Page 19 of Goaltender Interference

He’d gone through with his parents growing up and then on team busses and shit for games when he was playing in the Ontario Hockey League in Juniors. Which, despite the name, actually had some American teams on it.

He’d driven through with buddies too, on the way to games in Buffalo or whatever but they’d always had the Nexus pass to get through the border quickly. He’d meant to renew his but nooo, he hadn’t gotten around to it and now … yeah, he was fucked.

“Comeon,” Jesse muttered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Move it, people. I’ve got places to be and people to do.”

The minutes ticked by and he crept forward at a snail’s pace. He let out a noisy sigh of relief when the last car ahead of him finally moved away from the booth.

“How are you doing today?” the border patrol agent said when he pulled up and put his car in park.

“Great,” Jesse said, handing over his passport with a winning smile. “Other than my ass going numb from waiting.”

“What’s your citizenship?”

“Canadian.” Which it said right on the passport in her hand.

“Where are you heading?”

“Boston, Massachusetts.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Uhh, until I get traded again?” he said with a shrug. Because at this point, who the fuck knew?

She narrowed her eyes. “Can you be more specific?”

“I just got a job there,” he explained. “I start tomorrow. This is a long-term move.”

“Anything to declare?”

“Just a load of hookers and drugs,” Jesse said cheerfully, because c’mon, if he couldn’t crack a joke, what was the point of anything?

Her gaze turned sharp. “Sir, are you telling me that you’re engaging in sex and drug trafficking?”

“What? No! I was kidding!” he yelped, alarmed she’d taken him seriously. He’d thought maybe she’d had a sense of humor and would be up for a little fun banter, but apparently he’d totally read her wrong. He shot her his most winning and angelic smile. “In all seriousness, I’m an NHL player. I got traded from Toronto to Boston and I’m driving down to Massachusetts now. PR stuff starts tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, buddy.”

Alarmed, because this absolutely wasn’t going the way he’d expected, he straightened, trying to appear as adult and responsible as possible. “No, I’mserious! I was a goaltender for the Toronto Fisher Cats. I helped the team win the Stanley Cup! I was totally kidding about the hookers and drugs, Iswear.”

“Right. Okay. We’re going to have to search your vehicle.” She peered at the interior. “You’re going to need to get out of the car.”

“Nooo,” Jesse wailed, horrified that one little joke had gotten so out of hand. “I was kidding. C’mon. This isn’t necessary!”

She scowled. “Sir, you informed me your vehicle contained illegal substances. We have to take you at your word.”

Fuck! He was in such deep shit.

“Umm, we’ve got aproblem,” Jesse said as he pulled away from the Canadian border several hours later.

Border patrol hadn’t found any contraband on him because there was nothing to find. He wasn’t dumb enough to get caught with weed or anything and he wasn’t into anything else. But it had taken them forever to get their stupid drug-sniffing dog there. Apparently, it was busy with someone else’s vehicle—though he shouldn’t call the dog stupid. It was very cute and very smart and it wasn’t its fault it had been trained to narc on people.

But they’d also pulled all of his shit out of the Jag and he’d had to repack everything—because they sure as fuck hadn’t helped—and then they’d lectured him for wasting their time by cracking jokes.

He probably deserved all that, but now he was in even deeper shit.

Mac sighed. “What’d you do now?”

“I might have gotten a little delayed at the border. And there may be pictures of me being led off by a customs agent that are going viral.”

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