Page 4 of Mine

“Sometimes I miss being young and only worrying about hockey and who was warming my bed at night,” Cap said.

“Now it’s Facetime with the missus and spawn, shit diapers and whether or not you will get some pussy while you're in town.” I winced at our goalie, Clark, for saying pussy too loud.

“Pretty much,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t think I would be married while playing hockey, but don’t think I would have it any other way.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say to that since it felt like an impossible task to have a relationship while playing. Being a hockey player was demanding with the long seasons and only getting about two to three months off before having to do it all over again.

“You don’t have a lucky someone waiting for you at home?” Cap asked, as the hostess looked for a table to fit the six of us.

“No, I don’t have time to devote to someone and I don’t think it's fair to ask someone to stick this out with me,” I said, hating this conversation I felt was on repeat for the last few years. “No offense.”

“None taken. It takes a special woman… or person,” he said quickly. “Sorry I didn’t mean…”,

I chuckled. “Cap, it’s fine, you don’t have to freak out about saying women.”

“I just don’t want you to think that this team will…”

“I know,” I said, nodding, looking at a few other players here. “You’re a good man Cap and everyone has been fine.”

He nodded like he wanted to say more but he lifted his menu and started looking it over. I know being bisexual was not common in hockey and while I had been outed by the press, I had learned that I was not going to change who I am for anyone. I hadn’t had any issues with the teams I had been with, but I knew teammates always talked. I swear, men gossip worse than women do sometimes. It also helped that Webber was bisexual too and more men were coming out in every sport.

The waitress came over to take our drinks and our obscene food orders. Poor girl looked overwhelmed, but I don’t think it was just the orders. She kept glancing at our goalie, Clark, and our left-wing, Gomez. I wanted to roll my eyes at her lack of professionalism when she kept touching them.

Clark soaked it up while Gomez looked a little uncomfortable which was odd, usually our younger players reveled in being chased by the puck bunnies. Once she left the guys ragged on Gomez saying he could have dessert before his breakfast and this time I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling.

“Oh, come on, Riggs, you remember what it's like being twenty-two and having every woman shooting their shot,” Webber, our center said.

I shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe he doesn’t remember, you know it's been a while for him,” Gomez said with a little smirk.

I wanted to get up and wipe that damn smirk off his face.

Ever since the coach put us on the same offensive line, we had been butting heads. He had been playing like shit and he knew it, the team knew it, but no one wanted to tell him he was our weak link.

“It still happens, little boy,” I said, taunting him because out of everyone, he was the one who got on my nerves the most.

“Sure, grandpa, we all know your time is running out so you might as well soak in the few puck bunnies who give you attention,” he clipped.

Gomez and I stared at each other, I could see the fire he was lacking from last night's game shining in his eyes. I had heard he was a talented player, but since the pre-season he had yet to impress me. A few lucky goals didn’t mean shit.

“Better soak in the hockey life because playing like you have been for the last few games, it might not last long,” I said with a glare.

“At least I have room to grow, it looks like you might be washed up and…”

I stood up immediately, ready to put him in his damn place as he stood up too. We were evenly sized, even if I was a little broader.

“Guys.” Captain also stood up, eyeing us.

“You need to start getting along or else this team won’t work,” Webber said with an annoyed huff. “We all need to work together, so you need to pull your head out of your asses so our offensive line can work. We could be fucking great.”

I glared at Webber, hating that he was playing Switzerland because he knew Gomez wasn’t pulling his weight.

Gomez and I glared at each other, neither of us willing to back down.

“Who had the steak and eggs?” The waitress broke the tension looking at us with wary eyes.

“That would be me,” Clark said, winking at her, breaking more of the tension.

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