“Hockey Tots?” I ask my agent, hoping like hell I heard him wrong, but the amused grin on Hunter’s smug face doubles in size. “Like teaching ankle biters how to play hockey?” “Probably more like teaching ankle biters to skate.” Hunter crosses one Brioni-suit-clad leg over the other and stares back at me from the other side of the table in my favorite lunch spot in Kroydon Hills.
