Page 21 of Boarded Hearts

I don’t recognize the guy who speaks up other than I know he’s a defenseman who boarded me hard on more than one occasion tonight. His comment is in jest, but I don’t like his disconcerting reference to the end of my career.

I take a deep swig of beer to gather my thoughts and work on a light tone for my reply. “Plenty of time in me yet, and ample to kick your rookie ass.”

He snorts along with a couple of head shakes from the other guys, but it’s lighthearted in nature.

We sit for a while longer, and I laugh when I catch Jessie and Jensen grinding up against two girls on the dance floor. From the angle I have, they may as well be fucking, one girl is bent fully forward, ass pressed up against Jensen’s groin while he firmly grips her hips. Christ. A smile breaks across my face, and, for the first time in days, I feel my shoulders drop and some tension start to ease.

I wish I could say the feeling lasted more than a minute though because, without warning, I’m overwhelmed with strong perfume when a half-naked brunette perches herself on my lap. She came out of nowhere—one minute I’m smiling and catching up with Trent, the next I’m playing host to a girl who can’t be older than twenty-one. She takes a sip of her Cosmo, which I instantly clock.

I only want one Cosmo-drinking girl on my lap, and this isn’t her.

I panic. I don’t like how this looks, but what do I do, stand up and let the tipsy girl fall to the floor? Push her off and look like an even bigger asshole? I’d say she shouldn’t be touching me without consent, but pretty much every person in this bar knows I’ve never complained about a smoking hot girl touching me before. And even though she is an absolute smoke show, the thought of touching her or any other girl aside from one rolls my stomach.

“Hey, baby, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you around these parts. Well played tonight.”

Huh, she clearly knows nothing about hockey since tonight was anything but well played. I decide the only way to get her off me is to be polite. Without wasting another second, I lean down to speak into her ear to kindly ask her to get the fuck off my lap. But she clearly misses the deep frown burrowed between my brows, and as I lean toward her, she fucking kisses me. Full-on, right on the lips. She grabs my head in a vice grip and twists her body around on my lap before moaning into my mouth, trying to part my lips with her tongue. I put my hands up to protest but end up brushing her goddamn breasts as I try to get her off me. I need out of this fucked-up situation ASAP.

Rising to my feet, she still clings to me like a fucking koala. This isn’t working. So, with a little more force, I manage to untangle her arms and release myself from her grasp, stepping back as quickly as I can. But the panic only rises further, and my brain goes into overdrive.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Technically I’ve done nothing wrong, but I've been in this game long enough to know pictures of this will be on the internet within minutes and only the most damning images find their way onto social media.

My panic turns to anger as I whip around to face the girl who just sent my life up in smoke. “What the fuck? Who said you could kiss me? Sit on my lap? Touch me?”

She looks genuinely shell-shocked but still steps toward me once again.

I take another stride back in response, hands up and out in front of me. “That wasn’t cool. I have a fucking girlfriend.” The words leave my mouth before I can filter them. Her actions weren’t cool, but the rest is an outright lie. Felicity isn’t even close to being my girlfriend. We’ve barely spoken since she practically ran out my door on Friday. Not that I haven’t wanted to speak to her. Everyday. Every goddamn minute.I’ve just been afraid to go too hard too soon with her and scare her off.

“Well, you sure kept it quiet. The internet says you're single, and anyway, who cares, she knows you’re a player.”

I shake my head, a futile feeling crushing my chest. The boys in the booth including Trent are all gawking, but as I look around at the rest of the bar, thankfully everyone else is too distracted to notice, including Jensen and Jessie, who are still on the dance floor getting it on.

A wave of relief washes over me but instantly crashes down when I see Koala Girl’s friend standing about twenty feet away. Fucking filming. Her phone is outstretched on her arm, her mouth gaping open as she shakes her head, but I don’t miss the excitable look on her face like she’s about to cash in on her viral prize.

In an instant, I’m striding over to her, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Trent shoot up from the booth, tearing after me. “Jon, cool it, bro. It’s okay.”

Swiveling around, a misty red haze clouds my vision. “No, it’s not fucking okay,” I drawl back at him, throwing my arms in the air. “I’m supposed to be seeing someone. Well, dating someone.” My hands fly to the back of my neck, and I grip hard, my frustration unbearable as I desperately try to describe what I have with Felicity, which right now is nothing, but at the same time feels like everything. “Honestly, I don’t know what it is, but it’s probably fucked now because these girls?—”

I spin back around pointing to…no one. Nothing. Because they’ve gone. High-tailed their way out of the bar in the split second I turned my back. They must have grabbed their shit and ran out taking their footage, and my fucking sanity, with them.

FELICITY

There’s nothing better than a sunny Sunday morning, especially one where you can lie in bed, basking in the sunlight as it streams through your blinds.

This is not one of those Sunday mornings.

I’m hungover, and let’s just say hangovers are not as forgiving now I’m in my late thirties—this one in particular is sent from the devil himself. It’s Kate and my co-worker Taylor’s fault, as they came over last night for wine and movies, with the ratio quickly tipping in wine’s favor. Taylor works in the admin department keeping us all in check. She’s only twenty-six, making her the baby of our trio, but she can drink me under the table, as I discovered last night. My mouth feels like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. I need to get up, brush my teeth, and formulate an anti-hangover strategy.

Fighting through the fuzziness of my brain, I hear a ping and creak open an eyelid to see my phone screen lit up. I fling an arm to the side and grab it from the nightstand, ripping it from the charging cable.

Kate

Gah! Did I go ten rounds with Mike Tyson last night?

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