Page 5 of Worth the Risk

She’s a damn vision. Beautiful blonde curls I want to feel in the palm of my hand. Eyes that aren’t quite green, yet not hazel, and rimmed in thick lashes. Tiny, yes. I’m six foot four, so basically all women are tiny. I don’t think she’s more than a couple inches over five feet, though. But curves for days. Curves I want to get to know intimately. Best ass I’ve seen in a long time. Watching her walk back to her apartment last night? Spank bank material. Got myself off right after, thinking about her.

Not like anything will happen with her anyway. I mean, she caught me with three women. No coming back from that. I don’t even know what I was doing. I didn’t even kiss any of them, let alone anything more physical. In fact, I don’t even remember the last time I had sex. I know things need to change, because I’m in a downward spiral. That’s for damn sure. Thank fuck none of that was broadcast on social media. My agent, and the team, would have had my head for that.

As I begin my run in the opposite direction from where the pixie walked, I turn my hat around and tuck it as far down on my forehead as I can. I hate being recognized in public. And it happens more often than I’d like. I’m one of the most recognized defensemen in the NHL, and with my track record off the ice, it can get really bad. I’m photographed all the fucking time. It’s ridiculous. I probably should just run on a treadmill in my building’s gym, but it’s August in Colorado. Gotta take advantage of warm weather when I can.

I’ve been in the NHL for ten years. They’ve all been here in Denver, but my agent has warned me this year that I better shape up. My contract is up at the end of this upcoming season, and the owners have been not too discreetly muttering about a trade. My off ice antics are draining them. I get it, they’re draining me too. But I can’t seem to stop making bad decisions. Like last night. Why the fuck did I invite three women back to my apartment? I don’t even like bringing any women home to my space, choosing instead to go to their places. My apartment is a haven for me. Three women, though? What the fuck was I thinking? It’s like I’m just trying to see how far I can go before I completely fuck myself.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m from here. It was a dream come true to get drafted by Denver and get to stay here. I played college here, so to stay and play for the team I idolized growing up? Absolute perfection. So I really can’t explain why I’m so hellbent on messing it up.

As I’m finishing up my six-mile run, my AirPods buzz with a call. I don’t even have to look at my phone. I know it’s my agent. He calls me at the same damn time every fucking morning.

“I’m still alive, Max,” I sigh.

“Well, with you I have to check daily, asshole,” he mutters. I chuckle. Max and I have been friends since high school. He’s one of the few people I trust completely. While his hockey career ended due to an injury, he parlayed that into a successful job as a sports agent. He doesn’t get around as much as I do, but he gets his fair share of pussy.

“You’ll be happy to know I kicked out the women that I went home with last night,” I tell him.

“Women? As in, plural? More than one?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Three, actually.”

“Jesus, man. You really are a whore.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? Not gonna congratulate you on a harem, bro. You’re gonna need to start getting tested every other day. Who the fuck knows what these puck bunnies have,” he counters.

“Yeah, that’s what my neighbor told me last night when she came over yelling at us to keep it down.”

“Which one? The older lady? Or was it Caroline who yelled at you?”

“Oh, shit. No, some other chick. Maybe a relative. Sounded southern? I don’t know. Cute little pixie with an amazing ass,” I say, envisioning her walking away from me. My cock twitches.

“Don’t do it.”

“What?”

“Don’t do the neighbor. Seriously, man, don’t. I don’t know what her relation is to Caroline, but if she’s possibly family, you cannot fuck this up. Coach Davenport will have your head.”

“I know that. I’m not gonna do anything with her. She’s too uptight anyway. Can’t risk running into her all the time,” I tell him. I already don’t have a good relationship with Caroline or Coach Davenport. I don’t need to add insult to injury. Besides, Caroline is weird. I never quite know if she’ll go full stalker on me, or try to get me kicked out of the building.

“Good. Alright, I’m sending over a couple of events I’d like you to attend this month. All great publicity. And the director of marketing at the children’s hospital called again, asking when you’d like to come back in,” Max tells me.

“Will it be off the record again?” I ask.

“Yeah, they know you want this to be under the radar,” he answers. Good. I hate when athletes only show up for anything if it’s going to help their image. My image is in the shitter, but I’m not gonna try to capitalize off sick kids.

“I got a conference call to get on, so I’ll let you go. No orgies tonight, okay, Luca? No public fights, no chaos. I have plans tomorrow and I don’t want to spend the whole day putting out your fucking fires,” Max says.

“No promises.”

“Lovely.”

I snicker as I end the call. I make the mistake of removing my hat to wipe my forehead, and I immediately hear a screech.

“Oh my God! Luke Santo!”

A tall thin woman is suddenly in front of me, grabbing my arm and jumping up and down giddily.

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