Maverick (Sin City Saints Hockey 1)

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I think if it was baseball, it wouldn’t matter as much. But in football, basketball and hockey, you have to pass to other players. You need familiarity with them.”

“We practice together,” I point out.

“Yeah, but…it’s not the same. I mean, the bookmakers didn’t think so.”

I shake my head and laugh. “You bet on sports, too? You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t lay money on sports, but I understand how it works. My dad used to bet on sports all the time. I saw the odds for tonight’s game, and you guys were big underdogs.”

“Yeah, but what do the bookmakers know?”

Gia laughs and points her spoon at me. “They know a lot, believe me. They make a hell of a lot of money. And if you want to see what kind of shot they think a brand-new team has of playing above .500, check the futures.”

“I just need to pause here and say it’s damn hot that you understand all this stuff.”

She waves a hand. “Not really. It would get old quick, trust me. No man wants to be with a woman who’s playing poker six nights a week.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. But you’ve got me thinking now.” I take out my phone and google hockey futures. “Holy shit. No points for being the hometown team, I guess.”

“It’s a straight-up assessment of the numbers. Stats and records, but also circumstances. You guys are assumed to need time to…I guess bond as a team, and grow.”

I sit back against the back of the booth, thinking about what she said.

“How’s the bonding going?” she asks.

“Well…”

“Tell me you guys are trying to gel. You really need to talk to your captain about it.”

I scoff in amusement. “Easily done, because that’s me.”

“Maverick!” Gia shakes her head and leans forward, her elbows on the table. “Get your team together outside of the ice rink. And don’t go to strip clubs or gamble, that’s so cliché. Try something adventurous and fun. Find out what your teammates love and hate and what they have on the line.”

“You really think that’ll help us play better hockey?”

She nods. “It will. And you’ll all probably be happier, too. Vegas can be…isolating when you first move here. It’s all bright lights and power trips that revolve around money. You have to work to find authenticity here.”

I’m listening to her, but also thinking about how much I want to kiss her. Gia is so sure of herself, so passionate about not getting sucked into the superficial parts of this city. The first hour we were together, she just listened. Now she’s trying to help me get past one of the worst nights I’ve had while playing professional hockey. Surprisingly, I don’t want to convince her to come home with me right now, even though that idea sounds really appealing. I just want to keep talking to her, and find out more about what makes her tick.

“Skydiving!” Her face lights up. “You guys should all go skydiving together. Have you ever been?”

“No, but it looks like fun.”

“Well, that’s my suggestion. Stay positive, drink plenty of water and skydive.” She grins. “I wish I could stay, but I need to go find another game.”

“Yeah, I guess I should sleep at some point; I have an early workout.” I look down at my watch, see that it’s past two in the morning, and groan. “Where are you headed?”

“Aria.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“How about you?” I ask as we walk to my car. “Have you ever skydived?”

“One time, and it was amazing. It was something my dad always wanted to do, so when he died, I did it as kind of a tribute to him.”

I click the button on my key fob to unlock my car door and open it as I say, “I’m sorry you lost your dad. How long ago was that?”

“Thanks. It’s been eight years. My dad…he taught me to play poker.”

She gets into the car and I close the door, realization dawning. Gia plays poker because she learned it from her dad. I wonder if she plans to play for the rest of her life.

“Your dad must’ve been a hell of a poker player,” I say as I get into the driver’s side.

“He was.”

“Did you lose him suddenly, or was he ill for a while?”

My question is met with silence, and when I look over at Gia, her expression is pained.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” I look over my shoulder and pull into traffic. “My mom died when I was thirteen, from colon cancer. Even all these years later, it still feels raw sometimes.”

“I’m sorry you lost your mom.”

“Yeah, it was a hard time. My dad remarried five years after she passed, and I get along with my stepmom. Did your mom ever get married again?”