Page 127 of The Pucking Wrong Guy

I frowned and nodded, making it a regular call and holding the phone up to my ear.

“What’s up?”

“Year’s almost up.” There was a question in his voice, a question that was still an easy answer. Blake was completely on board even if it meant we’d have to fly back and forth to L.A. for her jobs sometimes.

“Yeah, what’s your question?” I asked innocently, just because I wanted to hear him say it. Lincoln Daniels luvvvved Ari Lancaster.

“Are—are you still coming home?” He sounded so un-Daniels-like, a name usually synonymous with cocky badass. It was hil-ari-ous.

Hmmm, I never noticed, my name was in that word.

Fitting.

“Ari?”

“Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Fuck you,” he growled, finally catching on to my little joke.

I glanced at Walker who was pretending not to be eavesdropping even though tension was threaded through his whole body. Poor Disney, he didn’t know yet that I was going to make sure he came with me. With how well he’d done, and with Bender announcing his retirement from the Dallas net, it should be an easy sell.

“Yes, Linc. Your snookums is still planning on coming home.”

There was a long silence, almost like my buddy was having trouble holding in his emotions.

“Snookums?” he finally said, sounding infinitely happier than he had before my answer.

“Not good? I’ll keep workshopping.”

I was smiling weirdly into the phone, but it was warranted. Lincoln Daniels was going to be my best friend forever.

“Make 'em cry out there tonight, Lancaster, and tell Disney good luck,” Lincoln added as I heard someone in the background calling his name.

“You just score those goals,” I answered before hanging up.

“Lincoln, um…did he say hi?” Walker asked, all cute and simp like. His usual M.O.

“He may have said good luck.”

Walker perked up. “Wait…he said that? He said good luck?”

“I said he “may” have said good luck.”

“Ari,” Walker whined, looking so pathetic I had to give him what he wanted.

“Fine, hedidwish you good luck.”

Walker jumped up and did a shimmy. I scoffed indignantly. “I tell you good luck all the fucking time, and I give you an ass tap! What else could you want?”

Walker froze mid shake of his ass. “Right, it’s totally the same.”

“You’re placating me! I don’t like placaters, Walker Davis. No ass tap for you tonight!”

He pretended to be chastened even as his whole fucking body shook with laughter.

I stared around the room. The rest of my teammates were all tense and gloomy, like they were already confident in a loss before the game even started. Which was stupid. Yes, the team had issues, but we’d beaten Seattle this year…twice. This wasn’t going to do at all.

I stood up off the bench. “Disney, give me a tune,” I ordered, and Walker wasted no time in grabbing his phone. A few seconds later, “Shake It Off” hit the locker room speakers.

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