Page 10
Tanner
Becks: Lease is up in a few weeks.
Becks: Need a place to crash til I figure shit out.
Becks: Got couch?
I lean my back against the wall of the Ann Arbor dive bar we’re occupying for the commercial and promptly text back.
Me: Got spare bed.
Arden places an ice-cold brewskie down on the nearby table at the same time she fusses, “ Do. Not. Drink. That. ”
It’s impossible not to chuckle. “You brought me a brewskie to not drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this some new torture tactic you are testing?”
“No.”
“Some sort of game mentality patience you’re strengthening?”
“No.”
“Some metaphorical representation of our relationship?”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“We don’t not have a relationship.”
We most certainly do.
It’s just a wee bit more complicated than any other I’ve ever had.
All of a sudden, a leggy, long nosed, blonde production staff member pops up into the conversation with a small wicker basket full of beanbags in hand. “For the scene.” I slide my phone into my dark ripped jeans and transfer the object into my possession. “And don’t drink the beer.”
“Why?” There’s no stopping my head from tilting to the side in curiosity. “Is it poison?”
“It’s a prop.”
Arden sassily waves a hand in the air to indicate that was the point she was trying to make.
“Understood.”
“Your scene partner should be here in the next ten to twenty. Try to stay in one place until then.” She taps a button on her headset and spins on her heels to return the way she came. “What do you mean the app is gone? He wasn’t supposed to actually eat it!”
Snickers escape as Arden drops her hands onto her teal, yoga pants covered hips. “Remind me why I’m here again?”
“My agent-”
“The one you share with Peck?”
“That Peck shares with me. ” I playfully scowl in between statements. “Booked me this promo deal with the league endorsing insurance coverage or some shite.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“And I may have suggested to Hot Rocket that showcasing some exclusive behind the scenes footage would be a brilliant idea for the docuseries.”
“Of course you did.”
“I will take any excuse available that forces you to spend time with me.”
“Because I don’t spend enough willingly ?”
“Correct.” We exchange a couple of small snickers that are followed by me kicking my head in the direction of the board. “How about a roundskie, aye?” Carefully placing the basket beside the wall, I was just occupying is done during her closing of the distance. “Show you another way I keep my mitts so silky?”
“Is there a sport on this planet you are not willing to play?”
“All sports are given equal opportunity to be appreciated.”
“Least favorite?”
“Korfball.”
“What the fuck is korfball?!”
I toss a blue beanbag in her direction on a light chuckle.
“That’s not real shit.” She hastily shakes her head post catching it. “You’re making that up to fuck with me.”
“That is not how I want to fuck you, Ducky.” The nickname quickly reminds me of what’s in my pocket. “Oh! I got something for you at the airport!”
“I’m not interested in the herp dog but thank you.”
“That is something my latest STD test would tell you I do not have.”
“How recent?”
“Last week.” Her lips pull together in preparation of arguing which pushes me to add, “It’s why I went to med post pracky instead of the grocery store with you.”
“Fuck you for that. How was I supposed to know where to find fiddleheads?!”
“Perhaps… ask ?”
She flashes me her middle finger only to instantly receive another round of light laughs.
Cooking for her has sort of become a habit.
And one of my better ones.
Her reliance on me to eat better helps me maintain my own personal dedication to it.
Mostly, it’s just tossing shit in the crockpot and whipping up a salad to go with it; however, on the occasion, with a bit of goading from Father, I go balls out.
Try out for the big leagues.
Which is what making fiddlehead and ricotta pasta was.
It was also a fucking disaster that ended up with emergency BBQ lime wings being ordered.
However, the effort was greatly appreciated.
Food has most certainly becomes a language we speak to one another.
Arden folds her arms protectively across her chest in unison with asking, “What’d you get me and why?”
“Well, since you were kind enough to draw a dick on the bottom of my kicks this time rather than the top…” her devious smirk has me even more excited about the present, “I thought a thank you gift was in order.”
Pulling the rolled-up wad from my pocket prompts her into sassily stating, “And here I thought you were popping pipe over getting to throw these beanbags.”
“While annihilating you at all athletic competitions does put a smile on my face-”
“ Not all. ”
“Zorbing shouldn’t even be considered a real sport! You’re just racing around in a giant hamster ball!”
“You’re just mad you lost.”
“I didn’t lose.”
“You didn’t win.”
“I came in third.”
“Out of four.”
“I still beat that other player!”
“She was twelve.”
“ Moving. On, ” I grunt in tandem with thrusting the object at her. “I bought these for you.”
Arden giggles, grabs the object, and immediately rolls down the edge of the socks to reveal the rubber ducky pattern.
“I figured you’re on my feet ,” her mirth-filled glare glides up to mine, “I should be on yours .”
She tucks the article into the pocket of her thick, tan fluffy sweater with a crooked grin.
What was I supposed to do?
Not buy them?
Not go the extra lap?
Not take the shot of hopefully getting a smile, which I successfully received?
“You think I won’t wear them,” Arden snips, tone snarky yet flirty.
“I know you won’t wear them.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I know that and the fact I’m about to whoop your arse at cornhole.” Picking up my own beanbag precedes me standing and executing a no look throw that effortlessly goes in the target. “ You’ve been warned, Ducky. ”
“ Bring it, Hamster Boy. ”
Gino for getting her to smile.
Dub for possibly having a new highly unwanted nickname.
Arden steps closer to take her shot and to my surprise, sinks it. “ Boooo-yah! ”
“Not bad, but,” I pick up a second green beanbag, turn to face the opposite wall, and toss it over my shoulder, smoothly scoring another point, “ not good enough. ”
“You know you don’t get extra points for style, aye?”
“I do with you.”
Her long nose scrunches in guilt prompting me to smugly smirk again.
Yeah.
Putting in the work is definitely getting me somewhere.
Where exactly?
Dunno.
What I do know?
I’m closer to where I wanna be and further from where I once was, which is what matters.
Getting out of the beer league with her is probably some of the hardest shit I’ve ever done.
“Tell me about this commercial,” she insists on another successful throw. “What exactly are you gonna be doing?”
“Pretending to play cornhole with another mate from the league. I make my shot – naturally – and he misses causing destruction.”
Arden nods while I grab my next game piece. “And all the women here are…?”
“Actresses and models.”
“Yeah, I’m deaf, not blind, Tanner.” She steals a small glimpse at the women that are huddled together in a booth to our left. “You don’t typically get this many snipes in one room unless they’re paid to be there.”
“Yet you’re a sniper and you’re here.”
“ Again ,” her nose scrunches in an attempt to hide her embarrassment over being flattered, “being paid. Just by a different source.”
Before I have the opportunity to respond, an obnoxious and unfortunately, familiar voice, calls out, “ Arden…amore mio. ”
All color drains from her face as red rips through mine. “ He gets to call you Arden?”
One finger is held up to aid in her defense. “I-”
“You are even more of a snipe now than you were when we first met,” purrs Valencio Layvon, the current captain of the Camelot Cheetahs often referred to as the Ferrari of players.
He’s fast.
Aggressive.
Has natural talent comparable to some of the greats.
He’s respected by veterans.
Worshipped by rookies.
And apparently has some sort of fucking history with the only woman I want wearing my number.
Not his.
Never fucking his.
I swear to Gretzky, if I find his sweater in her closet, Bear will have a new bath towel.
His arrival forces our frames to angle themselves towards him, an action that grants him a full-frontal view of Arden.
Which he doesn’t hesitate to take full fucking advantage of.
“Curtains are a bit darker now, aye,” he lets his hazel gaze sweep the space his fingers then lightly graze. “Still no drapes?”
He’s seen her naked?!
If he’s seen her naked, did he fuck her?!
He fucked her!
I fucking know he fucked her!
There’s no other reason she’d let him see her naked!
And I will absolutely be filing the hairless pussy information into her stats file to properly appreciate at a later date.
Arden’s mouth drops a fraction lower to finally speak only to be cut off by her ringing cell. “ Ohthankfuck ,” she murmurs while hastily fishing it out of the pocket that’s not being occupied by her new socks, “I have to take this.”
Layvon winks in dismissal, robbing me of the chance to say or rightfully chirp something.
Great.
He’s fantastic at blocking shots in and out of the barn.
“Frosky,” he tosses me a nod of greeting as he slides his hands into his dark denim pockets, “what’s good?”
Him about six states over.
Or seven.
Or over the goddamn ocean he crossed to play in this league.
I don’t bother with niceties, “How do you know Hoss?”
“How don’t I know Hoss?” His winking has me crunching the beanbag tighter. “You?”
His confirmation regarding their sexual past pushes me to bite, “ You know she’s a dragon. ”
“Still not a Slayer, aye?”
The answer tastes worse than the cornflakes and pumpernickel buttery wings I had in his city my rookie year. “ No. ”
“Not surprising,” he brushes off with a single glance in her direction. “Wheeling snipes in her league is out of most of yours.”
Did he really just –
“Haven’t seen you since the playoffs.” Our eyes lock again. “Helluva a goose egg to end the season on.”
Yeah.
It was not enough to lose in the playoffs.
We lost to them.
We lost to him.
And we lost in regulation because I couldn’t put one bloody point on the board.
“ Non eri al matrimonio sulla spiaggia di Soddy. ” The dark-haired forward I wanna punch in the face checks out Arden for a third time post declaring he didn’t see me at Soddy’s wedding. “ Perché? ”
“I was at a different wedding.”
It’s not every day the woman responsible for your literal birth gets married.
Not being there wasn’t exactly an option.
Not that I would’ve skipped it anyway.
I typically like weddings.
Free drafts.
Free food.
And most importantly free females often looking to ride dick to bury their sorrows over still being single – although I don’t love the hashtags that can cause.
Unlike post Cap’s wedding, I got laid at the one in Highland.
It was actually the last time I got laid.
I haven’t touched the tiniest bit of arse since then.
I could practically qualify for sainthood at this point.
“Shameskie.” His grin grows cartoonishly villainous. “The amount of snapper I slid into was almost too much for one man to handle.” An amused grunt precedes a small shrug. “ La parola chiave è quasi. ”
I’m sure the “ keyword there is almost” is a fucking lie .
An exaggeration.
One that sounds even more arrogant in Italian.
Perk of playing with dudes from all around the world?
You can basically become multilingual if you pay enough attention.
“I know one hot little dragon I’ll always have room for,” Layvon toothily announces, “no matter who else has been on my dick.”
This?
This is who she lets fuck her?
I may know my way around the bangs anything with a pulse barn, but I’m better than this .
By miles and miles and bloody miles.
“Layvon,” the production assistant that brought me the beanbags politely calls to him, “we need you in makeup.”
“ Naturalmente ,” he cockily coos in tandem with spinning on his heels. “Which way?”
“You can just follow me,” states the woman whose name I can’t recall.
Layvon nods, begins to follow, yet stops a few feet away to halt Arden in her stroll back to me.
Twice.
That’s fucking twice he’s blocked me.
I’d crosscheck him in the fucking teeth if we weren’t about to shoot a goddamn commercial.
I wonder if it’s too late to change partners.
I’m not sure my acting skills are up to code.
The fact they’re too far away for me to hear them is infuriating; however, it’s not nearly as infuriating as the flirting I can’t seem to look away from.
Why is she smiling so bloody big?
Why is she toying with her hair?
And is she giggling?!
Why the fuck is she giggling?!
She can’t really be into that Italian Stallion never be, can she?
The production assistant insists they keep moving, prompting Arden to deliver a playful tap his to his arm prior to her finishing her trek over to me.
“That was the GM,” she announces upon her arrival. “She wants me to take a few extra photos of the whole thing in progress. Evidently, they know the owner of this bar.”
“You fucked Layvon?” I bluntly question in tandem with dropping the item I’m fairly certain I accidentally dug a hole into. “Why?”
“We weren’t just fucking,” Arden rushes to say. “We…were…sort…of…doing…non-sex stuff too.”
“You dated Layvon?!”
“I-”
“You dated a hockey player?”
“I-”
“All the shit you talk about not dating us pylons and STD skaters and bunny hoarders and you secretly-”
“ Idontknow that I would call it a secret. ”
“-dated one of the biggest in the league?!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!”
“Why did you date him?!”
“Maybe because he fucking asked .” Unexplored hurt hikes through her expression. “Maybe because he is the only one to lace up who ever had. ”
“That cannot possibly be true.”
“Well, it fucking is. Just like everything I’ve ever thought or said about dating hockey players is true. Because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. And he couldn’t commit when he swore he could. And he did say whatever was fucking necessary to keep me coming back and calling and texting until I realized I was never going to be more than the ‘just when we’re within miles of each other’ fuck buddy he called his girlfriend to shut me up.”
Disbelief over her willingness to give him – of all roster riders – a shot and his blatant mistreatment of her has me aggressively shaking my head. “ Unbelievable… ”
“What’s unbelievable is the fact he just asked me to dinner like-”
“Are you gonna go?!”
“I-”
“You’re really gonna go out again with Enzo Lamearri?!”
“Not your best chirp.”
“Like you didn’t just tell me he broke your bloody heart?”
“I-”
“Like he isn’t just gonna use you as if you’re a pracky sweater he needs to borrow because he forgot his at home?”
“I-”
“Like you’re still the fucking call up when the regular bunnies are injured?”
An outraged squeak hits my ears. “ Fu- ”
“That’s fine,” I cockily brush off with a bitter grin, doing my best to save face. “You two should go out.” Dialing back my jealousy is harder than bench pressing two hundo post a two-hour pracky. “Catch up. See if there’s anything still there. Especially since I was actually going to cancel our plans to do a bit of headline making myself. I haven’t been big on soc’ for more than my stats lately.”
It’s impossible not to notice her disheartenment deepening. “ Seriously? ”
“Of course.” I step back to create a bit of space to breath. Regain my composure. “We were just talking about the amount of mitt in the room, remember?” Cooly sliding one hand in my pocket precedes me waving at a tiny tittied blonde at the closest table. “That’s where I was taking the conversation earlier. I was about to tell you I needed the night away to insure I keep things silky…” Rather than bother meeting eyes with the woman responsible for the new putrid taste burning the back of my throat, I lock gazes with the giddy female that will be ending my celibate streak and wink. “ Have fun tonight. I know I will. ”