Page 6 of Play the Game

He nods vigorously. “Yeah, why? Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” I answer.

“That’s not her. She had red hair.” Kane goes through the opening next.

I follow their line of sight, and while I know that only a few seconds have come and gone, it feels like a lifetime.

She is the complete opposite of what I had prepared myself for. All those pornos that Ford and I snuck as teenagers created a very detailed image of what a strippershouldlook like, and it is nothing like the woman in the stands with her glossy lip trapped between her white teeth.

She’s soft in all the right places with subtle curves. Her blonde hair lies behind her shoulders, giving way to her medium-sized chest that’s mostly covered up by a Blue Devilsshirt that has seen better days, and her heart-shaped face is free of heavy makeup like a lot of the women I see.

She’s pretty.

Actually, no. She’s fuckingbeautiful.

But she’s a woman, and as of late, there’s barely even a handful of them that I trust, so I keep skating until I make it to the opening. I slide right past Malaki as he attempts to win over her attention, and I purposefully keep my eyes to myself.

“I have something for you,”Malaki says.

I slam my locker door. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

A few of my teammates laugh under their breath as they pile out of the locker room with flushed faces and chips on their shoulders.

We’ve won one game, and they’re already acting like kings.

They’re getting ahead of themselves.

Before Rhodes skipped out to get his daughter, he caught my attention and shook his head. He read my mind, and it’s clear he agrees with me. I’m sure practice will be loads of fun this week while he and Coach bring the young guys down a level to humble them.

Malaki slaps a small piece of paper onto my chest. I slowly drop my head and stare at his hand pressing against my beating heart.

“Dude, take it. Trust me.”

I snatch the paper from his grip, and his smile is downright creepy.

“If this is some stupid fucking pretend arrest warrant, I’m shoving you in a locker.”

He sobers. “Damn. I wish I would have thought of that. That’s a missed opportunity for sure.”

I slowly open up the paper with an audience. Most of the veteran players have left the locker room because they don’t give a shit. It’s the younger ones that are fully engaged.

When I finally register what’s in my hand, a cold sweat breaks out along my neck.

My fingers curl against the gum wrapper, and I growl under my breath.

Absolutely not.

“You gonna go?” Malaki lowers his voice. “It’s from that brainy stripper. However, she did say, ‘It isn’t what you think.’”

My glare catches him.

“Noted,” he says before putting his back to me and heading to his own locker.

It isn’t what you think.I’d bet my lucky skates that it isexactlywhat I think.

When I’m in the quiet hall, I open my palm again and reread her note.

Meet me in the west wing bathrooms on level F.

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