Page 2

We’ve all been rough with chicks who dig that shit, but there is a line. I once had a chick ask me to choke her. I’m not talking about a hand around the neck, “baby, do you like it” kinda choke. Nah, it was like, “choke me, asshole. Until I can’t breathe.” It went a little far and the chick passed out. Turns out, that’s the kind of shit that got her off. I never called that one again, but the story here is sometimes shit gets kinky.
It didn’t happen like that with these two. He knows it and I know it. And Dave, he crossed a fucking line.
Dave raises an eyebrow, grins, and folds his arms over his chest. “No, she was a fuckin’ puck bunny we’ve all got our dicks wet with, Leo.” With his harsh words, he never breaks eye contact with me. “And then she tried to say we couldn’t anymore. Wanted to have some fuckin’ morals?” He shakes his head, finding interest in the wall. “The way I see it, she deserved it.”
She deserved it? No girl deserves a black eye. My blood is boiling. I imagine a brutal death filled with torture and vindication for what he’s done. And you know, I’m not much of a fighter, but to hear Dave talk like this about Callie, it’s more than I can handle.
How dare he talk this way about my girl!
“And Ami… she blew me off.” He laughs lightly. “It wasn’t anything personal, Leo. Just letting her know she couldn’t do that to me. Fuck, she shouldn’t do that to anyone. Girls think they can tease us, flaunt their fucking bodies in front of us, and then when we try to play the pipes, they act all fuckin’ innocent. Fuck that shit.”
I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands. Straight up fucking murder his ass in here. Too bad I love hockey more than destroying him or I totally would.
I clap slowly, my eyes less than amused. “Well, congratulations. You’re about to be arrested for attempted murder, rape, and ya lost your ability to ever play in the NHL again. Nicely done. Was getting your dick wet that night worth it?”
His jaw tightens. No words though. Maybe I finally got through to him.
I slap my hand to the side of the bed. “Well, asshole, it’s been fun, but I get to go play hockey and you don’t.” I stand from the chair, metal scraping against the tile floor. “Enjoy getting fucked in the ass. You’re a piece of shit and deserveeverythingyou’re about to get.”
And then I walk away from the hospital room.
I’d love to say this is where this all ends with Dave, but I doubt it will.
Life isn’t that easy.
CHAPTER2
BEAUTY
LEO
A player who is loved not only for his skills, but his personality. He’s one of the coolest guys on the team and usually has great stories. He might also have the best flow on the team.
Game 36 – Nashville Predators
December
Since that nightin the hospital with Dave, I’ve cooled off, but my feelings for the man haven’t changed. Fuck him. That motherfucker can rot in hell for all I care. I’m sure Evan feels the same way. Betrayal is a funny thing. Sticks with you.
Now here we are, game thirty-six into the following season, and, yeah, I’m still pissed, but dwelling on it isn’t going to get me anywhere but depressed.
In case you missed it, I’m a hockey player. Not just any hockey player. I will gloat a little here because I was the number one pick the year I entered the draft for the Florida Panthers. Sure, I was traded the following year to the Blackhawks as their star center, but good move on their part. I also hate alligators, so leaving Florida was okay with me. The following year, I was named the captain of the team. Youngest one in the organization to ever be named captain at twenty-one-years-old. That was three years ago. Now here I am, season four of my career and killing it.
“Hey.” Mase sits next to me, his burly shoulder bumping into mine. “Hand me that tape.” He gestures with a flick of his hand to the white roll next to my thigh.
Evan Masen is my best friend. I tell him everything, shit he never wants to hear, but I tell him anyways because that’s what best friends do. Growing up the way I did, it’s nice to have that one guy who always has my back, on and off the ice. And Mase, fuck, he’s one of those guys you don’t realize his strength until you see him on the ice. He’s fearless. In everything he does.
Without saying anything, I hand it to him and continue taping my stick. I have a particular way I like to tape it, and if anything disrupts me or touches it, I have to start over.
Like now. I have to start all over again, and I think he did that on purpose because do you see his smile?
Every hockey player has a ritual before a game. They put their gear on the same way every time. Tape their stick in the same direction. Hell, some even go so far as to eat the same food on game day, never veering from that routine in fear they’ll mess up that superstition they swear they don’t have. We grow beards during the playoff season, sit in the same location on the bus and on the team planes, eat with the same group. Anything we do, and with every win, we do it that way all the time, and it becomes a habit of sorts.
I’m talking about myself here. That’s me. But I bet you can ask any other hockey player, hell, any other athlete, and they’ll all have the same rituals.
Maybe it’s something that happens when we’re younger. Actually, I know it’s that way for me. It’s a belief that if we have lady luck on our side, we can hit harder, score those impressive goals, or make the impossible happen. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can make up for what we’re lacking. WhatI’mlacking. What I believe setmeback.
It’s all bullshit, really. Superstition. Lady luck. All of it’s horse shit.