Page 13 of Testing the Goalie

“Maybe you should slow down,” one of the guys suggests a few games later, and I nod, but my head is heavy, almost like it’s going to fall off if I’m not careful.

“Good ideeba,” I slur, making him laugh as I walk away.

Now would be a good time to try the puck bunnies again. With my beer goggles on, they might be appealing. But I still don’t want to fuck any of them. I want to be railed by a sexy daddy. Preferably the one who has been starring in all my dreams. So, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send off a text.

Me: Heyyy, Profffessor Daadddyy.

There might be a couple too many letters in those words, but I shrug because who cares?

While I wait for his response, or lack of one if he chooses to ignore me, I head to the living room, plopping down in a comfy recliner. People are laughing, talking, and dancing around, but everything is kind of a blur. Maybe I drank a little too much. But you only live once, right?

My phone vibrates in my hand, and a sudden bout of giddiness rushes through me when I see who sent a text.

Professor Daddy: Are you drunk?

I giggle and shake my head, loving that I programmed Ian’s name that way into my contacts.

Me: Nooo.

Me: I’m just hoppy!

I stare at my screen with squinted eyes. There’s something wrong with that text, so I try again.

Me: Hippy

Nope, still not right. One more time.

Me: Happy!

I smile at my accomplishment. See? I’m capable of texting when I’m drunk, and no one will be the wiser.

Professor Daddy: Jesus Christ. Where are you?

I look around the room. Where am I again? This isn’t my place, but I’m not exactly sure whose house it is.

Me: goood questionnn…

Ian’s response is almost instant, and it makes me giggle again.

Professor Daddy: You’re going to cause me to have an aneurysm. Tell me where you are.

“Duuude, where am I?” I ask a guy standing nearby, and he laughs.

“Parker’s house,” he supplies, and that name rings a bell.

Me: I’mm at Parrkker’s houssse.

I’m busy texting when a puck bunny struts over and sits on the armrest of the chair I am sitting in.

“Hey, Coop,” she purrs.

I smile at her, but it wavers when the putrid smell of her thick perfume hits me, and I fight back the urge to gag.

“Hi,” I reply, trying not to show my disgust as my phone vibrates again.

Professor Daddy: Who’s Parker?

Me: A foootball pllayerrr.

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