Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(5)

“Okay, new rule.” Heidi rolls her eyes in a good-natured way. “How about you don’t mention my awkward teen years, and I don’t bring up your underwear modeling career?”

“It’s a deal,” I say quickly. I’ve only been in Brooklyn a couple of days, but I’ve already heard plenty of snickering about my photo campaigns for Jockers.

Heidi gives me another cheery smile. “Did I overhear that you need to find an apartment?”

“Yeah, just got in on Tuesday. I’m in a hotel. But eventually I’ll have to sort that out.”

Her eyes light up. “I love apartment hunting! If you’re very lucky, something will open up in the Million Dollar Dorm. That’s our condo building on Water Street. Some guys rent, but a few guys own their apartments. It’s a two-minute walk to the practice rink.”

“Sounds amazing.” Honestly, that’s the only thing that could make me feel better about moving to Brooklyn. A walking commute.

“That building is pretty tight, though. Silas’s girlfriend just bought out Dave Beringer. The only other unit I know about is a studio, unfortunately.” She puts a hand on O’Doul’s shoulder. “Our fearless captain is going to sell because Ariana has a house in Vinegar Hill. There’s another nice commute. Five minutes in the other direction.”

“I’m thinking of selling,” the captain rumbles. “Not sure yet. Might keep the place as an investment.”

As if it would kill him to sell to me. He thinks my trade was as big a mistake as I think it was. “I won’t keep my hopes up, then.” I don’t bother to keep the snark out of my tone. The dude needs to lighten up.

“Well, anyway,” Heidi says, hands on her hips. “The studio probably wouldn’t work for you and your wife. How’s Jordanna?”

“You have a terrific memory for names,” I say. It’s easily been five years since we all met. “But Jordanna won’t be needing any closet space in my apartment. She’s divorcing me.”

“Oh!” Heidi gasps. Then she claps a hand over her mouth. “Lord, I am so sorry. Holy cow, they’re going to take away my license to be a Southern girl after a faux pas like this.”

Everyone smiles, including me. “I don’t see how you could have known. I didn’t even know myself until June.”

“Oh, Tank!” She flings her arms around me. “That’s terrible.”

“Hey, I’ll live.” I give her an awkward back pat, just as Jason Castro joins our little group, his eyes narrowed and focused on my proximity to Heidi Jo.

“Everything okay here?” he asks.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I step back from Castro’s girl and hold in another sigh.

“I am not okay!” Heidi complains. “I put my foot in my mouth. And I am shook.”

“Nothing a little cocktail won’t fix,” he says, handing her a drink. “They’re stronger than they look, though. Sip slowly.”

She takes the cocktail and takes a nice healthy gulp. “Ooh, tasty.”

“Honey…”

“I know.” She sighs. “I have the tolerance of a kitten.”

“We love you anyway,” Ariana says. “Now, who wants to play bocce?”

“Me!” Heidi’s hand shoots up.

“Are you as good at this as you are at darts?” Castro asks.

“We’ll find out.” She hooks one arm in mine and one arm in Castro’s. “Let’s raise the stakes. A dollar a point. Who wants to bet against me?”

“Why not?” Jason says. “Who needs money?”

Honestly, they make a cute couple. They’re both young, and probably in the early stages of their relationship. They don’t know yet how fleeting love is—those early years when you haven’t let each other down yet.

Jordanna and I had been that way once. We must have been, or I wouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.

Jordanna had been the first to admit our marriage was over, but I guess I’d known in my gut that we were doomed. Once the shock wore off, I began to feel some relief. I’m sad, but I no longer have to be that guy who’s always failing her.

So here I am in Brooklyn, allowing myself to be led over to the bocce court, which is a strip of sand cut into the manicured grass. The goal of bocce is tossing balls onto the court, trying to land them as close as possible to a target ball. It’s as good a way as any for a grump like me to pass a half an hour.

Another game is just finishing up. The winner is Dave Beringer. He’s a recently retired Brooklyn player—another guy who’s spent the past decade trying to break me in half. We’d gotten into a fight at the beginning of last season, after he’d made a dirty hit on one of my teammates. So I’d punched him in the face.

And if that’s not awkward enough, there’s this little matter of the fling I had with his sister nine years ago. Not that I’m ever telling him about it.

“Hey,” he says stiffly.

“Hey,” I reply, because nobody ever accused me of being a charmer.

Cue the awkward silence.

“Okay, listen up!” Heidi says with a clap of her hands. “The first round is Tank against Castro. Now I’m going to hand you your balls. Saying that never gets old.” Heidi giggles and places a set of heavy wooden balls in my hands. She hands a set to her boyfriend, too.