Page 6

CHAPTER 6

DALLAS

F uck, I need to get laid.

As I gear up for our game against Philly, I have to wrestle a hand into my goalie pants so I can adjust my cup because my balls are like fucking lead. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. First game of every road trip, I’m always so pent up, which is why I made it a tradition to get thoroughly fucked the night before we leave. There’s usually always at least one local in my long list of contenders who will drop everything she’s doing to be that girl. Last night, I fucked my hand in the shower. Twice. And it still wasn’t enough.

I blame Emily. It was her I imagined naked, on her knees on the wet tile in front of me, those pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock, big honey eyes gazing up at me. I came so fucking hard, groaning her name. But less than two minutes later, I was fucking hard again. This is all her fault. Not really, but man I want her so bad it hurts. And the most frustrating part of all is that I want her for more than just a blowjob. I want her. All of her. Period. Fuck, I am so screwed.

With a huff, I sit down on the bench in front of my designated cubby, strapping my leg pads while trying to keep my focus on the game ahead as Coach stands front and center, giving his usual pre-game motivational speech which is really just him telling us not to fuck up out on the ice mixed in with a few buzz words and a couple of loud claps.

I’m only half listening as I continue fixing my pads, catching a quick glimpse of Robbie beside me as he grins down at his phone. Probably some cute text from Fran, telling him she loves him, telling him to be careful, telling him to get into a fight because apparently it gets her all hot and shit, or so he let slip late one night on the team plane after a game against Miami.

I’ve never had that. I’ve never had a woman go out of her way to wish me luck before a game, to tell me to be careful, to tell me she loves me. I’ve had plenty of women congratulate me after a game, usually by sticking their tongue down my throat or a hand down my pants, but I’m not an idiot. I know they don’t give a shit about me. And, if I’m being honest, up until a certain blonde came into my life like an adorable wrecking ball, it wasn’t really something I cared too much about.

After I finish strapping my chest protector, I reach into my cubby and pull my phone from my duffle. Eyeing Coach carefully as he goes over a few plays, I scroll to my messages, to my thread with Emily. Well, my thread with myself, really, because she’s still not acknowledging me in any way. I swear, I’m a sucker for the worst kind of punishment. I shake my head as I tap out a message.

Me: I’m gonna pretend that you just wished me luck.

Smirking, I reply. To a non-existent message. Like a fucking psychopath.

Me: Awww, thanks, Goldie.

I stare at my phone. I’m not an idiot. I know she’s not going to reply, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping she does. And yes, for the record, I officially hate myself .

“You good?”

I look up to see Robbie standing beside me, securing his shoulder pads, his gaze dipping to my phone.

Locking the device quickly, I shove it back into my bag. “Yeah, all good.”

“Yo, Tex!”

“What’s up?” Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes land on Happy sitting across the room, pulling his socks up over his shin guards while grinning like a creep.

“I called the red head,” he says with a wink. “Stacey.”

Huh. How about that. Fucked her twice and always thought her name was Sara.

“She wants to hook up after the game. Gonna bring a whole heap of hot friends, too,” Happy continues, eyebrows jumping up and down suggestively.

“Good for you.” I nod, struggling to get my jersey on over my pads.

“Where’re we going?” Logan asks, lacing his skates.

“She suggested some nightclub.” Happy shrugs. “Although I don’t intend on staying long, if you catch my drift…” When he realizes Coach Draper is suddenly standing right there to his left, glaring down at him with a face like Thunder (our unofficial mascot), Happy sits up straight, squaring his shoulders.

“Slater, you won’t be going nowhere but the goddamn bench if you play anything like you did on Thursday, I can assure you,” Coach says gruffly.

Happy purses his lips, trying so hard to keep a straight face. “Don’t sweat it, Coach. I’ve got this.”

“Oh, you’ve got this, huh?” Coach snorts. “Son, you don’t even got your own damn pads on right.”

Coach turns and walks away, and Happy quickly looks down to check his gear only to re-adjust the straps on his shoulder pads. I try not to laugh, but it’s hard. Coach is constantly giving Happy shit, and as an outsider, it’s hilarious to watch. The man is terrifying, and he’s not a guy you want to get on the wrong side of. As long as I’m on the right side, it’s all comedic relief.

“So, tonight?” Logan asks, looking from me to Robbie and back again. “You guys going?”

I glance at Robbie to see him shrug a shoulder. “I’ll go if Dallas does.”

All eyes turn to me, and I swear, I’d punch Mason in his fucking dick if I knew he didn’t have a cup on right now.

“Nah, I told you last night,” I say, turning back to my cubby to busy myself so I don’t risk them seeing straight through me. “I’m sitting this one out.”

“ Sitting this one out ,” Happy repeats in a mocking tone. “What does that even mean?”

It means I don’t want to go anywhere but back to my hotel room so I can jerk off again to thoughts of Emily. Maybe torture myself a little more thinking of possible reasons why she’s not responding to my messages. Might even embarrass myself further and text her a few more times. Who knows. The night is full of possibilities.

“Yeah, no offense, man,” Logan says tentatively, “but this isn’t like you. You’re usually the first one showered and changed, ready to hit the town after a game. You feeling okay?”

Great, now I have at least seven sets of eyes laser focused on me. Just what I need.

I heave a resigned sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll come. If we win.”

“Dude, it’s fucking Philly.” Happy laughs. “Of course we’re gonna win.”

“Slater, shut your goddamn pie hole before I shove my foot in it!” Coach yells from somewhere.

Everyone laughs.

I shake my head, managing a smile as I grab my gloves and my helmet, but when I turn back around, I catch Robbie looking at me again, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure me out. Thankfully, before he can pry, it’s time to head out for warm-ups.

Happy was right. Of course we won. Philly has gone from making it to the semi-finals of the playoffs to coming dead last this season. Not that we can talk; we’ve come dead last for the past three seasons. But this year, after securing the number one draft pick, and adding Robbie on top of that, things are looking up, and making the playoffs is more than just an unattainable dream for the first time since I’ve been a New York Thunder. It’s a very real possibility. So long as we don’t fuck it up like everyone expects us to.

Even though all I really wanted to do when we got back to our hotel was to get into my sweats, order room service, and watch reruns of Dawson’s Creek , here I am, in some nightclub VIP, surrounded by scantily clad women who can’t keep their hands to themselves. The beer I was passed by someone not long after we walked in is now lukewarm, and frankly, the consistent thrum of bass is giving me a headache. We’ve been here less than an hour, and I’m so over it.

Happy is sitting on his own, my sloppy seconds perched on his lap, practically dry-humping him. Every so often, he looks at me while she’s busy sucking his neck or doing God knows what and throws me a thumbs up. I just shake my head at him. Go at it, son.

Alex Henry, our alternate captain and one of our more senior players, married with a kid, sits on the couch opposite me. He’s busy texting on his phone. Probably his wife.

Josef, this year’s number one draft pick and our first line right wing, sits beside him, taking in the view of the dance floor over the railing. The guy doesn’t say much. But I’m pretty sure he’s got a girl back in Iceland where he’s from, so I’m sure this scene doesn’t interest him at all .

Logan disappeared a while ago. I feel like something happened at the start of this season, because he’s changed. Sometimes I’ll see glimpses of the guy he used to be, similar to Happy and ready to whip his dick out at any minute if an opportunity presents itself, but more often than not, he’s quiet, usually sidetracked by his phone, and he’ll dip out without anyone even realizing he’s gone.

Next to me, Robbie relaxes back against the couch, leg crossed, ankle resting on the opposite knee, sneakered foot bouncing to the music as he sips his soda. Robbie doesn’t drink alcohol. He stopped back in Minnesota when things in his life turned to shit. He’s not an alcoholic. He just doesn’t like how he feels when he drinks. He’s always the sober friend, which usually has its benefits, but not tonight; tonight, his sobriety sucks because he keeps side-eyeing me like he knows something’s up. It’s only a matter of time before he?—

“What’s up with you?”

Here we fucking go. I close my eyes on an exhale.

“And don’t tell me it’s nothing.” He nudges me with his elbow and I open one eye, catching the hint of a knowing smirk ghost his lips.

“I met someone,” I say.

“Okay…” Watching me, he sips his drink, waiting for more.

I sag forward, elbows on my knees, tearing at the longer lengths of my hair. “I don’t know, man. It’s so fucked. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this. I can barely eat. I can hardly sleep. All I keep thinking about is her.”

Robbie says nothing, just nods slowly.

With another huff, I flop back against the couch, throwing my hands in the air. “It’s ridiculous. We spent one night together. One . And I literally cannot get her out of my head. I tried. And I thought I was moving on, but then—” I glance at him wearily. “Then she showed up again, and the feelings are back with a vengeance. ”

“Okay…” Robbie says again, only this time when I glance at him, I notice a smile he’s trying his hardest to conceal.

“What?” My brows knit together.

He rubs his stubbled chin, eyes furtively moving side to side as if to check for anyone within earshot. Leaning forward, he says, “Don’t get all pissy about it, but Keller told me.”

“Keller?” I rear back, confused as to how the hell Franny even knows. But then I remember yesterday, when I walked into Emily’s office under the guise of trying to see Andy. Franny was there. There was a weird tension hanging in the air and she had this strange, slightly crazed grin on her face. Did Emily tell Fran about what happened between us? I don’t know why, but if she did, then I kind of feel like that might mean something…

“Look, I told Keller to stay out of it,” Robbie continues. “But if I know my girl, it’s likely she’ll go full rogue in spite of what I say.”

I smile because he’s right. Nobody can tell Fran Keller what to do. Least of all Mason. The woman is a five-foot-four powerhouse; hell, I wouldn’t try telling a woman like Fran what to do. She’s adorable as hell but slightly terrifying at the same time.

Robbie continues. “All I’ll say is be careful, man. If Andy finds out, it could cause serious problems. I heard that’s what happened to Paris. Apparently, she hooked up with one of Andy’s clients and suddenly she was gone.”

I’m not going to deny the fact that this is risky. The last thing I want is to be held responsible for Emily losing her job. But what if this is more than just one big coincidence? What if this is it? What if Emily is the one, and us meeting that night was just the prelude? What if we’re meant to be? Surely even Andy would have to accept that, right?

“Look, if you want a wingman, then I guess you can consider Keller your guy. She’s been onto me about playing matchmaker with some of the guys on the team… I just never thought it’d be you,” Robbie says, smirking at me. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. ”

I drag a hand down my face, groaning at my own predicament. I am so fucked. But who knows? Maybe with a relentless force like Franny on my side, I might not fuck everything up.