Page 52 of False Play
I shook my head. “Can’t think of anything else.”
She signed the paper and pushed it toward me with the pen. “Pleasure doing business with you, then.”
Amusement overtook me as I grabbed the pen and signed the ridiculous contract. “Famous last words.”
“We’ll see.” She shrugged. The smile she gave me was cheeky as she grabbed the contract and placed it smack dab in the center of the fridge with a Strikers logo magnet. She turned around and crossed her arms. “I guess we’re official, then.”
I crossed my arms, too, and leaned back on my chair with a hum. “Try not to fall in love with me in the process, Kenny.”
“I’ll be just fine, pretty boy,” she quipped as she dropped back onto the chair then grabbed a wing and continued eating.
This was a light and playful side I never expected Kennedy Jones to have.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was absolutely and wholeheartedly obsessed with it.
THIRTEEN
HENRY
I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE.
Hayes threwhis stick against his locker room stall with so much force, it broke in half. “Fuck!”
“Hayes, calm the fuck down,” Donovan barked as he strode in behind him.
“I can’t calm the fuck down when we got eaten alive out there!” Hayes shouted back.
I winced at Hayes’s comment as I took my helmet off and ran my fingers through my hair.
The game against the Detroit Panthers went as I suspected—terribly. They had an ironclad defense, and while Zack Kendall—the rookie who was subbed in while I kept warming the fucking bench—was doing a great job, he wasn’t me. The kid had a long way to get to my level. Getting past Detroit’s blue line proved to be almost impossible. And when we did, their defensemen were quick on their feet to get control of the puck.
“I’m sorry, guys, I really tried,” Kendall said sheepishly as he sat down.
Donovan sat next to Kendall and patted his back. “Hey, no. We’re not gonna do that. We win as a team, and we lose as a team.”
“Shit, what Donovan says it’s true, Kendall. I just get extra pissy with Detroit, I hate those guys,” Hayes muttered. “You’re doing amazing work out there.”
“The only animal who can usually get past those defenses is Anderson,” Parker commented before throwing some water on his face.
“You just need to build more momentum. You need to glide at the speed of light to get past those guys. We can work on that,” I said.
Kendall nodded, but before he could reply, Coach Sloane strode into the locker room. The rest of the team quieted down and sat, waiting for Coach to chew us a new one.
“It was a tough loss,” Coach began, strangely calm. “There was nothing we could do.”
“Does that mean we won’t be doing drills tomorrow?” Kendall asked, his tone hopeful.
Parker and Hayes snorted a laugh at the same time. Coach pierced them with a withering glare, and they were quick to straighten in their seats. Parker coughed, looking anywhere but at Coach, and Hayes started whistling as he became extremely interested in his broken stick.
“Oh, there will be drills tomorrow. The transitions today were sloppy as hell. Clearly, we need more stop-and-start drills,” he deadpanned. “You’re all dismissed. Go grab a shower, and for the love of God, don’t overdo it today at the bar. Practice is bright and early tomorrow.”
We all mumbled, “Yes, sir,” in unison.
The room started to filter out, some players eager as fuck to go home to their wives, others ready to go drink, despite our Coach’s warning. I started to untie my laces, more than ready toget out of there, too. Not playing was the worst, and I needed a drink or two to get over it, even if it meant I had to hit the gym harder this week for breaking my diet.
“Anderson,” Coach called out. He stepped onto my path with that no-nonsense stance that always made my stomach twist. “Where was Kennedy today?”
I frowned. “I don’t know, sir.”
