But having a girl act like she wanted to fuck,justas an excuse to root around in his pockets for a number that some random waitress had slipped him?
Well, that was very much a first. Not to mention a sneaky move.Beyondsneaky.
Who the hell does she think she is?
All that subterfuge from a girlsounwilling to rock the boat with her employer that she wouldn’t listen to a singlewordof what he had to say about Campbell and Hathaway. Pretty rich. She’d fooled him, alright.
And then she got to act all righteous and lecture him about ‘lying’ to her about the existence of the note. Did he lie about it?Pft.Technically, sure, whatever. But it’s not like he owed her the truth. Frankly, she was out of line demanding to read it in the first place. What gave her the right to read his personal stuff?
And speaking of lies, hadn’tAustenlied when she pretended that she’d lost her scarf in his house? Wasn’t that just an obvious ploy to get a moment alone with him? She could deny it all she wanted, but did shereallythink she was the first girl to pull a move like that?
Probably dodged a bullet with that one, yeah,he reassured himself. She was already acting like a jealous girlfriend after a singlefakedate—God only knows what trouble he would’ve gotten himself into if they actually slept together.
But if that was true, then why did it bother him? Why couldn’t he focus on the game?
Suddenly, the penalty box door opened. His teammates had successfully killed off the powerplay. Dane jumped out onto the ice—just in time to catch that same Blizzard d-man skating with his head down.
He couldn’t resist. The opportunity was too glorious.
Dane dropped his large shoulder and stepped right into the defender, blasting him backward and pasting him into the ice.
“That’swhat a penalty feels like,” Dane said to the woozy d-man, as the ref escorted the captain right back into the penalty box.
But the tired and demoralized Devils couldn’t stop two straight powerplays in a row. The Blizzard captain, Hunter Rockwell, blasted a slapshot that whistled by Vaughn’s ear and into the net.
Dane’s selfish act of revenge cost the team a goal, a fact that only made him angrier.
***
When the horn sounded to end the game, the scoreboard showed 4–0. The hometown Dallas crowd sent their team off the ice with a loud and unanimous chorus:“Booooooooooooo!”
The Devils marched through the tunnel, where they had to make the walk of shame through their drunk and angry fans’ cauldron of hate.
“You suck! All of you!”
“Fuck you, Big D!”
“Did you take enough penalties tonight, Oh Fearless Leader?”
“Worthless!”
“Overpaid piece of shit!”
“Tell me how you really feel,” the captain muttered as he led the team into the dressing room.
Back in the locker room, Coach Stevens’ postgame comments weren’t much nicer. He ripped everyone a new asshole for ten minutes straight. But it was clear who had cost them the game. The guy with no goals, no assists, no shots, and thirteen minutes of penalties—the captain himself.
Or, as Coach put it, “We can’t win with our best player in the boxall goddamn game long!”
Coach stormed out of the room, leaving Dane and the Devils a few minutes of respite.
“Sorry, boys. This one’s on me,” he said to the silent room. “Dunno what happened tonight. Guess I let my anger get the best of me out there.”
Then it was time to let the media in and hear it all over from them.
Send in the clowns.
Chapter 15
