Page 28 of Anatomy of a Player

“Follow me,” Hudson said, but then he used a hand on the small of my back to guide me toward the cheering, which meant there was no following going on. The shouts grew, and then I saw the two rows of guys lined up on either side of the table, a red cup in front of them. Dane, the guy they called Ox…most of the team was here, playing Flip Cup. I’d only ever watched a game in high school, but it was easy enough. Drink and then flip your cup, going down the table in relay style, and try to have your team finish before the other one.

“Decker!” Dane shouted. “Just in time! Stewzy went to puke after last round, and we need you.”

Stewzy? I ran through the list of players in my head. Number Ten. Jeff Stewart—that must be the puker. From what Lyla said, he was also a chin-licker. Poor guy needed to get it together.

Hudson applied pressure to my back with his hand, pushing me farther into the room. “Whitney? Why don’t you jump in?”

The guys seemed to notice me for the first time, and they all quieted. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t in with the team. I made a snap decision, despite the one I’d made a few minutes ago to not drink any more tonight. “I’d love to. If that’s okay?”

“Hell yeah!” Dane motioned me over.

Hudson filled a fresh cup for me—they’d moved one of the kegs from by the drink table to the corner of the room. I was sure that was a perk of being a hockey player, if only because no one dared to stop a group of ripped guys who liked to fight on the ice, but it was rather convenient for me, so I thought I’d let it slide.

“Wait,” Dane said, dropping his hand on my shoulder, and I tensed, worried what’d come next. “We’re probably going to act like idiots and say stupid shit during this game.”

I looked at him and added an innocent blink. “And that’d be different than usual how?” It was a risk, but when the guys busted up, it made it worth it.

“Touché. I just wanted to make sure this is all off the record.”

“Of course,” I said. “As long as you guys understand that when it comes to my job, I have to draw different lines between party behavior and acceptable locker room behavior.”

That seemed to satisfy them, or maybe they were in a hurry to drink, but either way, we lined up and prepared to play. As my turn neared, my nerves tangled themselves into knots. What was I thinking? I couldn’t chug as fast as they could, and who knew how long it’d take me to flip the cup.

“Go!” my team yelled, and I stopped thinking and just drank. The last few gulps took way more effort than the first, but I suspected Hudson hadn’t filled my cup as full, because I managed to drain every drop. Then I slammed down my cup. It took me three times, but then it finally landed right. The guy across from me finished at the same time, and then it was down to Dane and Ox.

I’d never seen anyone down a beer as fast as Dane did, and he got the flip on the first time. Suddenly I became a high fiver, slapping palms with reckless abandon.

And just like that, I was in.

Chapter Eighteen

Hudson

Whitney’s cheeks were flushed, and one side of her sweater had slipped down her shoulder, displaying a hot pink bra strap that provided another piece of evidence that she had a racy side that just needed to be unleashed.

I kept telling myself to not watch her too closely, but in a sea of dudes, it was hard to look at anyone else. She had this great laugh, too, and it’d come out several times as she played three rounds of Flip Cup—good thing I’d been giving her an advantage, only filling her cup halfway each game.

“That’s it for me, boys,” Whitney said. “Otherwise I’ll be the one saying stupid shit.” Her accent slipped out a little—I wasn’t sure why she held it back. She received several high fives and a few appreciative glancesIdidn’t appreciate, and then the guys rotated through, switching around the teams.

“You playing this time, Decker?” Dane asked.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I’m going to make sure our friendly neighborhood sportswriter makes it back to her friend.”

“I’m fine,” she said as she walked over to me, a little slower, but not too wobbly.

Dane flashed me a thumbs up. At least it was semi-subtle, especially for drunk Dane, but I still wanted to sprint over and force it down so she wouldn’t see. The plan had been for the guys to see that she had a lighter side, so that she could stop worrying about professional lines and her job would be easier.

And okay, maybe a little about getting her to loosen up so she wouldn’t freak out so much about crossing lines with me, although I suspected it’d take more time to break down that barrier.

Too drunk, and I wouldn’t attempt to make a move. That wasn’t how I rolled, and Whitney might be close to tipping the scales on that point. I wanted line crossing, but I wanted sober line crossing.

When she reached me she wobbled a bit, and I reached out to steady her with a hand on her waist.

“I’m good,” she said.

“Whatever you say, Reporter Girl.”

She smiled, a teasing of teeth between kissable lips. “Thanks, Hockey Boy. For getting me an in with them.”

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