Page 39 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

The night after our game against the Atlanta Vipers, I am still riding high from our win. The energy from the crowd, the adrenaline from the game—it is all still coursing through me. All I want at this point is to hit the town with the boys and my favorite pain in the ass girl. Especially since we are in the town she lives in and she's been fucking with me all day. I am riled up, hard as steel, and frustrated with no outlet for my tension until I can get her beneath me.

I shoot her a text, expecting her usual quick, witty reply. But instead, I get a curt response.

Ziggy:Busy tonight.

Can’t hang out.

No explanations, nothing. She's practically poured a bucket of ice water over my enthusiasm. I stare at my phone, a mix of confusion and irritation developing within me. We just went over this. We are exclusively only sleeping with each other. I have no reason to get concerned, but her response is off. This isn’t like her, and it leaves me feeling strangely unsettled, wondering what the hell is going on.

The guys notice my funk almost immediately. “What’s up with you, man? You look like someone just told you that they discontinued your favorite protein shake,” Oren teases, clapping me on the back.

“Oh, no! Not his high protein kale and blueberry shakes!” Ford adds with a deadpan stare. “Is it a girl? It’s always a girl,” he adds with a knowing grin.

I roll my eyes, trying to shake off the frustration. “Just a rough night,” I mutter, not about to let them in on the real reason for my mood.

“Come on, let’s hit up the hotel bar for some burgers and a beer. That’ll cheer you up,” Vlad suggests, and the boys start chirping in agreement.

Hanging out with these idiots will be enough to lift my spirits. We head back toward our hotel, the sting of Ziggy’s brush-off dimming my enthusiasm slightly.

We settle into a high top at the hotel bar. While we might still be buzzing with the energy of being on a heater, the rest of the hotel guests are none the wiser. It doesn't seem like a single person in the building cares that we’re professional hockey players. In this case, it’s probably a good thing since we just beatthe shit out of the local team. We all sit around devouring our food and nursing our drinks while we shoot the shit. For a few hours, none of us have a care in the world.

I sit back watching our defenseman, Oren Samuels, zero in on a brunette at the bar. Always the charmer, it doesn't matter what type of lady he goes after. They usually fall for his charm and smooth talking. His good looks, dark features, high fade, and the tattoos that start on his neck and keep going to a place I don’t want to find out about only add to his mysterious allure.

Unfortunately, many women are easily taken in by his swagger and are blind to his true intentions. He is a one-and-done man. He, and I quote, “will never be tied down.” So, he lives his life, one bed to the next. Although tonight doesn’t seem to be going in his favor. I watch with secondhand embarrassment as he turns on his full confidence swagger and tells the woman that he is a full-time hockey player and wannabe rapper. But it is clear she isn't buying what he’s selling.

“Hey, you know, I’m not usually one for pickup lines, but I saw you from across the room and had to come over. If my defense on the ice was as good as the way you just stole my attention, I’d be unstoppable,” he says with a megawatt smile.

The woman raises an eyebrow at him, “Is that supposed to impress me?”

Oren’s smile doesn’t falter, “Actually yes. People find me pretty impressive. But hey, I've also got some great stories from the rink if you prefer—"

"That’s cute, but I think you should save that one for someone else. So, thanks, but no thanks," sexy brunette says, cutting him off.

She turns away with a dismissive wave, leaving Oren shaking his head as he stares after her. He turns back to me, trying to shrug it off.

"Guess she's not into athletes, huh?" he says with a chuckle.

At this point, it’s hard not to laugh at him."Or maybe she's just into a different type of game, buddy."

“Ouch, tough break,” Vlad laughs, nudging me.

Just as we are about to lay into him and give him a real hard time, an even hotter redhead sidles up next to him and buys him a drink.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Ford turns to us with a triumphant grin, raising his glass in a silent toast. “Guess luck’s on Oren's side tonight,” he says, and we all burst out laughing. I laugh until my sides hurt, feeling some of the annoyance truly leave my body.

My phone buzzes, and I see Ziggy’s name flash on the screen. And there goes my good mood…

For a split second, I consider ignoring it, but curiosity gets the better of me. I answer, and immediately, I can tell something is off.

“Hey, Elliot,” she slurs slightly, the noise of a bar in the background. “I, um... I need a favor.”

Great. What now?

“What’s going on, Z?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

“Please don’t get mad, but I went to dinner with my ex, and he left me downtown. I’ve had a few too many drinks and probably shouldn’t drive home and my phone’s about to die. I’m afraid to Uber without it. Can you come get me?” Her voice sounds small and vulnerable, a far cry from the fiery, competitive woman I am used to.

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