Chapitre 122: Chapter 122: Hands off the Sestry

TYLER

Stupid team events. Stupid monkey suit. I hate it. I hate getting all dressed up and acting like a church boy just for the stupid press. Fuckin' annoying. It's not like they haven't heard eight ways to Sunday what we think of the lineup and how happy we are with the season and blah, blah, blah. It makes my head hurt.

Thank God, at least there's a bar at this thing. I head over and get a beer, wishing for something stronger, then beeline for my man Viktor, who stands a head taller than all the other bodies in the room.

"Good to see you, jerkface." I lean in for a bro-hug. "Can't hang with your best friend these days? Too good for your old pal Tyler?"

"Do not be a baby," Viktor growls. "I already have one baby to care for."

"Do not be a Russian robot." I mock his accent - badly. "I'm just fuckin' with ya. How's dad life?"

He gives a big yawn, which I pretty much figure is his answer. But then he surprises me.