Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(8)

Crap, I hope I don’t end up regretting this tomorrow.





I Don’t Have a F*cking Problem





“Dude, you have got to see this bullshit.”

Benny has just come out of his bedroom, and he’s mad as hell.

I look behind him, expecting to see a girl all upset and shit. But no, he’s alone. At least, I think he is.

“What’s the problem?” I inquire, wavering on my feet. I’m a bit unsteady, but happily buzzed. The party is in full swing, and I’ve done my fair share of imbibing already. “You got a girl hidden in there that you’re trying to ditch?” I crane my neck to see past big Benny.

He shakes his head. “No, no girl. Not yet, that is.” He winks and smiles, but then his smile fades. “Check this shit out, though.”

He shoves his cell under my nose, and I try to read what has him so irate. But in my current state the words are too f*cking blurry to make out.

“Fuck, man,” I grumble. “You’re holding it way too close for me to read anything.” I take the phone from him and hold it at a bunch of different angles. At last, I find one where I can see the words.

Well, sort of.

As I sort-of read the fuzzy message, I mutter, “Dude, this is nuts.”

“Yeah, see. I told you it was bad.”

I blink and the e-mail comes into better view, so I read it once again.

Handing the phone back to Benny, I shake my head. “Wow. I can’t believe the team’s threatening to trade you. That’s harsh.”

Benny brushes back his mop of blond hair and rolls his unfocused green eyes. He’s almost as f*cked up as me.

“Yeah, well, a trade is imminent only if I refuse to admit myself to some f*cking treatment center out in goddamn Arizona. One the team has handpicked for me.” He pockets his phone and sighs. “I have to be there, checked in, by tomorrow night.”

When Benny grabs for the bottle of Grey Goose I’ve been nursing, I let him have it. With this news, he needs it more than me.

After he downs what’s left, he says, “Goddamn management. I don’t have a f*cking problem.”

Some random girl walks by us just then, a full bottle of vodka in hand. In my best take-care-of-me-babe voice, I ask her if I can please, please have it. She gives it to me, of course, and then tries to stick around. Benny and I shoo her away. We don’t have time for bitches tonight.

Unscrewing the cap, I raise the bottle and declare to my friend, “I don’t have a f*cking problem, either.”

As I’m taking a long pull, I spy Nolan coming around the corner.

“What are you two little bitches whining about back here in the dark?” he asks when he reaches us.

“Fuck off,” I say, lowering the bottle.

Nolan laughs.

Benny then fills him in on what’s going on, and when he’s done, I ask him, “Have you heard anything from team management?”

He shakes his head. “No, not a word.”

I’m not surprised. Even though Nolan has spent the summer with us, and he’s done his fair share of partying, he’s not the hot mess Benny is. Along with those workouts in my basement gym, Nolan’s been diligently stocking the fridge with loads of healthy shit.

Twenty-five going on forty, remember?

“What about you?” Nolan asks me. “Any e-mail ultimatums for the captain of the team?”

“Not a one,” I reply, feeling rather smug.

I’m pretty confident I’ll never receive an e-mail like that. I mean, come on. The team would never trade me. Or force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.

Benny, taking note of the cocky expression on my face, says, “You’re forgetting something, Nolan.”

“What’s that?”

“Our ‘golden boy’ is untouchable, remember?”

“Good point.” Nolan laughs in his low, even timbre. “I almost forgot that Brent Oliver can do no wrong.”

I call them out for what they are. “You’re both pricks.”

Benny gestures to the living room, where it’s noisy as hell. And getting noisier by the minute.

“Come on, Golden Boy,” he says good-naturedly. “We better get our drink on, party our asses off, and make this night count for something. Looks like this party has just become what you said it would be—the last blowout of the summer.”

“Speak for yourself, Perry.” I laugh. “I’m not the one receiving e-mails shutting down any of my extracurricular activities.” I raise the vodka to my lips. “I don’t, nor will I ever have a f*cking problem. I handle my shit just fine, thank you very much.”

I take another long pull from the bottle, all while Benny laughs at my over-confident ass.

He pushes past me to head back to the party, patting my shoulder as he goes. “Keep lying to yourself, dude,” he says.

Benny is joking—I think—but the look Nolan gives me tells me everything I need to know—I am lying to myself. Because, let’s admit it, I clearly have a problem. And it’s a rather big f*cking one. In fact, it just keeps getting bigger, this problem of mine, when not five minutes later I receive a text from my agent.

It’s a warning that my ass better be on a private jet tomorrow.