Page 73 of Slots & Sticks
BigStickEnergy:The only one close to a dad bod is you
CamIAm:getting up now
I’m gonna kill him. But since there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to fall back asleep after this, it looks as though I’ll be forced to kill him at the rink.
It takes me a full hour to get up, get ready, feed Soot, feed myself, and haul my exhausted ass out the door. I guzzle approximately a gallon of coffee on the drive in. I’m prepared for Viktor’s disapproving lecture, but since I’m only the fourth car in the ramp when I arrive, I’m guessing he’ll save his real vitriol for the latecomers. Or, I guess, the later-comers. Just to be petty, I sit in the car until I finish my drink, and Knight pulls up beside me.
“Gonna kill him,” he grumbles.
I cheers him with my empty coffee cup. “I’ll help you hide the body.”
Viktor’s fussing around in the locker room, alongside a yawning Tristan and a surprisingly alert Lenyx.
The rink smells like my childhood—cold air, disinfectant, rubber mats, and someone’s unfortunate choice of protein shake. Viktor’s voice carries down the hall like a foghorn announcing doom.
The man’s a walking motivational poster gone rogue. He thrives on chaos before sunrise, which, in my opinion, should be illegal.
“How are you so chipper this early?” Knight grumbles.
“I didn’t go to bed,” Lenyx says. After a beat, he grins at us and holds up one finger. “Correction: I didn’t go to sleep. I’ve been working on my abs all night.” He raises his voice. “Viktor, did you know that sex is a great ab workout?”
“I did indeed,” Viktor says. To me, he adds, “Here,” and tosses a jersey my way.
I hold up the jersey and shake it out. “Why are the colors weird?” Even as the words leave my lips, I realize that the usual Venom logo is missing. Instead of the deeper Venom green, these jerseys are a weird pastel tone, with lighter lavender trim. On the front are the wordsNo Dad Bod Summer. In fucking Comic Sans.
“Sir.” I lower the shirt and glare at him. “What is this?”
“It’s my new campaign!” Viktor spreads his arms to gesture at all of us. “Dante’s got his whole Bring Back the Magic theme. To that end—”
“What size is your jersey?” Knight asks, cutting him off.
Viktor takes a step back. “What?”
“You made yourself a jersey, too, right? Let me see it.”
Viktor’s eyes shift from side to side, like he’s looking for a way out. As if we don’t spend half our mornings in here. “Why?”
“Where is it?” Knight reaches for the pile.
“No!” Viktor tries to grab him.
Under other circumstances, I’d let this play out, but Viktor got on my bad side today with his nonsense. I step up to block him. Tristan, too, moves to bar the way. Despite Viktor’s squawking and his attempts to elbow past us, Tristan and I manage to hold him back until Knight locates the jersey. I snort when I see that, instead of his name, Viktor’s simply saysCaptain.
“Give it back,” Viktor whines.
Knight examines the label in the back. “I knew it. You went up a size.”
For all their chirping, I love these guys. They’re a found family in every sense—loud, messy, opinionated. The kind of people who’d show up at your house with a shovel if you said you had a problem. And somehow, they manage to make me feel like I’m the weird one for catching feelings.
A couple more of the guys wander in together. “What’s going on?” Owen asks through a yawn.
Tristan snorts. “Viktor got the girl, got soft, and now we’re all paying for it. He’s not worried about our game at all.”
Owen’s eyes narrow into slits. “He’s projecting.”
“That’s not true!” Viktor manages to dart between us, now that Tristan and I have stopped making an effort to block him. He grabs the shirt from Knight and presses it to his chest. “I just want us to be healthy!”
Bowen sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “That’s not it. You’re scared of your wife.”
