“Ha! Yep, I’d keep them away from us too ’cause we’re thatawesome, and you’re just … not.”
“In your dreams.”
One of the other guys had piped up. “Your women are inmy dreams.”
The joke would’ve been on them if they knew what was reallygoing on—that he was lusting after a woman who was off-limits, and if she everbecame fair game, it didn’t matter. She was about to find out who he was anddrop him like a hot rock. It was totally FUBAR. Which left him charting aFriday night with a mess of Santiago’s breakfast burritos and a half-dozen episodes of Forged in Fire while thewheelchair-bound badass ballers were making plans with their girls for a realnight of fun.
Wow. Lighting the social scene on fire, Shanny. Look out, Denver.
Saturday would be no more scintillating because Natalie wasfishing with her mom and brother and would dine with them at the end of theday. Another cozy Rockwell scene, only he wasn’t part of it this time. Thethought gave him a twinge of … sadness? Nah. Never mind that he’d enjoyed hisnight with Natalie way more than he dared admit and had been angling fora repeat. It was probably good it never came since he seemed unable to coast inneutral.
As he drove home from the game, he envisioned Natalie AmberEyes in waders, clomping in squishy boots along a riverbank while catching herrod tip in low-hanging tree branches.
I handle worms and don’t squeal like a girl. I wouldn’tbe laughing my chauvinist man ass off if I were you.
His cock perked up, just as it had when she’d rebuked him aweek ago. Hell, it had been hard pretty much that entire evening.
Disgusted, he glanced down at himself. “She calls us out andyou salute her? Dude. We need to talk.” Nonetheless, a chuckle escaped him.He’d laughed, really laughed, during their exchanges, and it had felt so good,like a spring had uncoiled deep inside him and let off enough tension that itdidn’t feel as though it would snap. He loved that she didn’t take his shitpersonally and that she lobbed it right back at him. He wanted nothing morethan to spar with her because it pumped him up. He craved it, bad jokes andall.
Burritos and TV alone weren’t going to cut it as Saturdaynight distractions went. At a red light, he scrolled through his contacts,stopping on the one he was searching for. Staring at the screen for a beat, hedebated, his thumb hovering. He hit the green phone icon. Two rings, and hiscall was answered.
.~* * * ~.
Hours later, a six-pack down andhalf of a second one gone, T.J. and Nelson were watching two talking headsdissect the LA Kings’ play against the Winnipeg Jets during the game’s secondintermission. They’d been watching sporadically—just enough to pick apart thisand that player’s game, sparing no one.
“Listen to these two go on and on about how great Fergusonis.” T.J.’s voice rose in a falsetto on the last four words. “Christ, theyshould start their own fan club and get it over with.”
Nelson snorted as he deposited a platter of steaming wingsglazed in fiery orange-red sauce on the coffee table. He dropped onto theopposite end of the couch, and T.J. slid a few wings onto his plate, thenplucked celery sticks dipped in ranch dressing from a cup. This was the thirdbatch Nelson had made. They were the best wings T.J. had ever tasted. Ford,curled up close by, raised his head, looking for all theworld as if he’d sniff the scent right out of an invisible trail wafting fromthe oven.
“Nelson, if I’d known you cook the hell out of wings, I’dhave invited you over a long time ago.”
Nelson licked his thumb. “My mom’s from Buffalo, and shetaught me how to make wings the ‘right way.’ Her words.”
“Did she teach you to make anything else?” T.J. tore a stripof meat from the bone and chased it with a swig of beer.
On a nod, Nelson took his own bite and chewed. “A fewthings. Perfect Italian meatballs, barbecue sauce, and NewYork-style cheesecake. I make killer brisket, but that I taught myself.”
T.J. guffawed. “Shit, will you marry me?”
Nelson shook his head. “Your plumbing’s all wrong. I’msaving myself for someone a little softer and sweeter, who smells a hell of alot better than you do.”
“That wouldn’t take much.” T.J. crunched down on a celerystick. On the TV, the two teams were facing off for the beginning of the thirdperiod. “Hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Nelson wiped his chin, then jerkedit at him. “What’s up?”
“The night I put the hit on May …”
Nelson seemed to become hyperfocused.
T.J. pointed a wing at him. “First of all, I don’t think Iever thanked you for being the only teammate who didn’t ignore me after thatwent down.”
Nelson gave him a shoulder shrug. “Shit happens on the ice.”
A recollection of his searing, white-hot anger blasted intoT.J.’s brain. Maybe he hadn’t been in his right mind. More food for thoughtsome other day.
“Do you remember Monahan talking to me after the hit onFrisky?”
“I remember that he leaned down and said something, but Ididn’t catch it.”
Well, shit.
Nelson took a long pull on his beer. “What I did catchwas what Coach Rogers said to Joe right before that.”
Oh, this had all of T.J.’s attention. “Yeah? What did hesay?”
“I don’t recall the exact words, but his meaning was clear.He told Monahan to sic you on May. Even promised a bounty to whichever playertook May out of the game, and he’d up it if the guy wound up in the hospital.”
T.J.’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “He actually used theword bounty? You heard him say that?”
A grave nod. “Yeah. Did CoachRogers ever pay you?”
“Hell no! I had no idea!” T.J. flung out a hand. His stomachknotted, and suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. Outraged, shocked, offendedwere more apt descriptions for his current state of mind as the full force ofNelson’s reveal hit T.J. like a slapshot. “Iconsidered it part of my job to lay the guy out, but I never dreamed I wassupposed to play Dog the Bounty Hunter. Fuck
