Page 95 of The Import Slot
He looks around the table at everyone suspiciously.
I can’t help it. I pull my phone out, trying to keep a straight face as I pull up Jen’s message thread.
Ryan:You’ll love this. Bettsy got a tweet asking what men he’s into. Any idea who sent it??
I throw in a few laughing emojis because it’s hilarious and hit send.
Jen:You are joking?! I bet it’s A! Let me do some digging.
I slide my phone into my pocket and listen to the rest of the conversation. Bettsy had a DM exchange with this person, trying to convince them he’s not into guys.
“Who are they?” Danny asks.
“No idea. Completely avoided answering questions. I’ve blocked them now.”
“I bet it’s that fucking Matt Rodgers,” Ffordey adds.
“Matt Rodgers. I bet you’re right, mate. Fucking bastard,” Bettsy says, “He’s the only one I can think of who’s got a problem with me right now.”
I’m glad he added the ‘right now’ because I’ve heard that this Matt Rodgers problem is not new.
The conversation changes to suits for Ladies’ Night, much to Bettsy’s relief.
Johnny tells us we all must get fitted for some rental suits as there’s some sponsorship deal.
This doesn’t go down well. There’re groans and moans from around the table. Jani mentions that there’s a bakery outlet called Greggs sponsoring Ladies’ Night. They’ll send us gift cards to spend in exchange for some tweets and that eases the mood.
“The way to my heart is definitely food,” Jani says.
He’s constantly fucking eating, that guy. I’ve never seen him without some sort of snack in his hands.
We chat about Scottsy’s new car over steak, and then Coach pays up, leaving us boys to it. His words, not mine.
This is when Danny suggests moving across the street to some club that he’s got us on their VIP list for, so I follow the crowd across the road.
We’re already attracting attention. We’re all big guys, so it’s only expected for security to give us a word of warning before we go in, one man on the door telling us to keep the fighting to the ice. Naturally, he looks at Johnny as if he’s our babysitter.
Luckily, it doesn’t get chippy until we get inside.
Jenna
MyGooglesearchforinformation on Bettsy comes up with the basic stuff you’d expect. Mainly hockey-related, but nothing else. I spend a few moments browsing the internet before realising it’s almost midnight, having worked most of the evening.
I get a text from Ryan just as I shut my laptop down for the night.
Ryan:Can I come over?
Before I can reply, there’s a faint knock on the front door, which I only hear as my bedroom door is ajar.
“What if I’d said no?” I ask as he pulls me into his arms.
“I’d have slept out in the hallway.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve missed you.”
“I saw you earlier!”
“So, I still missed you.”
I missed him too, but I didn’t want to be that girlfriend, asking when I would see him again.
