Leo Telane was a handsome, rugged, and drunken fool—same as the other defensemen on the team. More brawn than brains and more balls than common sense. He skipped the slip n’ slide and simply belly flopped into the pool.
Only to realize he’d landed on a submerged bottle of vodka hidden under the ice. He stood and pulled the chunk of broken glass out of his ribs.
“Huh.” He wavered on his feet and tossed the crimson shard away. “We’re gonna need more booze.”
Blood splattered around the patio, but the team simply cheered. Leo grabbed the closest bundle of fabric to blot his wound—one of the pretty pastel pillows I’d picked out for Adrian’s outdoor furniture. The frilly blue pillow allowed Leo to grab an offered drink from Oz, which he shot as he demanded his own turn to surf on the cracking porch swing.
“These men are animals…” I grabbed Adrian’s hand. “Jesus, they’ve all gone feral.”
Adrian grimaced as the male strippers remerged from the house, staked a location for their show on the edge of the pool, and began their performance by using disturbingly rigid parts of their anatomy to start the music on their iPhones.
“I want to say this is normal for a hockey party…”
Adrian avoided gazing directly into the sequined thong of the lead stripper—especially as the glare from the sun striking the shimmering material did not obscure all the dancer’s blubbery majesty.
“Hey!” He shouted. “Can someone make sure Rhett is still breathing? Get him out of the pool if he’s passed out.”
Fortunately, the presence of the male strippers had sobered most of the party. The dancers had decided against any sort of longform choreography in favor of a synchronized humping of any waist-high lawn decoration or furniture within range.
I didn’t know what the lone dancer in the corner with the helium tank and balloons had planned for the party, but it scared me more than the blood.
“Adrian, you can’t control these guys,” I whispered. “They’re violent. They’re drunk. They’re absolutely wild.”
“It’s just a party.”
“Three of your windows are broken. You have five bathrooms in the house, and these guys haven’t used any. Your hot tub is now clogged with cheese because they thought they could make fondue pot.”
“They’re just excitable.”
A gunshot echoed from the driveway. We flinched, but Orion Orlov leapt through the shrubbery and rolled over the grass with a paintball gun. Not sure where he’d found the gilly suit, but he’d concocted Rambo style face-paint with a combination of mud and my peach lipstick. Adrian dove over me before the next shot ran out.
A splotch of blue paint bullseyed one of the stripper’s ass cheeks.
To the horror of the party, however, he simply moaned and incorporated the paint into his act.
Gave a new meaning to the word blue balls.
“They’re monsters.” I covered my eyes as two of the guys shoved each other near what remained of a food table cracked into pieces. The burgers had been lost an hour ago, and yet some of the team still wandered by and picked up a patty from the ground. “It’s like they have no idea how to live in civilized society.”
I frowned as Cash Harrington approached, brandishing his phone at Adrian with a snort.
“Check it out…that stripper said he could shave his pubic hair into the shape of any animal,” he said.
Adrian averted his eyes like they had been burned. “Jesus Christ, dude. Warn someone before you flash that freakshow.”
“Thing is…he wasn’t endowed enough to pull off the elephant.” Cash surveyed the photo with a nod. “But he did make himself into a pretty serviceable horse.”
“Fantastic.”
“Better tell Nova to stop tweeting it though…” Cash did his best to walk in a straight line. “Coach is gonna be worried when he sees Leo bleeding with the hashtag.”
“What?”
“#SlipNSlice.” Cash snorted. “Gotta give the kids credit. They know how to have fun.”
I pulled my phone. Sure enough, the Forge was suddenly trending.
And not for the right reasons.
“Why the hell are they tweeting this?” I asked.
Adrian’s jaw clenched tight as he swallowed a profanity. After a long moment, he drew a sharp breath.
“Because the coaches told the players to be transparent and active on Twitter and Instagram.” His voice shadowed with irritation. “They urged the team to introduce themselves to the world.”
“No restrictions?”
“What do you think?”
My stomach curdled. Twenty young, cocky, and thoroughly unrestrained athletes encouraged to post whatever they wanted at any time on social media?
Sounded like a PR nightmare.
Exactly what the Forge wanted.
“You’ve gotta tell the guys the truth,” I said.
He tossed his empty beer on the pile of bottles littering his yard. “I brought them here for a party.”
“And they’re partying. Hard.” I gestured over his yard. Two of his patio chairs had been broken down and become fuel for an unrestrained bonfire. “If this gets out to the media…”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“That the team expects them to act like animals.”
“And telling the guys that the team wants them to fail won’t fix anything.”
Adrian’s expression darkened. I reached for him. Hesitated. Somehow, the comforting hug I’d offered him for years felt…different. Complicated. I crossed my arms instead.
“If I tell them what Coach Harland and John Blanche told me…” He scowled. “I’ll lose them before we play a single game. They’d have no respect for the franchise or themselves. If that happens…we’ll never be a real team—a real family. Like what I had with the Marauders.”
I never did understand his ability to connect with other people. A single smirk would earn him a pretty girl’s phone number, a conversation over a beer would make a new friend, and there wasn’t a grandmother in a tri-county radius who hadn’t done her damnedest to fatten him up with freshly baked cookies.
I…never had that.
Never looked for it either. But it seemed easier that way. Keeping to myself meant I never had to reveal too much. Adrian called me private, or, when he was being generous, busy. Too many hours in the air to foster any real relationships on the ground.
Until the day it all changed.
When Adrian got hurt.
It’d been a horrendous injury, but, until that moment, I’d never realized how easily he might’ve taken a puck to the temple or been hit too hard into the boards. He played a dangerous sport.
He’d wondered why I wanted a baby so badly.
Well, I had an easy answer for him.
Because now…I realized I had nothing else.
A sudden shout interrupted most of the drinking and bleeding.
A pallor fell over the party as two of the Forge suddenly tossed aside their drinks. Leo and Felix stood nose-to-nose, their profanities barking into the night.
I didn’t know the men well yet—but Leo, despite his bleeding, was the more imposing figure. He’d built muscular body built for defense. But Felix had a lithe, sneaky physique. He relied on speed and stamina and quiet domination.