Page 7 of The Winging It Holiday Special

Dante loved hat tricksalmostas much as he loved celebrating them afterward.

Later, he was just getting out of the shower, feeling languid and charitable with the world, when the alarm on his phone went off.

Gabe lifted his face from the pillow, bleary-eyed, and glanced at Dante. His nose wrinkled. “Already?”

“Ugh,” Dante agreed. He fished a clean pair of boxers from a bag and stepped into them. Tight fit—he’d grabbed Gabe’s by mistake again. Oh well. He canceled the alarm and pulled up the app. “What do you think?”

“Fifty bucks says they’re still at the bar.”

“No bet.”

It wasn’t that Dante didn’t trust Bogs to get the rookie in before curfew. It was—well, maybe itwasthat. Dante had been that dumb party-loving kid once. Not that there was anything wrong with it, except he’d get scratched if he missed curfew, and Dante liked winning.

The Find My Friends app, which he had recently walked Yorkie through how to use, informed him that Crunch—or his phone at least—was only half a block from the hotel, so it could’ve been worse.

“You wanna come?” he asked, fishing for jeans. This time he made sure they were his, because there was no jean with enough give to make Gabe’s fit him.

Gabe debated for a moment, stretching languidly. Dante took a moment to appreciate the sight—broad shoulders, lean muscle, a sheet slipping temptingly lower—but unfortunately, he had other duties tonight.

“Pass,” he finally said. Maybe if he was still awake when Dante got back, they could go for round two. Then Gabed winced. “Think I’m going to take a muscle relaxant.”

Rain check, then. Not surprising, since he’d played twenty minutes tonight for the first time in ages. Dante bent over and smacked a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll get them.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes later Dante walked into the bar, several brain cells short of a punch line. He stopped by the register to check on any open tabs, ordered a beer, then paid and followed the directions to the back of the room. It didn’t take long to find Bogsy and Crunch and a couple of call-ups, plus their evening’s company. No veterans in this bunch. They’d probably already gone to bed.

Dante could be in bed right now too, if he didn’t have to worry about his rookie missing curfew.

“Baller!” Crunch grinned when Dante slid into the booth across from him. Or he tried to slide. These guys hadn’t exactly picked the cleanest bar. The bench was sticky. Ugh. Dante couldn’t believe he’d once had standards this low. “Where’s the captain?”

“Sleeping off a hat trick.”Now, what would a Gabe Martin hat trick be?he wondered. Scoring three goals, fucking your teammate, and then passing out with an NSAID?

He felt bad for the thought.

“Good thing you came, then!” Crunch’s gaze lit on Dante’s beer bottle. “We could’ve got you a round.”

“Who’s been gettingyourounds?” Crunch was only nineteen.

Suddenly Bogs found the abstract mural to Dante’s right incredibly engrossing.

Plus ça change, Dante thought, an echo of something Gabe always said. It sounded philosophical until you realized how much Gabe hated change. But there was always going to be someone to buy the rookies booze. Hell, Dante had been both Crunch and Bogs in this scenario.

Whatever. He wasn’t their keeper. He raised his beer bottle, and the four other guys touched their glasses to it. “Cheers.”

A couple minutes after he sat down, a pair of twentysomething women with perfect hair and makeup stopped by and Bogsy invited them to sit. The one who introduced herself as Twyla leaned across the table toward Dante. Her brown eyes shone in the low light. “So. You’re a professional hockey player.”

Dante needed to get one of those silicone wedding bands. He wasn’t recognizable enough to most of the US asthat hockey player who’s married to the other hockey player. “I am. What about you?”

“Pre-med.”

He whistled. “They let you out of the library on a Thursday night?”

She laughed. “I escaped for my own mental health. I needed to blow off some steam. The hockey players are just a bonus.”

Unfortunately they weren’t going to do her much good for the steam-blowing tonight. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but they have about ten minutes before I herd them back to the hotel. I just haven’t broken it to them yet.”

Twyla pressed a hand to her chest. “Shot through the heart!” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind? I really like hockey players.”

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