Puck Buddies (21 page)

“Gold standard for hockey wives, across
the board.” He settles in next to me at the large bar in the kitchen and grins.
“Did you solve that Sami Ford problem?”

“There’s no problem.” I don’t want to
discuss it with him. She is
who
I thought, and he has
no idea who that is.

“I saw the photo on
TMZ
and assumed you must have released your inner demons on her,
but then I got the text.” He takes a swig of beer from the bottle, typical
Canadian. “I sort of hoped you got it out of your system.”

“Like I said, there’s no problem.” I
change the subject, “What’d you do for Christmas?”

“Went home to the Prairies and froze my
balls off. I actually left them back at the farm, no hope in getting them back
till the thaw.”

“I like how you Canadians say the thaw,
like it’s some great event. You never say spring.”

“Spring can be a relative term in Canada.
We always have snow in the spring so it doesn’t feel like winter has ended.”

“Because it’s the Arctic.”

“Whatever. So did you happen to see Tandy
again over the holiday?” Laramie chuckles. “She’ll be at the afterparty, and I
sort of thought she had a bit of a thing for you.”

“I don’t think I’m in for the afterparty.
I’m still kinda tired.” I avoid the Tandy talk completely. I understand that
guys enjoy bragging about their conquests but I don’t.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a rookie.
That’s not a choice, my friend. Afterparty is at your house.”

“What?” I laugh but he doesn’t.

“Dude, it’s tradition. It’s always at the
rookie’s house.”

“I’m not the only rookie.” My stomach
tightens.

“You’re the only rich one who can house
this shitshow.” He turns and looks at the crowd. “Brimstone’s in boys! His
house afterwards.”

Coach winces but lifts his glass at me as
everyone else cheers.

Brady laughs at me from the corner.

All the humor falls away as I send a fast
text to Benson, preparing him for the onslaught. It’s something my parents do
regularly so the house is always prepared.

I had planned on begging Sami to come
over or going there and begging her to forgive me for sending the text to the
wrong person, and for freezing when it came time to introduce her.
And for being me.
Whatever we were doing it involved begging
and possible sex or chess or something.

And instead I’m stuck with a night of
shenanigans.

I tilt the drink in my hand back and
decide I need to loosen up if we’re going back to my place. There’s not much I
can do to solve the Sami thing right now anyway.

Many drinks later I change my mind on
that. After multiple texts I probably shouldn’t have sent to Sami have gone
through and Coach is tired of us, we load up into cars and get driven back to
my place. Coach stays with his wife. Both are grateful to see us all going.

I suspect it’ll be the same look on
Benson’s face when we’re done at my place.

The elevators don’t hold us all so it’s a
few trips up until we’re all in. The place is set up for a night of fun. Drinks
and snacks, and not the caviar or the usual fixings, are laid out with proper
serving ware, red solo cups and paper plates.

“Did you buy those today?” I nod at the
dishes.

“I did. I figured your friends would feel
more at home. If you need anything I’ll be retiring to the study. I’ve taken
the liberty to lock the doors we don’t want open.” He turns and leaves.

He remembers how it was when I was a
teenager.

Brady is dropping his pants and headed
for my hot tub, naked with a couple girls in his arms. He’s not alone. The
group with loose morals and no love life, to speak of, head outside to the huge
deck.

It’s become a full-fledged PF party out
there.

The wives have been dropped off and the
side dishes have come out to play.

The guys who don’t partake in the
lifestyle are in the living room with the big screen going and the fireplace
lit. What happens at the
party,
will stay here. No one
shares or shits on their fellow teammates.

The boys on the couches are laughing and
talking, eating chips and ignoring the half-naked girls squealing. There are
two very different camps in hockey.

For every guy who loves his wife or
girlfriend,
there’s
one or two players who don’t mind
a little something-something from a girl who has no interest in being with you
after her ten minutes are up.

I head in the direction of the fire and
chips, taking a seat with a beer.

The fire’s warm, my beer is cold, and my
team is laughing and loving life. It’s a pretty awesome night.

Laramie grabs us both another beer and
sits down next to me. He stretches out on the large sofa and nods. “So your
parents have a lot of money, don’t they?”

“Yeah.” I laugh.

“No, bro. I mean like a scary amount that
you couldn’t spend in a lifetime.”

“Welllllllll.” I grimace. “My mom might
be able to, but my dad wouldn’t ever let her. She’s bad.”

“This is fucked. I had no idea. I mean, I
knew you were rich but not like
rich
rich. This is some next-level rich.”

“
I
’m
not
rich
rich
. I’m
normal rich.” I don’t know how to say that. “My dad is the billionaire. I’m
not.” I chuckle. “I won’t ever be.”

“Your family is disgustingly rich. You’ll
always be this.”

“No, my brother is the shining star of
the family. He’ll inherit everything and take over from Dad. I’ll be the one
who has to scrape by, barely making ends meet on the interest from my trust
fund.” I wink at one of the guys across from me
who’s
laughing at Laramie.

“Fuck off.” He shoves me as the group of
us laugh.

“Who wants shots?” a familiar voice asks
from behind us. My spine straightens as I turn slightly, cringing at the sight
of Tandy in my house. She’s smiling wide with her long hair in pigtails and a
dress so short I’m pretty sure I just saw some ass cheek when she spun.

She’s dressed as a waitress from the
fifties in a short dress and she’s on rubber roller skates. She sails in,
spinning and dazzling all the guys. Everyone laughs with her, nudging each
other and making faces.

Her long tanned legs flex as she stops
with the tray, not even spilling a drop. She is a smooth operator.

“Time to double stuff the cookie, dude.”
Laramie nudges me, muttering as he ogles her in the tiny white dress that came
with a nametag and everything. Something tells me she’s like a mascot and
everyone in the room has had a little Tandy on them once or twice.

“I don’t like crossing swords, brother,” I
turn him down politely and offer a viable solution in case that’s just his
thing. “But Blow J—Brady out in the hot tub will certainly. He’s got zero
standards.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy.” He slaps me
on the back and reaches for our shots. No one refuses her shot. We all get one.

“To you, boys!” She lifts her shot in the
air with us. I can’t guess her age, but if I did I’d have to say early to
mid-thirties. Not because of looks but because of confidence and craziness. She
doesn’t have that twenties look to her. She’s been doing this a long time. It
shows in the way she is with the team.

We drink and she skates off, winking at
me before she goes.

Shots and drinks and laughs are had.
Tandy plays bartender waitress, but like the slutty Barbie-doll version. She
gets snacks and refills and switches up the music.

She leaves us alone in the living room
for the most part and ends up catering to the guys in the hot tub.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t see our
share of random shots.

The room spins as I jolt awake, not even
realizing I fell asleep. I wipe the drool off my mouth, feeling stuck and hot
and sweaty.

The TV is fuzzy and apparently I’ve slept
on the couch for a couple of hours.

The captain is leaning on me, sleeping
like a baby. I don’t know how long I’ve been breathing his snores in but the
air around me is too warm.

Shuddering, I get up, seeing that not
many people have left. They’re mostly still here, passed out on the sofas and
the floor. I need my bed and maybe to throw up a little. I don’t know which
first.

When I stagger to the stairs I shudder
again, sure I’m going to puke just as a voice whispers from the kitchen, “Brimstone.”

I turn, not sure if I heard it or
imagined it or if the place is haunted.

“Brimstone. Come here.” They call again,
still not raising their voice enough for me to guess who it is. It sounds like
a chick.

When I round the corner I stop, scared of
what I see, not because it’s bad but because it’s good.
Very,
very
good.

Tandy, still in her roller skates, is
standing in my kitchen, leaning against the bar with her dress unbuttoned and
her huge tits bursting through the gap.

She slides a finger between them, tit-fucking
herself
. “Come here.”

I don’t move
,
I
sway back and forth trying to shake my head but end up moving my entire body.
Fortunately, I’m so drunk my feet actually refuse to move. My cock ignores all
of that as she lifts her white dress up and flashes her bare pussy. She slides
back on the counter, spreading her legs and dipping a finger into herself.

It takes all of the strength I have in me
to take a step back, lifting a hand like I’m signaling traffic to stop. “I
gotta go. Sorry.”

As I turn away, I hear the roller skates
coming after me. “No you don’t. Stay.” She skates to me as I make it to the
stairs and am almost fleeing in a drunken way.

She grabs the back of my shirt, wrapping
her arms around me and shoving her hand down the front of my pants. “Let me
make you feel good.”

“No.”
I slip and fall,
catching myself on all fours and lifting her off the ground.
She’s on my
back, clinging to me but still undoing my pants like a crazy monkey.
“Seriously. No. We can’t,” I mutter, trying to be quiet so the others won’t
wake up. My hands are on the stairs just above my knees and she’s got me out of
my pants before I can really resist. I manage to climb several stairs to the
floor above where everyone is sleeping with her piggybacking and jerking me
off.

“I’m
gonna
fuck
that meat stick, big boy,” she whispers in my ear, but I ignore her and try not
to get sick. The floor is coming at me fast and then backing off with a jerk. I
feel a bit sick and shudder again. Three shudders. I’m going to throw up.

She swings to the side of me, still
stroking my cock. She slides underneath me, sweet-talking me. “You’ll like
this, my pussy feels so good.”

“No. I’m seeing someone. I can’t.”

“Come on, big boy.” She bucks me forward
and I slide right into her wet pussy.
I pull back
,
she pulls forward
. I shudder and burp, shaking my head. She
drags me in, bouncing my cock into her many times while I fight the urge to
lose my stomach.

Shivers cover my body, all of it in an
instant, as a cold sweat comes over me. I burp again but throw up. I try to
hold it in but a little bit comes out. It lands smack on her face. She gags and
I gag and I leap up, running for the bathroom with my pants falling down.

I barely make the toilet before I unleash
all the nasty shots she fed us, mixed with beer and chips and whatever the fuck
else I’ve eaten in the last few days. I puke so much my broke nose hurts again.

I puke until there’s nothing left, and
even then my body still tries to find something. Eventually, everything goes
dark and I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

Not quite the right Brimley

Sami

The seat in the Garden is cold. Way
colder than I thought.

I’ve never seen a hockey game live before,
and I should be in a box but when I got up to the one my dad has, I couldn’t
see shit. There’s a huge TV screen and I did sort of have a bird’s-eye view
over the ice, but at the end of the day, it’s no different than sitting in my
living room, forcing Nadia to watch it with me.

She glances at me from her seat, offering
a weak smile. Her eyes don’t have any of the joy her lips are faking.

“Don’t judge me.”

“I wasn’t.” Nadia laughs. “I was actually
just thinking how brave this is of you. I mean
,
you’re
out in public. With these people.” She turns and offers the stands above us a
horrified grimace. “And you’re dressed like you’re homeless. This is different
for you.”

“Do you want to attract attention? Don’t glare
at them.” I swat her and take the plastic cup of soda from her.

“It’s not diet,” she warns. “The diet
looked funny, thicker. The lady in front of me got it.”

“Oh, whatever. I’ll drink regular. At
this point I’ve thrown all caution to the wind anyway. If he sees me here he’s
going to think I missed him and then he’ll think I’m the weaker one and then
I’ll lose.”

“Lose what?”

“Whatever the fuck we’re doing with each
other.” I sigh and give her my attempt at an annoyed face. “I mean, he was a
twat on Boxing Day. We were supposed to hang and then he changes his mind and
goes with Brady because he doesn’t want anyone to know about us. I don’t even
know why I still like him.”

“Because that’s all speculation and
there’s a good chance he just forgot about that guy, like he said. And he
didn’t want to make it awkward with his friend.” She scowls as if the answer
should have been obvious to me.

“I guess. And he did text all night long
with weird messages about missing me but being scared to talk to me because he
would say the wrong thing.” I stare out at the ice, plastic straw in my mouth
and all.

The game takes forever to start.

There’s an ice show with some crap from
the past Rangers games. Everyone in the stands goes crazy over that. They bring
up the years the Rangers won the cup, which all seem like a billion years ago,
and flash fancy images and movies on the ice. I suck back the entire drink
before that’s even over. Nadia huffs about leaving to get me another one, not
quite under duress but clearly she’s digging the whole preshow more than I am.

Finally, the teams come flying out onto
the ice, banging sticks and skating around like they coordinated where they
were all going. Some guy shouts over the speaker, introducing them and getting
everyone else fired up. They don’t need firing up. They’re already going
insane. At home I can fast-forward all this crap to the moment the puck drops.

When Nadia gets back, the guy adding the
extra bit of soul to the national anthem is just finishing up, praise all that
is holy.

Stats and names are flashing, lights are
flickering,
music
is pumping. It’s some shit song I’ve
never heard before about a crazy train. I want for death.

The people in the stands are not my
people.

The people watching quietly in
their
houses, fast-forwarding, are my people.

“I got you a hot dog.” Nadia hands me a
paper wrapper with a disgusting-looking thing in the middle of it. I had one
once when I was at Nat’s. I remember not liking it.

“Thanks?” I question the whole choice she
made but force myself to agree that it’s the thought that counts, as Nat would
say.

“I got one for me too.” She sits and
positions it like she might give it a
blow job
, and
then puts it in her mouth. It’s by far the most seductive thing she’s ever done
in front of me.

She squishes her lips down, pressing them
into the bun. She takes the bite after a second of processing or foreplay, I
don’t even know. She moves the food around, but I don’t know if she’s chewing
or just assessing.

Finally, she makes a crazy face and bites
down again, cringing for two seconds and then moving her mouth like she’s
adapting to the thing in there. Her eyes dart to the side, again she’s
processing. I wonder if she’ll be completely insulted if I dump mine under the
seat.

She smiles finally, chewing normally.
“It’s good. Weird, but good.” She nods and speaks with her mouth full. She sips
the soda she brought for herself and sits back, clearly content.

After the longest, most drawn-out procedure,
the players get situated on the ice.

“Thank God I don’t have to watch all this
crap on the TV! I never would have made it through the first game. This preshow
shit is nuts. Remind me if I ever decide to come to a live game again to skip
this and just show up when they’re getting on the ice. My God.” I say it to her
but stare at the ice. Not because I’m desperate to see the game, but because
he’s starting. That’s really good. He never starts and here he is, starting.
“The hat trick must have helped, he’s starting,” I shout over the stupid organ.

“That’s our boy!” She sounds excited.
It’s adorable.

The puck drops and the game
begins
—fast. I swear it’s faster than in real life.

The Predators’ centerman flicks it to the
left wing as he drives hard for the Ranger’s goal. The puck hits the boards, the
centerman takes a blow, and the Rangers have the puck. Ice slicing and sticks
smacking and guys shouting are the only sounds for a few seconds before the
next
song starts.

Matt has the puck. He skates like a
ballerina. It’s so fluid and poetic for such a beast of a guy. He gets hit and
the next thing I know the hot dog is in my mouth. I’m chewing, watching, and
nervous.

The game is real here.

The wounds aren’t like they are on TV. At
the end of the first period someone has already left the ice injured.

They start the music up again and I cover
my ears. I can only take so much. Nadia is covering her ears too. “Why’s it so
loud?” she shouts.

“I don’t know. It’s annoying.”

“I know.” She grins through it, annoyed
or not.

I don’t like doing this but I need to.
“Thanks for coming. I know I made you come, but I’m just not ready for Nat to
hate him with me. I always hate William so much for the shit he puts her
through, and I don’t want her to hate Matt. Not yet anyway. Not until I know if
I hate him or not.”

“I’m excited to be here. It was on my
list of things I had to try once.” She doesn’t sound like she’ll be back.

I’m still not sold on coming back.

The second period starts and when the ref
makes a bad call minutes in, something comes over me. I’m shouting and waving
my hands like a crazy person. I’m unaware of my behavior until the guy next to
me offers me a high five after we both tell the ref to fuck himself.

By the end of the period I’m frothy and
spicy and flustered. It’s the greatest and most confusing feeling ever.

The third period starts and I’m eating a
second hot dog. It tastes better with the grilled onions and beer, a
recommendation from my neighbor. He’s eating one too. He’s older and looks like
he knows a lot about hot dogs.

We eat and shout, and when the Rangers
score, all my calm is gone. I’m in a haze. I might as well be skating and
shooting and scoring. I’m off my seat, hugging strangers and screaming. Each
boy, man, guy on that team is my brother.
My fellow warrior.
We are the Rangers.

The game ends with a win and everyone in
the stadium is beside
themselves
with joy. The true
New Yorkers are emotional people, good and bad. They’re huggers and lovers and
fighters and savages.

A win means we all hug and cheer and some
even cry.

Nadia looks lost as the lady next to her
mauls her.

Waving goodbye to the old man, I grab
Nadia by the hand and lead her out while everyone is still excited. It was the
one thing Vincenzo made me promise, that I would leave before everyone else.

When we get to the hallway that is filling
up with smart people like us, she tugs at my hand. “Why are we leaving so
soon?”

“I need to beat the crowds so Vincenzo
can pick us up.”

We make it outside into the cold, damp
air and the lights and camera flashes hit. “Guys! It’s Sami Ford!” Voices come
out of nowhere.

“That’s not Sami Ford!”

“Holy shit, Sami Ford!”

“Look over here, Sami!”

“Where’s the guy you were with?” Men rush
toward me.

“Sami! Just one smile for us, Sami!”

They crowd us but I grip to Nadia and
pull her through, brushing them off. One reporter grabs my arm, a major no-no.
I want to turn and clock him one but I don’t. I keep my head down, hood up, and
press on through the crowd.

“Come on, Sami! Be a sport!” I lift a
finger, flipping them all off as I hurry away.

Nadia is already texting Vincenzo for a
pickup.

We break into a run, heading for West
Thirty-Sixth Street, hauling ass two blocks before the limo pulls up. Vincenzo
doesn’t even get the door for us, we dive in and he speeds away before the
downtown area gets crazier than normal.

I’m sucking wind when I finally settle
into my seat and start to calm down. My body isn’t calming down though.

I’m on edge.

The game was thrilling.

I had no idea it would be like that. I
expected fun and I like hockey games. But I didn’t think I would almost die
from feeling more emotion than I’ve ever felt all at once.

I get it now. The love of sports and the exhilaration
of watching your team win.

We barely get home before my mother
calls.

“Hello?” I don’t know why she would be
calling me this late France time.

“A hockey game, Sami? Really? Were you
drinking?”

“No.”
How
the hell could she know that I was there so fast?

“It’s all over
TMZ.
The publicist called and woke me up to let me know you were
out dressed like a gang member, leaving a hockey game, hand and hand with a
woman.” Her voice has never gotten shrill in my life, but this is close.

“Uh no. I went to a hockey game with Nadia
because I’m alone on Christmas. My family ditched me so Dad could fuck that old
flame and you could get drunk in the South of France. Remember? And we ran
holding hands because there were paparazzi. One of them grabbed me.” My tone
hits the dark place it can get with her.

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me,
young lady. You know the public won’t care that you were out with your maid or
the reporters got grabby,” she snaps back. “It was only yesterday you had your
picture taken with some beastly looking man outside of our building. If they assume
you’re seeing men and women now, they’ll think you’ve gone off the deep end
again.”

“Don’t
again
me, Mother. I have yet to do any
deep-ending
.
And I’m done with ‘they.’
Who
is
they?
The papers? I don’t give a shit about them or
what they write. I’m the only person in the world who has been to rehab three
times according to public perception, but not once in reality. The media has an
agenda. Nothing they ever write is true. So why start caring now?”

“Sami, it’s all for your own good—”

“Let’s not play this game again. Nothing
you have ever done has been in my best interest. I’m old enough to know, what
is best for me. And you and Dad are the opposite of what’s best for me.”

“Who was the man then?”

“Matthew Brimley.”

“Oh.” Her tone softens. “Oh.” She sounds
genuinely shocked.

“I was at his hockey game. He plays for
the Rangers, Mom.”

“That can’t be the same Brimley.” She
scoffs. “His father wouldn’t still allow him to play hockey.”

“It’s him. His dad hates the hockey.”

“Your father knows his father and father-in-law
quite well. The photo must have been taken in muted lighting.
I’ve seen him
,
he’s very handsome
.
Is he a nice boy? Does he go to college with you? His father is quite wealthy.
Are you dating him? Is the hockey a permanent thing?”

 
“We’re just friends alone in the city
because our parents don’t give a shit about us. It’s nothing.” I hate it when
they do this.

“You know that’s not true. We care deeply
for you.” Her attempt is pathetic as if she’s trying to convince herself she’s
a good mother. “Now if you and this Matthew Brimley want to join us for dinner
when we return after New Year’s, your father would likely be quite interested
in that. You might make him very proud with this news, Sami. It’s too bad it
isn’t the eldest brother. But we can always work around that.” Her words
actually hurt.