Page 125 of Crease Collision

I snort. “You’re full of it. I seem to remember someone letting in Carson’s goal from the red line.”

“It was one time,” he says, grabbing a pillow. “Asshole.”

I dodge the pillow, but my beer sloshes onto the floor. “Fan! Now look what you made me do.”

“Me? You’re the one chirping my future opponent.”

He runs to get paper towels. As soon as he comes back, the Pulse score again.

“Goddammit!” He pounds his fists on the sofa. “Get it fucking together, Thunder.”

Meanwhile, I’m cheering. He looks over, and if his eyes were death rays, I would be dead.

“Wow,” I say. “You’re getting almost as excited as you do when we⁠—”

He cuts me off with a look. “Don’t even finish that sentence, or it will be a long time before we do that again.”

“Big talk for a man who’s blushing.”

He flips me off. “Fuck you.”

The Pulse scores yet again with forty seconds left. I can’t help but cheer, not that I try very hard not to.

“I hate you, Olofsson.”

“No, you don’t.” I move closer to him. “You’re just mad because somebody’s going to give you a fight.”

“You only pulled for them because we beat the Fury. Will you be pulling for the Pulse in the Finals too?”

“No.” I give him a look designed to make him wonder. “You’re the only goalie for me.”

He clicks off the TV before they award the trophy. “Hate. You.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Look at it this way. When you beat the Pulse, you’ll look much better than beating Dallas’s Tumblers.”

“You…” He gives a loud huff. “Fine. San Jose it is. And when we beat them, you’re buying dinner for a month.”

“Deal. Now hold on a second.” I dash to the bedroom, grab his good-luck gift from my drawer, and come back holding up a bright red jockstrap.

His mouth falls open. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s your lucky jockstrap. I’ll buy dinner for a month, but that means you’ll be wearing this.” I bounce my eyebrows. “You’d better wear it during the series too. When we’re together, at least.”

He takes it from me and holds it up for inspection. “This is no jockstrap. It’s a ribbon. I don’t think I can get into it.”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

The sun feels great as we step out of Kai’s building. I turn my cap backward, the way I always do, and Kai falls into step beside me.

“Where to first?” he asks. “High Line?”

I brush his hand with mine. “Sounds good. Though I still think it’s just a fancy sidewalk with plants.”

He laughs as if I’d said something funny. “It’s more than that, you heathen. Pretend you’re seeing it for the first time.”

With the city buzzing around us, we make our way to the elevated park. For once, we’re not the center of attention. It’s nice to be two regular guys in shorts and T-shirts, enjoying the afternoon. The High Line is surprisingly peaceful, with wildflowers growing between old railroad tracks, and art installations to keep it feeling modern.

“See?” Kai says, gesturing around. “Much better than walking on the street.”