Page 2 of Cherry Picking

“We’ll think about it,” I say.

She mumbles something that earns a grin from Augie. Green Dress steps into my space, close enough that I catch a hit of orange blossom, and slides a folded napkin into my palm.

She winks. “For when you’re done thinking.”

Then they’re gone, vanished back into the loud, bright press of the room.

I shove the paper into my pocket without checking the number.

“You going to use that?” Augie asks.

“No.”

“She was gorgeous, Briggs. What’s the matter with you?”

“She was pretty,” I agree. “Still no.”

Augie is a young thirty, two years my senior, and I genuinely don’t know how he still has the energy. How he manages to turn it on and actually stay there. I’ve been this version of present-but-elsewhere for as long as I can remember.

“Look at Sato.” Augie gestures with his glass toward the far end of the vinyl. “That’s the third woman to give him an opening tonight, and he hasn’t even blinked. Just him, that Coke, and the thousand-yard stare.”

“He’s nineteen,” I say. “He’s still figuring it all out.”

“So are you, apparently. The rookie is the only thing keeping you from being the most pathetic dry spell out of all of us. You’re being outpaced by a kid who can’t even legally order a beer in North Carolina.”

“I’m setting a professional example.”

“Professional,” Augie parrots, his grin widening. “So that means you want to help me with the next rookie dinner?”

“Hell no,” I mutter. “I’m not looking past tonight. You know I don’t think about next season until this one’s over.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, loud enough that a couple of our defensemen look over from their argument.

My current deal expires in April, which is part of the pressure at the back of my skull. Am I a King for the long haul, or am I just a man holding a spot until the deadline? I don’t know if Charlotte wants to keep me, and some nights, I’m not even sure if I want to be kept at all.

Charlotte and the Kings have treated me well. My condo is a short ten-minute commute from the rink, complete with a dedicated parking spot that bears my name in stenciled concrete. There’s even a neighborhood coffee joint where the staff begins prepping my order before I arrive.

In every sense that matters, I’ve made this city my own. It was a slow process, but I’ve built a life here brick by brick.

And Las Vegas, the town that raised me, is now a closed chapter for me. I made sure of it. Still, I catch myself wondering if the only thing keeping me in Charlotte is the sheer exhaustion of the prospect of starting over.

I’m currently the top-line left wing. After six years in the league, I still haven’t figured out what my identity would be without the jersey. Here, the expectations are clear, and the fit is perfect. When the clock is winding down and a play needs to be made, I’m the one they look for.

Maybe a different roster would offer a faster route to a Cup.

Maybe a different city would just mean another three years of trying to prove I belong.

“You want to know your problem, Maxie?” Augie asks, leaning in.

I scrub a hand over my face. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me regardless.”

“The machine.” He taps his temple. “You don’t know how to power it down. You’re still running the numbers when the math is already finished. The game ended, Briggs. We won. Just let a win be a win for once. You’re allowed to enjoy it.”

I smirk. “Is my big brain an inconvenience for you?”

“Tell you what.” He scans the room, his gaze settling on a target near the pool tables. “If I can get that woman to ditch the guy she’s with and laugh at a single joke in the next five minutes, you have to do a shot with me. Deal?”

“Give me one reason why I’d agree to that.”