Page 16 of Trade Deadline

“I saw this guy during warm-up. Super hot, blond hair, and the bluest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Language!” Mom scolds.

“Sorry.” I grimace, rubbing the back of my neck. “He was beautiful, Mom, which I know sounds stupid. Anyway, I purposely knocked into the boards to get his attention, but I didn’t realize he had put his drink on the ledge, so I ended up completely soaking him with his beer.”

Mom gasps. “Blaine William Olsen! Why would you do such a cruel thing? No wonder he said no if you humiliated him like that.”

Elliot laughs, throwing grapes up in the air and catching them in his mouth.

I shrug. “I dunno… I dunno what compelled me to do it, but I did, and we just…” I trail off, rubbing my face with my palm and mumble, “Had this moment.”

“What was that, sweetie?”

“We had a moment… In the penalty box…”

Elliot erupts into laughter again. I scowl, flipping him off for the second time in a couple of minutes. My middle finger might as well be permanently up with the number of times I’ve flipped the bird in the last twenty-four hours.

“Then,” he leans over, pushing my head out of the way. “He saw him again at Gino’s after the game. He was at the bar, and Blaine was over there like a rocket, trying to be all swoony and seductive, and when he suggested going back to his place, the guy said no!”

Mom rolls her lips; they’re twitching with laughter. She tries to put on a typical sympathetic-mom face as she says, “Oh honey!” but then a giggle escapes. Next thing I know, both my mom and Elliot are belly laughing.

“I don’t find this very funny,” I grumble.

If I could stomp my foot on the floor like a child, I would, because I don’t like being the center of this “let's make a joke out of Blaine” parade.

“Aw, honey. Maybe he isn’t like the rest of the people you… you know,date.” My mom doesn’t like the whole hookup culture. “Why don’t you ask this nice guy on a date?”

I sigh, shaking my head.

“Not everyone is going to be like the others, sweetie. You can’t keep up this persona forever. Isn’t it lonely?”

Yeah, it is really fucking lonely, but it’s better than feeling vulnerable and getting your heart broken.

It’s easier to jump from bed to bed. Having a different partner every night.

Because it means I’m in control of the narrative.

I get to decide whether I take them up on their offer or not, and I get to set the ground rules that are strictly no feelings, one night only, and no strings attached.

Because every person I thought could be the one turned out to have an ulterior motive. Like my college girlfriend, Kelly, when I overheard her talking to her friends in junior year.

I’d just gotten back from an away game at UMass where we lost spectacularly, and there was nothing I wanted more than to just chill with my girl, but as soon as I stepped through the door of her house, I heard her saying that she was only with me for the clout. Once I went pro, she would be able to live the life she’d always wanted; she wouldn’t need to work because I’d have enough money in the bank to support her, and she could buy anything she wanted. She went on to say that she didn’t really love me. I later found out she was sleeping with a guy from the basketball team.

We had been together since freshman year, and the whole time had been a lie.

Nearly three years built on deception.

But I kept trying and kept ending up disheartened.

My mom must notice I’ve disappeared into my own head because she says, “your dad and I were thinking we might try and come to Chicago for Christmas.”

“Yeah, that would be nice. You can stay here or at El’s. I’m happy to host it here.”

She beams. “Invite all the boys too.”

I chuckle. All the guys love our mom. “I’m sure they’ll snap that invitation up in a heartbeat.”

She asks us how we’re feeling ahead of our eight-day road trip to the West Coast, then fills us in on my cousin, who started college this year. Once we say our goodbyes, I’m beat, emotionally drained after my throwback thoughts.

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