Deal

by Shey Stahl

  “Good deal?”

  “Excellent deal.” I say sitting on the edge of the bed. I don’t want to kick him out. “I have to walk Oliver.”

  He smiles when he knows what I’m about to say next. “I have a new proposition for you.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you for money.” I tease.

  “It’s not that.” He laughs. “But our neighbor could probably give you pointers, huh?”

  “Yes. She makes good nachos.”

  He nods. “Good to know.”

  “Tathan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You were saying...”

  His smile lights his face. “I bet I can make you fall in love with me.”

  What he doesn’t know is that’s completely impossible because I’m pretty sure I’m already there. I’ll never tell him that. What’s wrong with making him work a little?

  I hold out my hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  The End

  Coming someday soon: Bet

  And now … a sneak peek at the first chapter of Delayed Offsides, the second book in the Crossing the Line series that follows a group of roughed up hockey players.

  Delayed Offsides – Book Two in the Crossing the Line Series

  Hat Trick

  Leo Orting

  Hat Trick – When a player scores three goals in one game.

  Game 36 – Nashville Predators – Wednesday, December 22, 2010

  United Center - Chicago

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  I wanted to fucking punch him. “Why’d you do it?”

  Dave shook his head avoiding looking at me. “Why does it even matter?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the metal table separating us in a room filled with criminals at the Cook County Correction Center. As far as I could tell, Dave belonged here. “I’ll say the same thing I said to Evan. Why the fuck does it matter?”

  “Callie was your friend. That’s why it fucking matters.”

  We’ve all been rough with chicks who dig that shit but there’s a line. He knows it and I know it.

  Dave raised an eyebrow, grinning. “No, she was a fuckin’ puck bunny we’ve all got our dicks wet with.” With his harsh words, he never broke eye contact with me as he folded his arms over his chest. “And then she tried to say we couldn’t anymore. Wanted to have some fuckin’ morals?” He shook his head and stared at the wall. “The way I see it, she deserved it.”

  My blood was boiling. I imagined a brutal death filled with torture and vindication for what he had done. I’m not much of a fighter but to hear him talk this way about what he did to Callie was more than I could handle. How dare he talk this way about my girl.

  “And Ami… she blew me off.” He laughed lightly. “It wasn’t anything personal. Just letting her know she couldn’t do that to me.”

  I clapped slowly. “Well congratulations. You’ve managed to be charged with attempted murder and lost your ability to ever play in the NHL again. Nicely done.”

  It was hard to imagine how Evan felt knowing Dave brutally raped Ami and he found her like that. The memories he must have of that are difficult to grasp. The worst part was he was friends with him. We trusted Dave. Never did we think he’d do something like this.

  I stood from the chair, metal scraping against concrete. “I hope you get fucked in the ass. You’re a piece of shit.”

  And then I walked away.

  That conversation took place months ago right before we won the Stanley Cup.

  I’d cooled off by now but my feelings hadn’t changed for Dave. That motherfucker could rot in hell for all I cared. I’m sure Evan felt the same way. Betrayal is a funny thing. Sticks with you.

  Now here we were, game thirty-six into the following season and yeah, I was still pissed about it. Mostly because both my best friends were affected by that day.

  “Hey,” Evan, or Mase as we called him, sat next to me. “Hand me that tape.” He gestured to the white roll next to my thigh.

  Without saying anything, I handed it to him and continued to tape my stick. I had a particular way I liked to tape it and if anything disrupted me, or touched it, I had to start over.

  Every hockey player has a ritual before a game. They put their gear on the same way every time. Tape their stick in the same direction. Hell, even some go so far as to eat the same food that day never veering from that routine in fear they’ll mess up that superstition they swear they don’t have. We grow beards during the playoff season, sit in the same location on the bus and on the team planes. Eat with the same group, anything we do, and with every win, we do it that way all the time and it becomes a habit of sorts.

  I’m talking about myself here. That’s me. But I bet you could ask any other hockey player, hell, any other athlete, and they all have the same rituals.

  Maybe it’s something that happens when we’re younger. Actually, I know that’s it for me. It’s a belief that if we have lady luck on our side we can hit harder, make impressive goals, or make the impossible happen. Maybe if we’re lucky we can make up for what we’re lacking. What I’m lacking. What I believe sets me back.

  It’s all bullshit really. Superstition. Lady luck. All of it is horse shit.

  I still do it the same every day though. Even though I know in my heart it’s a crock of shit, I won’t tempt the fates and not perform the same routines that keep the good mojo flowing.

  Ryan wandered over to me before the game and sat down as if nothing was wrong and last night didn’t happen. He got drunk and passed out. That’s a big mistake with a group of hockey players. We waited until he was unconscious before we wrapped him in Saran Wrap, shaved half his head and took pictures of his metamorphosis from hockey player to the chrysalis state we left him in. Those pictures were now hanging in his cubby. One-by-one glances turned to double takes as the players who hadn’t noticed the pictures until now erupted into fits of laughter that filled the room.

  “Je-sus Christ kid, what the fuck were you thinking?” Travis, another forward on our team asked, rubbing the side of his head when he took off the beanie.

  Ryan hadn’t fixed his half shaved head and left it that way. Fitted him well if you ask me.

  “Listen up boys!” Coach came into the locker room getting ready for his speech. Same speech, same idea every time just delivered slightly different each day. Different teams play different ways. He glanced at me, then Mase, then Remy, and unfortunately for him, his stoic gaze fell to the pictures of Ryan. “Take those down!”

  Hysterical fits of laughter broke out once again.

  Ryan stood next to me in the tunnel, I was still laughing as we headed out to the ice for warm-ups. “I can’t believe you fuckers. I swear to God, I’m gonna shit in your cubby you do that again.”

  “Show some class, eh.” I said, acting disgusted. I’m not even sure if it’s possible for me to actually be disgusted being a hockey player but I won’t let him know that.

  Ryan snorted, still amused with himself. “Go fuck yourself.”

  I shoved my stick at his ass. “You’re next, baby.”

  “Watch this.” As we took shots, I ribbed Remy. “Hey, Mase, you see their new d-man?”

  “Who’s that?” Mase asked watching the Predators defenseman stretch.

  Lapanta was a big motherfucker and Mase didn’t stand a goddamn chance against him. Still, you’d never stop him if he wanted to brawl. Mase was ornery like that. He’d take on guys twice his size just for the challenge, win or lose, he didn’t care.

  I pointed my stick at him. “Their new d-man from Australia, Beckham Lapanta.” I taunted Evan, circling him around center ice before I fired a shot at the goal. “He’s lookin’ for you.”

  “Mase, he’ll kick your ass,” Remy warned me, looking to me with a smile because he was only provoking Mase to go after the guy. He didn’t like to be told he couldn’t. “I wouldn’t exactly send a message right now, alright bud.”

  I’m a good hockey player. First round pick, g
ood and I know it. Cocky maybe but I earn my status as the captain of the Chicago Blackhawks. I answer plays with goals and make shit happen. I have impeccable speed on the ice and quick stick skills. Well into the first period and we were needing goals. We just weren’t makin’ plays happen and when we did, we were being called on penalties that were bullshit.

  I circled Mase knowing he needed a pep talk. “Stay smart. No friends out here.” I knocked our heads together. “Off the draw that guy’s really cheatin’ ya, eh.”

  “That fuckin’ d-man sticks to me.” Mase said glaring. “How could he not see that hit was bullshit?”

  He’s referring to where I was nailed in the head by Lapanta’s knee. Yeah, it wasn’t called a penalty. Evan was my brother and he now had it out for the new d-man. You don’t fuck with me and Mase not call you out.

  “Can’t stay up on your feet?” I egged him on. “You goin’ after him?”

  “I’m gonna fuckin’ nail him.”

  Sure enough, he went after him during the second period.

  They circled around each other when the whistle blew and Remy bumped into me. “Fifty says Mase gets his ass kicked.”

  After beating my stick on the ice, I shook my head watching the Predators center shoot up the ice and try to give Mase a push. I want to jump in there and knock the guy out for shoving him. “No way I’m betting on that.”

  They dropped gloves and I think Mase wanted to pick them up after that first hit and walk away, only he didn’t.

  Still circling for a half a second, each one daring that first punch knowing it results in a penalty. Lapanta threw the first punch landing on Evan’s jaw. They danced for a minute and though Mase defended himself, it wasn’t an even match. Lapanta was a beast.

  “Easy there,” the ref who Mase just knocked in the jaw snapped back when he was trying to break up the fight.

  “Well, fuck you then. Eat it.” Mase got in his face heading to the penalty box with Lapanta trailing behind him escorted by his own linesman. “Call the fuckin’ penalties and that shit wouldn’t happen.”

  “We’ve already been over that, Masen.” He defended. “I didn’t see it.”

  “Well, I’m still mad about it. You didn’t fuckin’ call it.” Mase shrugged opening the door to the penalty box where two more of our players sat. “Whatcha guys doin’ in here?” He laughed.

  Didn’t matter these days what was happening, he was in a good mood. I think Ami had a lot to do with that. She was good for him. Kept him aggressive on the ice fighting for his brothers but he was quick to let stuff go.

  With five minutes left in the second period, Mase sat next to me on the bench with a towel held to his face. “Want me to lay him out for you, bud?” I gave him a look like I was serious but deep down, he knew I wasn’t. I’ve been in seven fights in my entire four year NHL career. I wasn’t on the ice to fight. I was there to score goals and make plays happen. By chance if you rubbed me the wrong way, yeah, I’d certainly defend myself against some of these savages. I’m no pussy. Although I don’t like fighting. I hate the sight of blood and the idea of hitting someone in the head makes me nauseous.

  Don’t repeat that. Like ever.

  Coach looked over at us, his face a constant state of indifference, checking out Mase to see if he was alright.

  “Yeah, right.” Mase blew me off, and he seemed concerned that I didn’t think he was serious. No way I’d go after Lapanta unless I had a fucking death wish. And I don’t.

  “Listen, Mase,” I was contemplative as I spoke trying to get a rise out of him. “I would fight anyone for you.” We both looked up when Remy slammed a guy into the boards and scooted down the bench getting ready for the line change. “Well, not Remy or Travis. Or Tyler. But maybe Ryan?” I nodded okay with my choice. “Fuckin’ eh, I’d definitely fight that son of a bitch for you.”

  “Reassuring, thanks,” Mase said, tossing the towel aside and barreling over the wall with me.

  “Thought so.” I patted his shoulder.

  The Predators, as they usually did, started out quickly in that third period, moving the puck into our zone and keeping it there for the first few minutes. They didn’t have the advantage for long before I was making things happen. The game turned and moved to center ice where I had the puck, but never able to control it the way I needed to. During a game we have advantages that carry over to our personalities for the most part. Mase, when he’s challenged on the ice, he answers back as with his physicality.

  Me, I like to shove it down your throat and let you know just how good we really are. With thirty seconds left to play, I stuffed one in behind my back and high in the right pocket to take home the win, one to four.

  “That’s disgusting! Did you have to touch his penis?” Ami asked, curious about our prank on Ryan when we wrapped him in Saran Wrap and took pictures.

  “That’s the thing about hockey players, Ami ...” I bumped Ami’s shoulder with my own sitting down next to her, “we’re nasty motherfuckers and think with our sticks.”

  Mase rolled his eyes, disgusted that I was being honest with his girl. “Not all of us are.”

  “Bullshit.” Remy coughed, barely able to control his laughter. “You ar—”

  Mase punched him. Pussy. Couldn’t take getting his balls busted around his family.

  Maybe I’m exaggerated when I talk but I have a point to make and damn it, people need to listen. Everyone around us listened to our conversation, laughing right along with me as I told them about Ryan’s new haircut.

  Remy, Callie and I were to Pittsburgh with Mase and Ami for Christmas two days later. His parents always welcomed us which was nice seeing how I had no family around here and neither do Remy or Callie. My older brother Patrick was a fuckin’ leech. I avoided him when I could so thankfully he wasn’t around this Christmas. My mom was living in Australia now. We Skyped before I left but I hadn’t spent a holiday with her in probably two years. And my dad, hadn’t seen him since I was two. Couldn’t tell you what bar that drunk motherfucker was in tonight, or if he was even still alive.

  I liked to drink but I wasn’t my father. No good son of a bitch.

  Looking around the room at everyone, this family was better than anything I had before. All that other shit didn’t matter.

  “Hey Jud-bug,” Evan’s mom Judy couldn’t say no to me. “It’s Christmas, eh. Give her some.”

  I’m very convincing. Sam, his dad, smiled as though he wanted nothing to do with this argument and left the decision up to Judy.

  Caitlin looked curiously at the beer I handed her. “Drink up.”

  I’m not sure if Caitlin had ever had a drink before tonight but I was sure she’d remember this one.

  She did and had the first beer finished in twenty minutes and sat on Remy’s lap.

  Remy was getting awfully flirty with her and I couldn’t stop laughing. If Mase knew Remy had already kissed his sixteen-year-old sister once he’d kill him. I’m not spilling that detail. No fucking way.

  There was five years between them. In guy years that’s nothing. In big brother years…that’s like twenty. Anything over one year rounds up to twenty in brother years automatically. Translation: Remy was fucked if Mase ever found out. I’ve always wondered who’d lay out who quicker but if a sister is involved, my money is on Mase.

  “I need another beer.” Callie said, handing me her glass when I stood to go retrieve snacks from the kitchen. I winked at her and reached for the glass, our fingers grazing one another. To Callie it’s no big deal that our hands touched. To me, I instantly think of what those hands feel like on my dick. I would know too. I’ve fucked Callie probably more than anyone else.

  It’s hard to control myself around Callie. Everything she does turns me on, even if it’s just drinking beer. The wanton ways she has shamelessly seduced me without even knowing it has driven me mad. In many ways, she wasn’t trying but I wanted more from her. I wanted her body in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe with words that did it justice.


  She watched me pour her beer and the way I twisted the cup created the right amount of head. “It’s always good,” I leaned in letting my chest touch her shoulder, “to have a little head.”

  Callie punched my shoulder. “Don’t say that to her.”

  “She needs to know these things.” I defended, holding up my palms.

  Callie just looked at me, disgusted, and walked over to Remy shaking her head, muttering under her breath something about me thinking with the wrong stick. She really had no idea how true that was.

  About that time, Caitlin came back into the kitchen for round two of the beer festivities. Walking into the kitchen, under the archway, I yelled, “STOP!”

  Caitlin came to an immediate halt wondering why the fuck I was yelling at her. Little did she know she was standing right under the mistletoe.

  “Hey Caitlin,” I bellowed out, “Did you know the word mistletoe translates as dung on a stick?”

  “Are you drunk already? It does not.” Callie said, shaking her head and trying to cover my mouth with her hand.

  “Yes, it does! Based on what I read online, people over the years apparently observed that mistletoe often would grow where birds had taken a shit. So the ancient Anglo-Saxons came up with the name mistletoe which translates to dung and twig…” I took a drink of my beer trying not to laugh, “so mistletoe actually means dung on a stick.”

  Callie fucking punched me in the shoulder. “None of what you’re saying is true, Leo. Get your facts together.”

  “You can Google that shit, woman!” Little did she know I really just wanted to catch her under the mistletoe and take advantage of her.

  I just smiled as she turned to walk away. Most people know that ninety percent of the shit I spew is bullshit.

  “I’m in a very vulnerable state right now,” I told her, not understanding why she couldn’t see that. When her expression hadn’t changed, I stuck out my bottom lip and rubbed my head against her shoulder. Really I just wanted to be closer to her tits I so desperately wanted to lean into her again. “I need comforting.”