Tony eyed him. "That booze is making you bold."
Sloane nodded. "It is."
"So you gonna put your money where your mouth is and play? Or you afraid you're gonna get your tail whipped? I'm sure Dex will make it all purrrfect."
Sloane eyed him. There was something Tony wasn't telling him. "Why did you say it like that?"
"What?" Tony frowned. "I was just saying that Dex knows how to make it all better." A wicked gleam came into his dark eyes.
Purrrfect.
Sloane's jaw went slack. He shook his head. "No."
Tony's smile was terrifying. "Oh, yes."
"He told you! That little--"
Tony cleared his throat, and Sloane shut his mouth. Right. Probably not a good idea to curse out the son of your soon-to-be father-in-law. However, Sloane couldn't help sounding pained when he spoke. "I can't believe he told you about the purring."
"In his defense, he hadn't meant to. He'd had a few too many on pizza night last week, and it slipped out while he was helping me in the kitchen. He didn't even realize it. You're lucky Ash wasn't there." Tony motioned down to the table. "So, we doing this, or you expecting an ear scratch?"
Sloane took position at the end of the table. "It's on. You're going down, old man."
"Son, don't make me get out Old Betsy."
"Sorry, sir." Sloane cleared his throat. "That was the booze talking. You're not old. I mean, you're only, what? Sixty?"
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Not until end of next year. Just shy of a year after your wedding. To my son, who highly values my opinion."
"Um, right." How about you not piss off your fiance's dad? That would be good. Also, he has a baseball bat that he's named and threatened you with before. Who names their baseball bat? And why Old Betsy? Why not the Hulk, or Thor? Dex would probably name his something crude and inappropriate. No, wait. He'd definitely name it Bat just so he could call himself the Bat Man. Dork. Sloane snickered.
"Boy, you okay?"
"Hm?" Sloane blinked at Tony. "Sorry, what?"
"You were staring off at nothing at all, then laughed at nothing."
"Oh, I was having a conversation with myself."
"You know, sometimes I wonder who the real nut in your relationship is. I thought it was Dex, but after tonight, I'm not so sure."
Sloane turned on the table and snorted. "The only one here missing a few marbles is you, because you seem to think you can beat me. I'm a Felid. It's in my nature to swat at things and not miss." Sloane tapped his head. "Feral instincts."
Tony grunted. "Yeah, yeah. Less talking and more hockey."
As they played, Sloane made sure to keep a close eye on Tony. The man was incredibly sneaky. Sloane stuck to drinking water, lots of water. When they took a break, he made himself a cup of dark roast, splashed some water on his face, and did a few stretches. Tony just shook his head at him. By the time they were into their fourth game, Sloane was sober and still kicking Tony's ass.
Sloane dove, smacking his striker against the red floating puck and sending it into the goal on Tony's end of the table. He threw his arms up and did a little dance. "Woo! That's twelve! In your face." He thrust a finger at Tony, who glared at him. "Uh-oh." Sloane took off upstairs, Tony right on his heels.
"I'll show you who's old when I get you in a choke hold," Tony growled.
Sloane ran to the living room and stopped abruptly when he saw the news on TV. Tony stopped beside him.
"Sweet baby Jesus."
It can't be. Who the hell was he kidding? Of course it could. There was no doubt in his mind. None. He quickly took a seat on the couch and swiped up the remote, then turned up the volume so he could hear the news anchor describe the scene. Unfortunately, Sloane had missed the live broadcast, so who knew what the hell had happened. Why had no one called him? Someone was probably hoping he wouldn't see this.
"There seems to be a blond man in what looks like an orange bear costume, suspended upside down from the High Line."