Chasing Stanley by Deirdre Martin Page B

stuff; dirt you might have heard about her on the street.”
    Eric snorted. “Look who’s talking like Linc’s sidekick now.”
    â€œDon’t bust my balls, Eric.”
    â€œI haven’t heard anything bad about her, and that’s the truth. What’s her name?”
    â€œDelilah.”
    â€œDelilah,” Eric repeated slowly. “She good with Stanley?”
    â€œShe’s great with Stanley. Lets him lick her face and everything.”
    â€œThat is totally gross.”
    â€œYou’ll understand when you become a father,” Jason teased.
    Eric looked thoughtful. “Well, she’s cute, I’ll give her that much,” he repeated.
    Jason suppressed a scowl. That was the second time his brother had used the word cute in connection with Delilah. It set his teeth on edge.
    â€œI’d do her,” Eric continued.
    â€œWho wouldn’t you do?” Jason retorted.
    â€œHmm. Good question. I’ll get back to you on that.”
    While his brother ran down a mental checklist searching for any woman he wouldn’t bed, Jason found himself wondering what Delilah was doing. Probably walking dogs. Or feeding dogs. Or something else dog-related. She’d be proud to know he’d been practicing the Halti/leash trick with Stanley, and it was working like a charm; Stan paraded around the house with it on, no problem.
    He was looking forward to their next dog training lesson. He considered it a coup that he’d gotten her to talk about herself. It was clear she was painfully shy.
    â€œYou ready to get your ass kicked tomorrow night?” he asked Eric. Tomorrow was the Blades home opener against New Jersey. Jason couldn’t wait to get on the ice and play his first game as a Blade. That he’d be facing off against his brother made it that much sweeter.
    Eric’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Fuck you. You’re the one who’s gonna be crying for Mama tomorrow night, not me.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œHaven’t you been reading the sports pages?”
    â€œI try to avoid it,” said Jason with a yawn. “It gets kind of boring reading about how great I am.”
    Eric rolled his eyes. “Gee, I musta missed that article. The ones I keep seeing are those talking about what a powerhouse Jersey is.” He reached across the table to swipe Jason’s final morsel of cake. “Be afraid, little brother. Be very, very afraid. ’Cause I’m gonna show no mercy.”
    Jason laughed dismissively. “I’m shaking in my skates.”
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    Jason was well-acquainted with the adrenaline rush that came with preparing to play, but dressing for his first game as a Blade, he was close to giddy. Lacing up his skates on the bench in front of him sat the Blades’ new goalie, David Hewson, while across the room, the team’s new defenseman, Ulf Torkelson, was slipping on his Blades jersey for the first time. The locker room hummed with an odd mixture of solemnity and excitement. Barry Fontaine, a gritty veteran, grinned at Jason as he worked on affixing his shoulder pads.
    â€œNervous?”
    â€œNah,” Jason lied.
    â€œAs long as you play your balls off, you’ll be fine,” Fontaine advised, moving to turn down the volume on the pregame music.
    â€œHey!” Denny O’Malley, the Blades backup goalie, protested. “I was gettin’ pumped!”
    â€œMaybe you can get your mojo workin’ without turning me into frickin’ Helen Keller in the process,” Fontaine growled. O’Malley backed off.
    Jason turned to his locker, slipping the small gold crucifix his mother had given him when he was seven around his neck. It was his good luck charm out on the ice. Down the hall in the visiting team’s locker room, he imagined Eric doing the same thing. He, too, wore a cross from their mother as his good luck charm. Sometimes Jason worried the two of them wearing the same