Page 11
Arden
I don’t need this shit today.
It’s bad enough I got an email this morning requesting we move my surgery up rather than back because the surgeon and his fiancée finally solidified their South Haven Island wedding plans over the Thanksgiving break, followed by a group text scolding me for skipping out of the holiday family photo for the third year in a row.
And then things became even worse when I couldn’t get my aid to connect to my Bluetooth so I could enjoy some Shakira versus the pussy game plan some of the boys were very vocal about creating after posing with some unexpected puck sluts at the giftshop.
And then things still became even worse due to a vertigo spell that led to me puking on a snow-covered plant in front of what appeared to be the prettiest puck bunny photo challenge.
And now?
Now, I’m being told I can’t even postgame sulk over our loss in fucking peace?!
Why?
Whhhhyyyy?!?!
Whhhhhyyyyyyyyy am I being smited like I’m the lead in a Greek mythology movie?
Er… smote?
Fuck.
Non-hockey words are so not my thing.
Keeping my cool is beyond difficult. “How do you not have any spare rooms?”
“It’s a full weekend, ma’am,” the mousy bell boy behind the front desk squeaks. “There was a hockey game in town, so we’re completely booked up.”
“ I’m aware, ” I practically growl on a glare. “I’m with the away team.”
“Mighty rough loss tonight, huh?” He cringes. “One to five.”
“Yeah, sometimes life sucks. Like now. ” My sneer manages to precede my finger whirling. “Could you get back to poorly explaining how you have no room for me?”
“We weren’t expecting you to need more than one room-”
“I wasn’t expecting that either!”
“And our number of… spare rooms was already quite limited due to the game. The only other unoccupied room we had was the honeymoon suite-”
“I’ll take that.”
“-which we actually booked for this wonderful couple from Mistletoe, Montana while they were working in your room.”
“ Sonofawh- ”
“While we have nothing left here, what we can do is book you a great room at our sister hotel just down the road as well as reimburse your account-”
“The company’s account.”
“-for any inconvenience this may have caused.”
“ May have caused?” Outrage has me briefly curling my fingers towards his face. “I have nowhere to sleep for the fucking night and you think that may have caused an inconvenience?!”
He gives the knot to his tie a small adjustment. “Ma’am-”
“Do not fucking ma’am me again or I will drop the gloves like my boys did to yours for that wildly illegal high sticking.”
Gah, I hope Peck is okay.
I felt that shit, and I was in the fucking stands.
“Mrs. Hoss-”
“I’m not my mother.”
“ Ms. Hoss,” squeaks the front desk attendant, “I have offered you what I have available to offer.”
“Okay,” my finger follows along the lettering of his nametag, “Mr. Bakshi.” Folding my arms across my chest is done alongside a sardonic grin. “Your offers suck.”
His open palms lift in surrender.
“What’s your policy about people sleeping in the lobby?”
“It is not permitted, Ms. Hoss.”
“Then I suggest you find me a permission slip from corporate because I’m not hauling my shit, in the fucking snow , to an Uber, to trek me six miles down the road just to catch a few Zs.”
“ Six blocks. ”
“Do you wanna be permanently cut from team Frost?” There’s no stopping my gaze from narrowing. “Because pissing off paying patrons is how you get your contract terminated.”
His eyes widen in obvious worry.
“ Wheel ,” I insist on a waving my fingers. “Find me somewhere in this building to sleep.”
He hastily nods and scampers off leaving me to wallow alone in the vacant main lobby.
This wouldn’t be such a big deal if Khurana was here.
I’d just double bunk in his room.
But he’s not.
Why?
Because only one of us is assigned to stalk Tanner “Go Fuck Yourself” Frosky this season.
Cutting a minor glance to the right reveals to me my biggest problem incarnate hanging out at the bar.
Fuck. Him.
Fuck him and his whole “believe I’m not like the others” bullshit I was buying into.
He clearly is.
That’s why he ditched me for pussy back in A2.
That’s why he hasn’t been by my house since.
And that’s why he hasn’t continued to demand more of my personal info in order to give me the camera time I need for his stupid mini docuseries, which I wouldn’t have to do if I would just fucking quit.
I bet a hundo I could find a hockey gig in Greenland.
They play.
I mean…they gotta, right?
It’s like ice central.
It’d be stupid not to.
Curious if I’ve already seen the bunny that I know will be hopping on his stick tonight, I lean slightly further back to side-eye his choice only to spot Peck instead.
Huh.
That’s…weird.
Since when do they hangout?
Since when do they hangout unmandated ?
Concern causes me to cross from where I am to the sectioned off bar area where they seem to be sharing one of the boys’ collective favorite dishes up north.
“Fancy poutine,” I playfully coo from the space between them before snagging a gravy covered fry off of Frosky’s plate. “There’s some shit you don’t see every day.”
“It feels better after a garbage game,” Snowman nonchalantly announces at the same time he reaches for his glass.
My eyebrow helplessly quirks. “Is that a glass of vodka?”
“Water,” he sighs between sips. “Pecks doesn’t drink.”
I toss the young, black hair and blue-eyed player a skeptical stare.
“I really don’t!” He innocently croaks.
“Not even brewskies?”
The shaking of his head precedes him grabbing a gravy-soaked fry off his own plate. “Fiancée can’t drink. And I don’t like to drink.” He chomps on the very edge of the piece. “Unless hot chocolate counts. Does that count?!”
“Is there Bailey’s in it?” mirthfully leaves me.
“Kahlua?” playfully inquires Snowman.
We hit each other with a brief look prior to asking in tandem, “Schnapps?”
Peck shakes his head a second time.
“Then no,” we retort in unison once more, small snickers leaving us both.
Ugh.
Sometimes I forget how Maximus and Juba we can be.
“How’s the face?” I sincerely investigate after finishing my initial fry and snagging a second. “Hurt or injured?”
“Hurt?” he replies, obviously uncertain himself. “Minor pain. No bruiseskies yet. Med said to let ‘em know if that shit changes.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”
“Should probably be able to sleep it off,” Peck informs on a boyishly shy grin.
Seeing the easy segue as well as an open opportunity to possibly not sleep in the lobby like a homeless person leads me to singsonging, “ Soooooo about sleeping… ”
Both men instantly halt all movements.
“There’s been a bit of a fuckup,” I continue while smacking on the last of the bite.
“You slept through your cotillion courses again?” Snowman’s chirping is accompanied by a finger point. “You have stolen gravy on your chin.”
I wipe it away with the back of my hand, give him the finger, and take a third piece. “For my pain and suffering.”
“Stratton would be shitting a fucking puck if someone had that much of his poutine,” mumbles Peck in amusement.
“I don’t have a room,” I disclose to the sweatpants wearing pair.
“How do you not have a bloody room?” investigates Snowman without missing. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“Sleep is a strong word.” Stuffing the rest of the dish into my mouth precedes me explaining. “The first room they gave me had no working toilet.”
“Yikes,” whispers Peck.
“So, they then moved me to another room, which it turns out, had no working heater-”
“It’s fucking thirty-five out!” Snowman defensively bites.
“You could get hyperthermia.”
“ Hypothermia ,” corrects the A wearing member of the team. “Right idea, wrong prefix.”
I do my best not to smirk.
He’s definitely more intelligent than he looks, which is something I hate myself for saying.
And knowing.
And adoring.
“I was supposed to have a new room by the time we got back from the game except they evidently ran out of rooms-”
“Who the hell runs out of rooms?!” Snowman gripes on my behalf.
“ Right! ” My fingers playfully strike his shoulder, becoming the first physical contact, we’ve had in weeks, a realization that seems to knock a bit of air out of us both. “They um…” clearing my throat is followed by me scooting closer to Peck to create appropriate distance, “offered to put me up at their sister hotel sixty blocks away-”
“Too far,” insists the dirty blond male, angling his frame towards mine.
“But it’s not worth the hassle especially in the snow.” I lock eyes with the still rather new to the league player. “Annnnyyyyyy chance you’d let me crash on your floor for the night?”
His mouth immediately lowers to reply yet releases no words as if suddenly paralyzed by pain.
Or unspoken proscription.
Stick taps to the last crossword I actually did with Snowman.
Confusion crashes into concern convincing me to lean forward and cautiously call out, “Peck?”
One blink is all I receive prior to him frantically shaking his head. “Can’t.”
“Can’t…what?”
“Um…” his gaze fails not to cut his teammate a glimpse which prompts me to do the same only to see a feigned innocent expression floating on his face. “You um…can’t sleep on my floor.”
I glare at Snowman and send my attention back to Peck. “In the bathtub then? Technically, it’s a separate room.”
“Uh…” the glimpse is given yet again. “Not there either.”
“Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest clearly makes him nervous. “You still have your privacy. I’d have mine. And I can just shut the curtain whenever you need to rock a piss.”
As if my answer makes logical sense – because it does – I’m offered an impressive nod that quickly gets banished by a less than subtle cough from Snowman.
“Face sex!” Peck awkwardly announces.
“What?!”
“You can’t stay in my room ‘cause of the face sex.”
“The face sex?!”
“The sex you have on the face thing,” he uncomfortably rattles off.
“FaceTime?”
“ Yes! ” His excitement furrows my brow. “You can’t sleep in my room because of all the FaceTime sex I’m gonna be having with Wings.”
There’s no stopping the skeptical expression from deepening.
“Yup.” More distress-filled head bobbing. “Just gonna be in my room eating more poutine…drinking hot chocolate…and rubbing one outskies…”
I can’t stop my head from tilting in disbelief. “That was a lot of info, bud.”
“Yeah,” escapes in a clumsy mutter, “I gotta go.” He hops onto his feet, leaving no room for objection. “Snowman, pay for mine?”
“Of course,” the male I know without a doubt is responsible for his fleeing retorts.
Watching Peck bail out of the bar is attached to me sighing, “Your ventriloquist game needs work.”
“No idea what you are referring to.”
This time it’s him I hit with a sardonic expression.
“Wanna finish his plate?” Snowman kicks his chin to the half-eaten dish. “Perhaps allow me to eat mine?”
“I’m not staying in your room,” I announce as I slide into the now unoccupied seat.
“And what is your other option?”
“The lobby.”
“They do not allow slumbering in the lobby.”
“How do you know that?”
“The signs.”
“Well,” picking up a hunk of the braised short rib occurs between thoughts, “the front desk dude went to make me an exception to the rule.”
“ You are an exception to many rules, Arden, ” he defeatedly coos under his breath. “ You are the only one who doesn’t seem to understand that. ”
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t nothing me.”
“Don’t need to be nothinged.”
“You’re such a fucking pigeon,” I grumble, sloppily tossing the piece into my mouth.
“Says the fucking plug that won’t scratch her bloody pride so that she has somewhere remotely decent to sleep for the night.”
“I can scratch my pride!”
“You can’t even bench it!”
“I can so bench it!” Gravy is flung off my finger and onto his gray athletic sweater. “And I will stay in your room tonight to fucking prove it!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Snowman smugly smirks, waits for the realization that I’ve been played to seep in, and then victoriously grins again.
Motherfucker.
Alright.
The first goal of the night goes to him.
But that’s the only one he’s getting.
Guaranteed.