Page 4 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

The clock ticks closer to the third period. Closer to the proposal.

She takes another sip from her glass, eyes fastened to my face. “At least you’re not doomed to suffer through an entire season watching at home.”

“No,thank God. I’m back in my rightful spot for the next game.” I shake my head. “Seriously though—if Montagalo continues to play like crap, I’ll storm the locker room and give him a piece of my mind.”

The girl bursts into an evil laugh, tipping her head. “I can totally picture you barging into the locker room while they’re all half naked.”

Half naked?

Had not considered that.

I nod solemnly. “I’d be like, ‘Listen, Montagalo, your job is simple: stop the bloody effing puck. I don’t care if you have to grow extra hands–you have one job and that job is to get after it.”Clap. “Do.”Clap.“Your.”Clap.“Job!’”

She nearly chokes on her drink, laughing harder. “I’d pay good money to see you versus Montagalo. He looks like the kind of guy who needs to be brought down a peg or two.”

“Damn straight.” I take another sip, feeling validated and righteous. “He’s way too cocky for someone who’s spent the past two games playing with his head shoved firmly up his ass.”

Granted, it’s a good-looking ass. Not the point.

She agrees easily. “Yeah. He looks like he’s a giant asshole, doesn’t he?”

Tall. Dark.

So handsome if he walked through those doors I would retract everything I said about him, fall to my knees and?—

“Have you seen his social media?” she asks, yanking me from my dangerous train of thought. “It’s all pictures of him volunteering. The whole page! Like, is anyone buying the ‘nice guy’ act? He’s probably totally banging every girl who so much as breathes near him.”

I snort, leaning in conspiratorially. “Oh, 100%. The pictures of ‘him with his buddy’s dog’ thing? Classic bait. And have you seen the comments? Barf. ‘Oh, Gio, you’re so amazing,’ and he laps it up.”

She smirks. “You know what would make my night? If the man himself showed up here and overheard us dragging his entire existence.”

I raise my glass. “If that happens, drinks are on me.”

“My name is Nova, by the way,” she says, finally letting a giggle slip.

“Oh—oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say, suddenly realizing how much I’ve been ranting. “I’m Austin—like the city. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Kyle,” the bartender chimes in, completely unprompted.

Nova and I both freeze for a second, glancing at each other before bursting into full-on laughter.

Not to be rude but no one asked for his name.

Certainly not us.

Kyle shrugs, smirking like he’s somehow part of the conversation and in on the jokes. “What? Figured I’d introduce myself, too.”

I tilt my head, giving Kyle a look. “Well, Kyle, now that we’re on a first-name basis, do you have any thoughts on Montagalo’s tragic inability to stop a puck?”

Kyle doesn’t miss a beat. “Guy’s got butterfingers, for sure. But at least he’s consistent.”

Nova snorts into her drink, her shoulders shaking. “Consistently terrible.”

Kyle shrugs, grabbing a rag to wipe the counter. “Consistent is consistent. Besides, I’m a Bruins fan, so, you know…” He shrugs again, like this confession is supposed to mean something profound.

I clutch my chest, pretending to be mortally offended. “A Bruins fan? Here I thought we were starting to bond.”

Kyle waves his rag at us like he’s shooing a couple of flies. “Oh, don’t mind me. Doing my job here.” He claps twice. “Do. Your. Job!”

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