Puck Buddies (13 page)

“I mean, it’s a trench coat and boots,
and you’re you.”

“A slut?” My humor fades rapidly. “This
is why you can’t have nice things, Beast!”

“No. You just always have someone you’re
stringing along.” He says it and shakes his head, seeing the shocked expression
on my face. “No. Wait. That’s not what I mean.” He steps back in, scooping me
into his arms and pressing his face into my neck. “I mean
,
you’re a girl who has fun and has no rules and just does what she wants. So
when I see a girl like you in a trench coat with boots and bare legs I assume
you’re about to rock someone’s world. I wanted it to be mine, and I was crushed
when it wasn’t.” He kisses softly. “I don’t want you to rock anyone’s world.
Just my world.” He pulls back and winces. “That’s too much, right? I sound like
a needy chick, don’t I? I swear I’m cooler than this.”

“Oh, I know you’re cooler.
I got played in that limo by the cooler side of you
. You’re
a player. That move with the limo was smooth; it was perfect. You’ve done that
before, a lot. And I don’t want to hear that you haven’t. It was a precision
effort.”

His eyes lower as he bites his lip, the
look of guilt.

“So you will have to excuse me if I don’t
believe you and the things you’re saying.
There’s an old
saying that warns when someone shows you who they are
,
you should believe them
. You’ve shown me that when no one is
looking you are all about me, but when anyone else is around I might as well
not even be in the room. In the black cab you kissed me, in the bar you ignored
me. In the bar we fought and ignored each other. In the car we fucked and you
made it perfectly clear you were done caring about me from the moment you came
in me.”

“That’s not true.” His eyes widen. “You
just got weird. You tensed and freaked out.”

“Because you and I didn’t seem to have
the same—” I take a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“See, this is the problem.” He lifts a
hand. “I don’t want to fight. I swear to the gods, we don’t communicate at all.
You’re talking and I’m talking and nothing is being said. Let’s just agree to
have dinner on Christmas Eve. Leave it at that. I’ll go now before your friends
come over so you don’t have to explain why I’m—”

“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you.
Yes, you’re a stinky hockey player who’s known for being the black sheep of his
family—”

“You’re doing that thing again, where you
think I’m saying something that I’m not saying, but I’m not saying what I
actually want to say the right way. I’ll see you Saturday night.” He nods once
and walks to me, lifts me into his arms and kisses me. It’s not passionate or
intense and yet it is. There’s no fire like we might rip each other’s clothes
off but there’s something. He spins me, puts me down, opens the door, and flees
from the house.

I don’t know what just happened, but I’m
blushing and standing in the same spot moments later when Nat comes in crying.

There’s no way I can tell her about my
weirdly arranged date when she’s suddenly single again and everything is a hot
mess.

Friggin’ William Fairfield ruins everything.

Chapter Thirteen

A Seven Nation Army couldn’t hold me back

Matt

Sami-fucking-Ford
.

She’s the kind of girl you fall in love
with before you even know you’ve tripped. She’s a problem.

And yet I don’t bother dusting myself off
when I feel myself falling. I just lay in the dust and confusing feelings, unsure
of where this goes from here.

The last two days I’ve spent contemplating
everything we said and didn’t say.

And now I’m at the end of the game,
thinking about her instead of focusing on beating the Ducks to a pulp.

Fortunately, the game is going well for
us even if I feel like I’m stuck in slow-mo, with everyone moving at a snail’s
pace in my eyes.

I spin, collecting the puck and passing
it along, listening to the sound of it scraping the ice.

My skates dig in as I push ahead of the
player next to me to get the puck back.

But to me it looks like we’re under
water, floating across the ice.

When the pass is made the puck slaps my
stick and I flick my wrist, shooting it at the top left corner as my eyes stare
directly at the right. The goalie falls for the trick shot, his eyes meeting
mine and he follows. He dives right and I swear I can hear the shift in his
gear as he panics and tries to go left, but it’s too late.

The puck lands in the net and the lights
and sounds go off, signaling a score.

But I hear nothing.

I see nothing.

I’m reliving the moment she finally smiled
at me, just the once.

It ruined everything.

Ruined me.

Hands slap my back as Laramie embraces
me, dry humping but only slightly so he doesn’t get in shit from Coach. He
hates it when we act like footballers.

I flash back into the game when I realize
I’ve scored.

Coach gives me a nod. It’s his version of
patting me on the back. He’s not showy with his love. Whereas our goalie is
screaming that if I get one more of those he’ll suck my dick himself. That
makes me laugh and I blink Sami Ford outta my head and relish the moment. The
stadium spins and I realize it’s my second goal of the night.

“One more, big boy, and you got your
first NHL hat trick!”

“All right. Well, let’s make it happen.”
I’m back. I don’t look at the scoreboard. I size up the team. They’re everything
in this moment.

We skate back to our positions for the
puck drop. No more slow motion or moving like we’re under water. I’m sharp and
alert and ready.

The ref wipes his brow and centers himself
as the sticks hit the ice. The stands are quiet, not silent; they never get
quite there.

The captain’s eyes dart to mine and then to
the centerman’s and then back to mine. It’s a signal.

As the puck lands on the ice the sticks clash
and slap, fighting for it already. The
guys
grunt,
shoving each other just within the range the ref allows. The Ducks are an
amazing team. But we seem to have God on our side tonight and our center gets
the puck, shooting it through skates as it heads for Laramie and then the
captain. I see it in my peripheral but I keep moving forward, not to cherry
pick but just about there.

A flash of black covers the
captain
as he’s hip-checked into the boards by a huge defenseman.
I weave, receiving the pass and using my skates to ping-pong it through the two
defensemen eyeing me like they might ask me to be their prom dates.

I spin and pass back to our captain who
has just recovered from the dirty humping he took in the boards. He fakes a
pass to the center but flicks it back to me as I pause to avoid a shoulder in
the face. Ducking the first defenseman doesn't stop the second one from hitting
me hard. I take the hit and spin, letting him slip off my shoulder so I can get
the pass.

It’s three on two and the defensemen
aren’t fast enough to keep up with the passing and zigzagging we are doing.

Me, the captain, and the center glide
smoothly through the middle, taunting them until we’re close enough. Then I
whizz past the left side of the goal, staring straight in the goalie’s eyes as
I flick it to the right corner.

The lights flash and the buzzers scream as
the team mauls me like a pack of wild animals.

Coach grins wide and holds his hand out
for me to take my victory lap.

The crowd goes nuts. It’s a mixed
reaction. Some of them are screaming like they might riot any second, but the Ducks’
fans are booing and calling for unsavory things.

I lift a hand, offering a gloved wave as
I weave my way through the hats littering the ice. Our fans are waving their
hats and shirts. One girl rips off her jersey and tosses it at me, jiggling her
bare breasts as she jumps up and down in
a frenzy
.

The feeling of a hat trick in a regular
game, in a regular league, is one that can’t be described by a regular person
with no poetic capabilities. But this is a whole other level of excitement and adrenaline.

Everyone skates around, clearing the ice of
debris by flinging caps back over the glass, but when I make my way back to the
center line, it seems like there are more than when I started my lap.

I do a slow circle, watching the stands still
going crazy as the announcer tries desperately to explain this is my first NHL
hat trick and seventh in my career since starting with the University of
Michigan.

I don't know how to react to this moment.

So I don't.

I just watch them go berserk.

The captain skates over, slinging his arm
over my shoulder and laughing. “What a way to make your mark, kid.” He squeezes
and skates back to hat cleanup.

It takes a full five minutes to get
everyone back in
their
seats which is mostly done with
insanely loud music.

“Seven Nation Army” blasts as we all get
back into position.

There’s a minute and a half left on the
clock and the song pulsates through me.

We’re leading by two, the last two goals
I got.

It’s an incredible feeling.

When the puck drops, the Ducks’ centerman
aggressively hits ours, taking the puck. Our defense comes to life. The captain
heads that way while us wings wait for the pass. A Duck takes the puck along the
boards, just close enough to enjoy the captain’s elbow as his next meal. He
drops like a sack as our team gets the puck and sends it sailing to middle ice.
Our center grabs it fluidly but before he can turn, the Ducks are on him,
making the mistake Coach discussed with us. Under pressure they fall apart and
start to get sloppy. They’re known for going violent instead of skilled. I
didn't see it in the videos but I see it here. Our center drops, losing the
puck. The ref calls it.

They have a penalty for roughing and we
have the advantage. Not much of one though. Our center grins through the pain
but it’s slowing him down.

I turn at the wrong moment, taking a hit
as I pass. The ref calls the penalty, again roughing.

The stands are going nuts, Coach is screaming
at us, and every Duck remaining looks like he might come at me.

We pass but it isn’t graceful, it’s
painful. Captain takes a hit as the buzzer goes and the game is ours.

“Fuckers!” A glove flies at my face. I
try to duck but someone hits me in the back, launching my face at the fist. It
rings my head in my helmet.

Gloves drop to the ice and the benches
clear.

My helmet’s ripped off before I can see
who
I’m fighting. I take a bare knuckle to the cheek and a
shot in the back. The crowd of players is a mix of black and white but it’s almost
impossible to make out faces.

A third shot to the face brings me to
life, although I’m struggling to see through the stars and pain gripping my
face and head.

It usually takes me that many to get my
blood pumping.

I start grabbing jerseys, flipping them
down and forcing faces into the feeding of my fist. As a dark jersey drops I
grab another. A shot to the back of the head spins me, still holding the other
jersey. I smash the two of them into each other, tearing jerseys off. Something
grabs me just as I see red.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” I point at the
bleeding face of the nearly stripped guy in front of me. It takes a second for
him to smile a bloody grin. “Brimstone!”

A bitter chuckle leaves my lips as I nod.
“Drink after the game?” I shout at my old center from Michigan.

“Fuck yeah, man!” He gives me
a thumbs
up as a fist flies at his jaw. I wince but lose him
in the crowd.

Coach’s red face is the next thing I see
as I’m flung into the boards. “Nice fucking game, kid!” He nods once and stalks
off.

It’s chaos and reminds me a bit of a
scene from a movie.

“Dude, you need some stitches.” Laramie
hands me a towel as he spits one of his teeth into his hand. “Fuck, I just got
this one fixed.” He glances up from the bucket he’s bleeding into. “I think
your nose is broken, eh?”

I lift a swollen finger to it, trembling as
I make contact with the torn skin. “Yup.”

Getting down the hall to the locker room
is hard but listening to the coach tear us a new one as he reads the suspensions
for conduct is much worse.

“Half the team is bleeding and three guys
are out for a game each! This is some shit!” He cracks a grin. “But what a game!”
His eyes dart to the captain. “Merry Christmas! I expect to see all your pretty
faces at my party on Boxing Day.” He leaves the dressing room in the captain’s capable
hands.

He stands and smiles. “All right, ladies,
that was a good game. Bad ending, but we didn't throw the first punch, so
whatever.” He glances behind him down the hallway we can’t see as a cart filled
with champagne comes around the corner, led by a girl dressed as an elf. She’s drop-dead
gorgeous.
The kind where you almost start looking for flaws
because otherwise she’s a unicorn.
“Tandy has a toast for us all!”

Of course her name is Tandy.

She lifts a bottle, pointing it in my direction.
“To the first hat trick!” She shakes the bottle and uncorks, hosing my broken
face in champagne. I close my eyes and open my mouth. The comments fill the air
with Tandy squealing and everyone else cheering and clapping.

“He likes it when you shoot in his
mouth!”

“Nice position, Brimstone! One you’re
used to no doubt.”

“Bend over, Brimstone, show her where you
really like it shot!”

I lift my middle fingers in the air,
waving them back and forth as she attempts to drown me with cold booze.

When it stops, glasses are handed out and
toasts are given, none of which dull the ache in my body.

I haven’t been part of a rumble in a
while.

“Have a merry Christmas. Like Coach said,
we will all see each other Boxing Day at his place. Hope you have something
nice under the tree.” Captain winks at us and hugs Tandy into his gear. She
giggles and rubs her giant boobs against his chest. Her tiny elf costume hides
nothing. She clearly digs pucks.

We all take a drink.

“Rest well and enjoy your four days off
with your families. January is going to be fucking brutal and it starts on the
twenty-eighth of December with the Predators. See ya on Boxing Day!” He toasts
again and we all drain our glasses.

No one wants to party with the team. We
have four days to get home and be with family.

But I don't have family. I have Laramie
and McNulty from the Ducks for drinks.

The shower isn’t a relief. It hurts and
burns the places I need to have taken care of by a doctor. I stay in extra long,
trying to work out a couple of knots in my shoulders.

“Hey, big boy!” a girl’s voice rings out
in the steam.

I spin, blinking like I might be
hallucinating as Tandy crosses the large shower room with her elf costume
pulled down, hanging her giant breasts out over the neckline. The creamy white
breasts jiggle perfectly with each step.

“Hey, bi—” I almost say “big girl” but
stop myself.

Her eyes lower to my
cock
which
, I can’t lie, has started to twitch a little. I know it’s the
steam and the adrenaline and the boobs, because PFs aren’t my thing. I lift my
hands. “I’m not really into—”

She gets in close, rubbing her chest on
my abs and grabs me by the balls as she bats her amber-colored eyes at me.
“Somebody deserves an aftergame kiss.” She drops to her knees, before I can say
anything, lifting my partially erect cock into her warm mouth.

“Oh fuck.” I’m thrusting before I actually
think about the fact she’s sucking me off.

She works the shaft, sliding her hands up
and down in the steamy water. Her mouth expertly sucks the head and down to
about the middle. I close my eyes and see things I shouldn’t. I see someone I
shouldn’t. It feels wrong—it is wrong—but it’s also amazing. Her
lips part wider and she takes it all, like a fucking snake.
She
deep throats.
It’s my first time meeting a girl who can take it all in.