great White North, according to him.

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Canada is known for a lot of things, three that instantly come to mind are: good manners, maple syrup, and hockey. Rabid salmon is not on the list.”

“If you want to do some real fishing, Alek, we’ll go to Florida in the off-season,” Xavi says. “Everything in Florida wants to kill you, so you’ll be able to get some good stories to share.”

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