Overnight Sensation(20)

“Easy,” I say smoothly. “I’m going to need that hand to score.”

“My daughter is off limits,” he says immediately.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my teammates’ stunned faces. They didn’t expect him to go right for the jugular. “Not a problem, sir. That photograph does not tell an accurate story.”

Speaking of photographs, I can hear the telltale click of someone’s camera shutter right now. Some asshole is taking a picture of the commissioner trying to intimidate me.

I hate my life tonight. It’s a fact. But I smile anyway, damn it.

So does he. “Glad to hear it,” he says, and somehow his smile makes him look like he still wants to snap my neck. “She shouldn’t be out drinking with the players.”

“We have no reason to shun her, though,” O’Doul says, jumping in to rescue me. “We’re a friendly bunch. And even if she had a little too much to drink last night, these two made sure she stayed safe.” He puts a hand on both my and Silas’s shoulders.

“I can see that she’s fine,” the commissioner says with a chuckle. “And she has nothing but good things to say about you gentlemen.” He actually rolls his eyes. “But she’s an impressionable young thing who’s got her head on a little backwards right now. So any reminders you can give her that adult life is not one extended party would be appreciated. Now you boys take care, and I’ll see you on the golf course tomorrow, bright and early.”

Having said his piece, he moves on to shake more hands.

“That could have gone worse,” Silas says.

“You still have your balls,” O’Doul says, and then he laughs.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I track the commissioner across the room. “Sucks to be Heidi, though.”

“Because she’s forbidden to get into your pants?” Silas asks. “Any girl would be inconsolable. I hear there’s a waiting list.”

“Yeah, poor girl. I meant, though, that she has him for a dad. No wonder she decided to try tequila.”

“At least he cares,” Silas points out. “Not everybody has that.”

“Truth,” O’Doul agrees, just as Tommy the publicist steps into our circle.

“Evening, boys. Who’s ready to golf tomorrow? I’ve got O’Doul in a foursome with Silas.”

“You know I’m a hack, right?” O’Doul asks. “I don’t actually keep score for myself. It’s too embarrassing.”

“I taught him to score each hole with a smiley face or a frowny face,” Bayer adds. “It’s better for morale than to write a double-digit number on the sheet.”

“Double digits, eh?” Tommy chuckles. “Oh, man.”

“Who are you putting me with?” I ask Tommy.

He looks surprised. “I don’t have you down to play.”

“Seriously?” My hackles are up again already. “You don’t think the Latino can golf?”

“We need Castro,” Bayer says immediately. “Put him out front. He’s the only one on the team with a handicap.”

Tommy blinks. “The reason I don’t have you down for golf is that your clubs were not on the bus. So I assumed you don’t golf.”

“Oh, shit,” I say, feeling like an ass. “They’re in my hotel room. I didn’t ride the bus.”

Tommy pulls a sheet out of his pocket. “I’ll redo the foursomes.”

“Feel free to cut me from the roster,” O’Doul volunteers.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Tommy strides away.

“Anyone want anything from the bar?” O’Doul asks.

“Not from this bar,” I say, peering into the dregs of my beer. I’m not fit for company tonight.

“Suit yourself,” O’Doul says before he heads for the bartender.

“Time check,” I say to Silas.

He glances at his designer watch. “It’s nine, big man. You’re almost off the clock.”

I drain the beer I’ve been nursing. “I think I’m done here. I took photos with dozens of people. I signed autographs and made small talk. Want to hit the hotel bar instead?” I can’t wait to take off this fucking bowtie that’s choking me. I love my team, but this is just one of those nights when professional hockey looks more like a dog-and-pony show than a sport.

“Maybe,” Silas says. “Leo wanted to go out for pizza, though.”

“You go without me.” I’m just not in the mood for people. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

I set my beer glass down on a table and glance around the room. Coach Worthington isn’t watching me and neither is the PR team. All great hockey players know how to find an opening, and I’ve just found mine.

Ten seconds later I’ve ducked from the patio into the lobby, and I’m making a break for the front doors. That buzzy, preseason energy is back, and it needs someplace to go.

Training camp has been great so far. It feels good to be back on the ice. But now I have to spend this ridiculous weekend in the Hamptons. It’s not a vacation. We’re here to impress fans on that undersized rink and at tomorrow’s charity golf tournament.

There’s no shortage of rich Long Islanders who will pay two grand each to get stuck in the sand trap with us. The course is supposed to be a real doozy. I hope I can write off the hundred dollars’ worth of balls I’m going to lose.