Page 18 of One Night Only
“Slater, you won’t be going nowhere but the goddamn bench if you play anything like you did on Thursday, I can assure you,” Coach says gruffly.
Happy purses his lips, trying so hard to keep a straight face. “Don’t sweat it, Coach. I’ve got this.”
“Oh, you’ve got this, huh?” Coach snorts. “Son, you don’t even got your own damn pads on right.”
Coach turns and walks away, and Happy quickly looks down to check his gear only to re-adjust the straps on his shoulder pads. I try not to laugh, but it’s hard. Coach is constantly giving Happy shit, and as an outsider, it’s hilarious to watch. The manis terrifying, and he’s not a guy you want to get on the wrong side of. As long as I’m on the right side, it’s all comedic relief.
“So, tonight?” Logan asks, looking from me to Robbie and back again. “You guys going?”
I glance at Robbie to see him shrug a shoulder. “I’ll go if Dallas does.”
All eyes turn to me, and I swear, I’d punch Mason in his fucking dick if I knew he didn’t have a cup on right now.
“Nah, I told you last night,” I say, turning back to my cubby to busy myself so I don’t risk them seeing straight through me. “I’m sitting this one out.”
“Sitting this one out,” Happy repeats in a mocking tone. “What does that even mean?”
It means I don’t want to go anywhere but back to my hotel room so I can jerk off again to thoughts of Emily. Maybe torture myself a little more thinking of possible reasons why she’s not responding to my messages. Might even embarrass myself further and text her a few more times. Who knows. The night is full of possibilities.
“Yeah, no offense, man,” Logan says tentatively, “but this isn’t like you. You’re usually the first one showered and changed, ready to hit the town after a game. You feeling okay?”
Great, now I have at least seven sets of eyes laser focused on me. Just what I need.
I heave a resigned sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll come.Ifwe win.”
“Dude, it’s fucking Philly.” Happy laughs. “Of course we’re gonna win.”
“Slater, shut your goddamn pie hole before I shove my foot in it!” Coach yells from somewhere.
Everyone laughs.
I shake my head, managing a smile as I grab my gloves and my helmet, but when I turn back around, I catch Robbie looking at me again, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure meout. Thankfully, before he can pry, it’s time to head out for warm-ups.
Happy was right. Of course we won. Philly has gone from making it to the semi-finals of the playoffs to coming dead last this season. Not that we can talk; we’ve come dead last for the past three seasons. But this year, after securing the number one draft pick, and adding Robbie on top of that, things are looking up, and making the playoffs is more than just an unattainable dream for the first time since I’ve been a New York Thunder. It’s a very real possibility. So long as we don’t fuck it up like everyone expects us to.
Even though all I really wanted to do when we got back to our hotel was to get into my sweats, order room service, and watch reruns ofDawson’s Creek, here I am, in some nightclub VIP, surrounded by scantily clad women who can’t keep their hands to themselves. The beer I was passed by someone not long after we walked in is now lukewarm, and frankly, the consistent thrum of bass is giving me a headache. We’ve been here less than an hour, and I’m so over it.
Happy is sitting on his own, my sloppy seconds perched on his lap, practically dry-humping him. Every so often, he looks at me while she’s busy sucking his neck or doing God knows what and throws me a thumbs up. I just shake my head at him. Go at it, son.
Alex Henry, our alternate captain and one of our more senior players, married with a kid, sits on the couch opposite me. He’s busy texting on his phone. Probably his wife.
Josef, this year’s number one draft pick and our first line right wing, sits beside him, taking in the view of the dance floor over the railing. The guy doesn’t say much. But I’m pretty sure he’s got a girl back in Iceland where he’s from, so I’m sure this scene doesn’t interest him at all.
Logan disappeared a while ago. I feel like something happened at the start of this season, because he’s changed. Sometimes I’ll see glimpses of the guy he used to be, similar to Happy and ready to whip his dick out at any minute if an opportunity presents itself, but more often than not, he’s quiet, usually sidetracked by his phone, and he’ll dip out without anyone even realizing he’s gone.
Next to me, Robbie relaxes back against the couch, leg crossed, ankle resting on the opposite knee, sneakered foot bouncing to the music as he sips his soda. Robbie doesn’t drink alcohol. He stopped back in Minnesota when things in his life turned to shit. He’s not an alcoholic. He just doesn’t like how he feels when he drinks. He’s always the sober friend, which usually has its benefits, but not tonight; tonight, his sobriety sucks because he keeps side-eyeing me like he knows something’s up. It’s only a matter of time before he?—
“What’s up with you?”
Here we fucking go. I close my eyes on an exhale.
“And don’t tell me it’s nothing.” He nudges me with his elbow and I open one eye, catching the hint of a knowing smirk ghost his lips.
“I met someone,” I say.
“Okay…” Watching me, he sips his drink, waiting for more.
I sag forward, elbows on my knees, tearing at the longer lengths of my hair. “I don’t know, man. It’s so fucked. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this. I can barely eat. I can hardly sleep. All I keep thinking about is her.”
