Page 13 of Game Misconduct

“Brooooo, come kick Gears’ ass for me while I get a refill,” Landry demanded, gesturing to the air hockey table he was monopolizing.

Danny, who was drunk but not as drunk as he wanted to be, said mildly, “I’m good.”

“You’re so fucking boring,” Landry complained, and punctuated his sentence by punching Danny in the arm.

Danny looked down at Landry’s fist, then up at his face, and raised his eyebrows.

“Fiiiine,” Landry muttered, and sulked away to the bar for a refill.

Danny looked around him to make sure no one was watching him too closely and took out his phone. He read, again, the message exchange he had going with Sato. It was pretty much the most he’d talked to anyone since longer than he wanted to think about it. It was just easy to get a rise out of him, and there was no pressure like there was talking to Araceli or his parents, or any of his exes. Sato already hated him, so there was almost nothing he could do to ruin things like he had years ago with Lauren, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry.

Danny might have hated him to start out, because Sato made his life so unnecessarily difficult, but the more they interacted, the more he wasn’t so sure. Strangely, it comforted him to know that somewhere out there, someone was thinking about him that angrily, that intensely. Someone who still wanted to touch him after seeing even a part of what he really was. Someone who still needed to touch him even when he desperately seemed not to want to.

are we talking about bjs or hockey, Sato had written, and Danny frowned. It really wasn’t the best place for that kind of shit. He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he closed the app and opened Snapchat instead. Sato had the same username there, so it was easy to find him. Before he could talk himself out of it, Danny added him and then went back to drinking.

Around one a.m., when he was absolutely as drunk as he wanted to be, the ache around his eye fading to background noise even though the aches in his hip and knee stood in sharp relief, his phone buzzed. Sato had added him back and sent him a chat.

are you fucking serious

This is practical.

oh yeah you’re mr practicality

You may not give a shit, but I don’t want to talk about bjs on insta

so you wanna talk about them here? kinda desperate don’t you think

I just don’t want it to be an issue in the future

Sato snapped him instead. Danny looked up again before he opened it, but no one else from the team was watching him. He opened it. That was a mistake, because for even the brief amount of time he was able to view it, the image burned itself into his retinas like he’d stared at the sun for too long.

It was taken with the front camera, Sato with the middle finger of his right hand raised. The background was a beige wall and a dark headboard. Close enough to see Sato’s hand and the lower portion of his face, his lips curled in a sneer. Close enough to see that he was shirtless. It was late; he’d probably been sleeping. Behind the hand, Danny could see, slightly out of focus, the wiry muscle of his shoulders and chest. And a brief, tantalizing glimpse of what the tattoos looked like after they normally disappeared under his shirt.

It was all black work, a mix of traditional and newer styles, some of it clearly larger pieces, but all connected with fillers. Danny could only catch brief images in the time he had to look:H O M Eon his right fingers,HEART IN HANDscrolling across his collarbone, a dagger dripping blood, a crown, a wolf’s head.

It was a lot.

Danny thought about learning each one of those tattoos by heart. About putting his teeth into them.

Then it was gone.

Danny, his mouth dry, really needed another drink before answering.

“Who’re you texting?” Girard demanded, plunking himself down into the booth next to Danny.

“Uh...no one.”

Gears had ears that stuck out like an elf’s, a broad smile with crooked teeth, and freckles. He was a sweet, enthusiastic kid, and Danny contemplated shoving him off the bench and onto the floor.

“Do you have agirlyou’re not telling us about?You?The monk?”

Danny winced. The press and opposing teams might call him the Goon, but in the locker room, his seeming austerity had gotten him tagged with that unfortunate nickname. Jesus Christ, the monk. “Yeah, it’s your mom,” he replied easily and without rancor.

“Oooh, shot to the heart,” Gears said, and pushed a beer toward him. “Aw, man, I’m just kidding, but you really gotta come and play some hockey with Landry and me. I’m gonna murder him if I gotta keep that fucking tournament going one day longer.”

“You go. I’ll be right there.”

Danny looked down.