Page 105 of Dangle

And almost simultaneously…

Slone

What the fuck are you offended by? I’m the one who’s being reduced to a booty call that feeds your starving ass.

I hate you.

Me

No, you don’t. You love me.

Slone

More than you’ll ever guess.

Dinner in an hour. See you then.

An hour. Not much time, but I could make it work if the jokers in the locker weren’t…well, worse than they usually were. Maybe.

Jersey dropped into the dirty bin. Skates and gear stowed in my cubby. Not nearly as neatly as usual. Sweaty compression gear got tossed into their laundry bins. Shower caddy in hand, I strode buck naked toward the showers.

Hot, humid fog and the cacophony of a hockey team showering off the stench and making plans enveloped me. I hated showering in the locker room with everyone else. Not for any reason because of my sexuality, but because with so many of us trying to get clean at once, the steam made it difficult to cool off enough that you weren’t still sweating your fucking balls off when you were done.

“Hey! Your Highness? You going out with us tonight?” Lany yelled through the chaos.

I hated that fucking nickname. Even more so since all the shit with the Wardens and my dad…Donnie came to light. I didn’t mind some of the shit the team called me most days. The titles I earned were fine, but the ones they used that focused in on me being a nepo baby pissed me off. And Jacob Malany knew this, since he was the person who gave methatnickname to begin with. I thought I’d gotten away from him and his shitty attitude, but here he was at The U using the nickname to his advantage. All because I showed him up on the ice.

Instead of answering, I finished my shower and stalked out to the locker room, drying my nuts as I went. The sooner I got out of here, the better, especially with Lany now on the team. The fucker was an asshole, and I needed to prove I could play nice.

My phone rang with an unknown number as I walked out of practice and headed to my car. I contemplated not answering, but something told me I should.

“This is Trey.”

“Hello, Trey. This is Charlotte.”

Confusion fogged my brain for a moment, but then realization dawned. “Richmond? As in the owner of the Wardens, Charlotte Richmond?” I asked, and laughter sounded in the background—faint and far away.

“Yes. We met…”

“At your house at the end of May. I remember. Sorry, I wasn’t…I didn’t think you’d be the one who called. I mean, if the Wardens called at all.”

“I felt it was my duty to handle this call myself.”

“Oh, well…thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I have an idea about your future. Do you have time to talk?”

I glanced at the clock. Fuck. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“How would you like to play for the Wardens?”

I closed my eyes. This was my chance. I could ask for a contract, or I could ask to be released. My whole life I worked to be a Warden. They were the goal. My dad and grandfather, who hadn’t spoken to me since I came out, taught me that the New York Wardens were the penultimate prize—the best of the best.

“Trey? Did I lose you?”

“No ma’am. You didn’t lose me.”

“We need a center, Trey. Weneedyou.”