Page 72 of Sin Bin

I stare down at my phone, ignoring the guys around me in the locker room. We’re padding up, ready to pull our shit together so we can hammer it out against the Boston Bruins. A city with two pro-teams is practically unheard of, and the NHL only acquiesced to the decision made by the Blades when the board rationalized some years back thattwomajor hockey leagues would result in more income for the repairs to the arena. Nowadays, the Blades are as much of a city pastime as the Red Sox or theBruins.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rink this active before!Zoe’s text reads.Have I said thank you for theticketsyet?

Hunching my shoulders so that Zoe’s words are for me alone, I type out:You did. But I do accept gratitude in other ways. Sex, kisses, massages. Pick yourflavor.

I can practically hear her laughing on the other side of the screen.Is this where I tell you that your Manhood is exactly what I needrightnow?

I laugh out loud at that, and the sound attracts the attention of myteammates.

“You good?” Harrison asks as he takes it upon himself to sit next to me on the bench. “You’re laughing like a weirdo when no one isaround.”

I flick my phone off. “Just talkingabit.”

“With ZoeMackenzie?”

According to the Rules That Be, I shouldn’t have even kissed her. But I can’t regret it at all because she’s like a drug. I need her smiles and her laughter and everything else that is unanimously Zoe Mackenzie. “Just discussing some logistical PR stuff.That’sall.”

“Like having sexwithher?”

My stomachcaves. “No.”

Duke pats my shoulder. “You’re delusional. The girl wants you. Go after somebody for once. Do the whole chasing thing that usually makes your dickshrivelup.”

He’s right. I never do the chasing. I’d like to say that it’s in my DNA, but that’d be a lie. Once upon a time, I did the chasing. Haven’t for a while, though. Until Zoe, who I’mwooing.Jesus, even the word soundsridiculous.

Right now, she’s sitting up in the nosebleeds, the same way that she always did back in Detroit. It’s her favorite place, although I could have easily put her somewhere closer to the ice. Somewhere closertome.

Even so, the idea that she’shere, that she’s up in the nosebleeds waiting for me to take to the ice is like a high I forgot I needed to survive. To Duke, though, I mutter, “It’s not like thatwithus.”

“Lies, dude. Lie to me, if you want, because I don’t really care one way or the other. But I hope you aren’t lying to herrightnow.”

My gutclenches.

How the fuck does he know that the guilt is piling in? Because as happy as I am, I’m not telling hereverything.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the ice and I’m not ashamed to admit that I use hockey like a stress reliever. As much as I talk about giving it up and moving to the Caribbean, I know I’d be bored withthatlife.

For nearly a decade, hockey has been myidentity.

At least, it was until itwasn’t.

For three years, I was someone else.Somethingelse.

The puck drops and I hesitate, my instincts lagging as the past threatens to pull meunder.

“And he’slost it!”shouts the announcer into the arena microphone. “Jee-wiz, I can’t believe Beaumont lost that hugeopportunity.”

The announcer’s words are like a drill tomyhead.

Get your ass back inthegear.

For the rest of the period, I give everything that I have to the game. Adrenaline pumps through my body, and I soak it in. It’s that rush that puts me in place to receive the puck from McDermott. It’s that rush that allows me to angle my trajectory path to the net, seeing an opportunity between shoulder pads and iceskates.

The puck hits the five-hole and the crowd goes wild. My teammates swarm me, lifting me up, even though I’m one heavy bastard, as they thump their gloved fists against my back for a jobwelldone.

My gaze hits the stands, climbing the rows in search ofherface.

I don’t see her, but I imagine her up there near the top, decked out in my jersey (I bought her my current one), jeans, and her ever-presentstilettos.

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