Page 17 of Treat

Mac’s beetle brows shot up, but he only said, “Go deeper.”

“Fuck you,” Jude said without heat, and obeyed.

Two hours later, he walked almost normally down the hall towards the team lounge, where lunch awaited. His muscles were looser, thanks to the massage—which had, indeed, been torture—and a spin in the whirlpool. But he was going to feel it tomorrow, and if he hadn’t been starving, he would’ve already been home taking a nap.

He pushed open the lounge door and grinned. Tommy Jakes, a fellow defenseman and the only First Nations player on the team, was sitting in one of the recliners with a smoothie in one hand and a game controller in the other, thumb flying as someone with a sword on the big screen in front of him decapitated a cow.

“Shit,” Tommy muttered and frowned down at his controller. “Was I supposed to kill the cow?”

“I think you’re supposed to kill the dragon,” Jude offered.

Tommy’s head popped up, and a grin spread across his square brown face. “Why would I kill a dragon? Dragons are cool.”

“And cows aren’t?”

“Not as cool as dragons.” On the screen, his PC swung the sword again and took out its own leg. “Hell. What do I do now?”

“Hop?” Jude suggested.

“Fuck it.” Tossing the controller aside, Tommy gulped the last of his smoothie and surged to his feet. “How the hell are you, Bess?”

Jude accepted the bear hug with genuine pleasure. “I’m good, I’m good. You?”

“I’m aces.” Tommy scooped one hand through his mane of thick black hair. “Stayed in town this summer instead of going back to BC, since Kara’s ready to pop.”

“How’s she doing?” Jude asked, recalling his teammate’s tall, pretty wife. The last time he’d seen her at the post-season team golf outing, she’d been waddling across the green, her pregnant belly leading the way.

She’d still shot four under par.

“She’s good. Craving some weird shit, and she has to pee every five minutes, but feeling great otherwise. Two weeks to go.”

“Nice. You going to be there?”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he vowed, then grinned. “Besides, she told me if I tried to weasel out of it she’d gut me like a fish.”

Jude laughed. Tommy was six foot five, built like a lumberjack, and one of the scariest defensemen in the National Hockey League. His wife was scarier. “I believe it.”

“Nice crumb catcher,” Tommy said, reaching out to give Jude’s mustache a tweak. “You lose a bet or something?”

“Hey, mustaches are in these days,” Jude said defensively. “You’re just jealous you can’t grow one.”

“Got me there,” Tommy said, amused and unoffended. His playoff beard had looked like the five o’clock shadow of a twelve-year-old. “So, what brings you to the barn? The brass call you in?”

“No.” Thank God. “I’m working out with Mac.”

Tommy’s eyes, nearly as dark as his hair, lit with interest. “Getting a leg up on your conditioning, eh? Smart.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jude said with a wince.

Tommy let out a hoot of laughter. “Mac’s a sadist, but you’ll be ready for puck drop.”

“That’s the plan.”

“It’s a good one.”

Jude began walking toward the dining side of the lounge. “What’re you doing here? Besides killing your PC.”

Turning his back on his legless character without a glance, Tommy followed. “Kara’s mom and sister are in town. They started talking about mucus plugs and contractions and shit, so I bailed, came for lunch.”

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