If I even made it to the turnpike.
“Toast, toast, toast,” my team chanted, raising their shot glasses as I uncoiled my scarf and limped over to join them.
Eve handed me a shot glass and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re limping.”
“So what else is new.”
“Maybe you should get that hip checked.”
“I’m walking, right?”
“Yeah, and snarling which means you’re hurting.”
“Alcohol and ice. That’s all I need.” I raised my glass and took in the skeptical glances from my core team. The originals: Eve, Marty, Rory, Sean, and Zara. “To stiff dicks, perky tits, bitches getting every last bit of karma they deserve…oh, and that straight piece in Tetris.” I knocked back the shot, slapped the glass on the table, lifted the pile of hair off my neck, and fanned my face for the flush I knew would rush my Irish skin in a matter of seconds.
“Girl, you are fired up tonight,” Marty said on a laugh.
“Enjoy it.” My voice hissed on the burn in my throat. “I won’t be this full of fuckery until I have to face off with Tilly the wench again.”
“Don’t you mean Hun? Tilly the Hun?” Zara said, ever the serious one of the group.
“No.”
“Oooooookay then,” Zara said, glancing away.
I almost felt bad. Almost.
While I seriously wanted to stab Tilly in the fucking eye, I was madder at myself and the fact that I continued to play right into her juvenile games. Every time I did, I only emboldened her to continue with her shit, committing myself to the miserable cycle of giving Tilly endless satisfaction.
Frankly, I just wanted to stop talking about it.
And that ice. I needed that fucking ice.
Flipping my head down, I wrapped the bandana around my hair and tied it in a knot to hold my sweaty and now-cold hair off my face.
“Did you guys order the next round yet?” This bitch was getting her drink on tonight.
A little Three Dog Night pumped through the speakers low in the background, almost impossible to discern, but the familiar beat crawled in my chest and took hold of my body, wrapping me in a familiar memory like a warm pair of arms. Each note transporting me to another time, another place, to the last time I had a family.
“Oh no. She’s got that look in her eye,” Sean said with a snicker.
Eve glowered at me. “Yeah, we ordered the next round. Now put that face away.”
Slinging my arm around Eve, I bobbed my head, a slow grin spreading over my face.
Eve flicked me a glance and rolled her eyes. “You and your classic rock folky shit.”
Pressing my cheek to hers, I closed my eyes. “You love it and you know it.”
Eve snorted. “I love you, so I put up with it.”
The liquor swept through my veins, carrying away the first few seeds of discontent. The song was a sign and I planned to roll with the message it delivered.
Hips swaying, a smile spreading over my lips, I gave Eve no choice but to sway along with me.
Her hip bumped mine, my muscles seized, and I bit my lip. “Ouch, shit. Ice.”
“I’ll get it,” Eve said, pulling away.
“Hey,” I said, stopping her. “I’ve got it.” Dropping a quick, hard kiss on her lips, I made my way to the bar where I knew the song would be louder.
Patti Perkins, owner of Banked Track and the original derby queen from Galloway Bay, slung her towel over her shoulder and slapped her palms on the polished cherry bar. “Heard you had a rough night.”
I glanced away with a shrug. “Word travels fast. Can I beg you for a bag of ice? Super cold.”
She threw her head back and laughed, her frizzy, frosted hair paying homage to the eighties brushing her shoulders. “Super cold ice, you got it, Maze.”
I rolled my eyes at the way she shortened my name. Something that used to drive me nuts, but sort of caught on and hell if anything I said was going to stop it. I could forgive her for that one…after all she had a special place in my heart, giving me my first job when I knew damn well she wasn’t looking for help.
“You let her get in your head.” The low rumble of his words, cocky and rich, the kind of timbre a woman craved dancing over the skin of her inner thigh.
The beat forgotten, I flicked a glance in the direction of the deep, unfamiliar voice.
Him.
Casual fucker from the front row.
He tipped back a longneck bottle, his gaze never leaving mine even when they closed to slits.
“Really? And how the hell would you know that?” I would entertain him. Why not? He’d toss out his observations, this guy I’d never once seen at a single bout; he’d make it embarrassingly clear he didn’t know shit about derby, and I’d go back to my drinks, ice in hand, and the rockin’ fucking tunes in my head keeping me happy.
“She manipulated you to the inside every single time and you never failed to fall for it. The minute you got there, the refs were too busy concentrating on your feet to see her throwing you elbows.” His lip curled with distaste. “Six times.”
Okay, he knew a little bit more than nothing.
“Here you go, Maze. Let me know when you need a refresh,” Patti said with a couple pats to my cheek, something I normally liked, except on the heels of the dude’s assessment of my game play, the endearing gesture only making me feel immature and stupid.
Kind of appropriate all things considered, but a kick in the tits just the same.
“Thanks. His next beer is on me,” I said with a nod toward the
