“I am. Jon in Texas wants to know how many hours a day he needs to practice in order to make his high school team.”

Adam pauses with the beer up to his lips. “Depends on how bad he is.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a more polite way to say that.”

He considers for a moment. “Tell him to focus on quality sessions, practicing until he masters small skills instead of focusing on time. Quality over quantity.”

“Not bad.”

“I won’t even charge you for using it.” He stands. “Hurry up, someone needs to beat Rauthruss at Halo and you’re the only one that can. It’s a matter of life or death, man. His ego is going to make his head explode.”

I pop the top of the beer and take a long drink before answering Jon. Nathan got me a job working for Reeves Sports, an instructional sports website owned by pro-golfer Lincoln Reeves, the summer before I started college. Linc has become a good buddy, so even though things aren’t so destitute anymore that I need to have a job, it’s nice to have extra cash. And the job itself is fun. I answer questions from hockey players all over the world looking to up their game.

The party is loud, and Maverick is louder when I finally close my laptop and head out to the living room. I grab another beer and make a lap to see who came. It’s mostly the usual suspects, the team, their girlfriends, puck bunnies, but the sight of Ginny on the deck playing flip cup makes me smile.

It’s her turn, and she chugs her beer and then sets her cup on the edge of the table, flipping it over on the rim her first try. She squeals and the next person goes.

I step up behind her. “What happened to the girl who didn’t like beer?”

“I guess she’s getting used to it.”

“I guess you are.” Her hair is braided in pigtails and I tug one end.

“Excuse me.” Dakota pokes her head between us. “I need my girl here for the next game. She’s our secret weapon.”

Ginny smiles as Dakota pulls her back toward the table.

“See you later, Genevieve.”

I head inside where Rauthruss is still dominating anyone who dares to take him on. He’s got a puck bunny on either side, but I swear the guy doesn’t even realize it. Or if he does, he’s really good at acting disinterested.

Jordan groans as he takes his turn losing. “I give up.”

I hold out my hand for the controller. “Don’t take it so hard. Any kid with a name like Rhett Roger Rauthruss would be good at video games.”

Rauthruss grunts a laugh. “He’s not wrong. Kids are assholes. At least until I got big enough they were scared to mock me.”