“And what about my friend here? Does he look familiar to you at all?”
Now she didn’t shake her head. Her eyes widened and face twisted ever so slightly. Like most of America, she must’ve thought Zane was a weirdo but couldn’t let on.
Instead of answering his ridiculous question, she asked, “So, it’s dinner for two tonight?”
Good save!
When Zane nodded, she grabbed two menus and invited us to follow her into the dining room. She sat us down at a table in the far corner and I felt instantly relieved to have gotten the Remington Riptide alone for a moment.
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” I asked.
“What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? That girl probably thinks we’re crazy.”
“No, she probably thinksI’mcrazy.”
I could have told him that I found that oh so reassuring but wanted to move on from the topic. Not surprising that Zane wouldn’t allow it.
“I just worried we would be recognized, that’s all,” he said.
“Why would someone recognize us?”
“Buffalo’s not that big of a place, and we’re hockey players.”
“College hockey players, Zane. We’re not talking the NHL.”
He glanced around the restaurant like a man expecting to find special ops-agents at the next booth or fiber optic cameras planted somewhere in the joint. I doubted I’d ever slept with someone as ridiculous as Zane.
Our server came to our table and took our order of wings and Pepsi. Murder on our bodies but sometimes you’ve got to treat yourself.
“So,” I said, “what’s it like being a Remington Riptide?”
“Is that your passive-aggressive way of asking what it’s like to be a mind-blowing asshole? Or better yet, do I enjoy it?”
“Take it that way if you want.”
“Being an asshole is great. People bend over backwards for you. Tell them to jump and they ask how high. Nice people don’t enjoy those perks.”
I snorted, wondering how he would’ve reacted had I called him the Devil himself.
“To tell you the truth, there’s nothing I would rather be than a Remington Riptide,” he continued. “I love the team and everything it stands for.”
“And what does it stand for? Being a bunch of jackasses?”
“No, you double dip. It stands for hard work. It stands for honor and playing the game the way it was meant to be played. It stands for passion, commitment, and tradition.”
For a moment, I thought he might slide out of his seat, stand up straight and tall, rest his hand over his heart, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
I whistled and said, “You sure sound like you’ve got convictions.”
“I ought to. My father played in the NHL.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know that.”
“Most of his career had come and gone before I was born. He played for various teams, mostly bouncing around in the Detroit Redwings farm system. He played his share of big-league games but kept the benches warm in a lot of them.
“Dad finished out his career with the Sabres when I was in elementary school. He mostly played for the Rochester Americans. After that, he wanted to stay in Western New Yorkbecause we all liked it so much, and that’s why I’m still here now.”
