Page 26 of Risky Pucking Play
I shower quickly, my muscles pleasantly sore. The hot water washes over me, and I close my eyes, immediately seeing Elena—her dark hair splayed across her desk, lips parted, eyes locked on mine as I moved inside her. My cock stirs at the memory, and I quickly redirect my thoughts before I embarrass myself in front of twenty naked hockey players.
Miller's Bar is loud and dark, with hockey memorabilia covering every wall. The team claims a section in the back, players spreading out across several tables. Pitchers of beer arrive immediately, followed by plates of wings and nachos. I nurse a single beer, sitting slightly apart as I watch my teammates celebrate.
Across the bar, several players are already working their angles with women who follow the team. It's the same routine after every game—score on the ice, score off it. The ritual used to include me. Not anymore.
"Not joining the hunt tonight?" Daniels slides into the chair across from me, his own beer half-empty.
I shake my head. "Not interested."
He studies me with those analytical goalie eyes. "Something’s different with you lately."
"Better different or worse different?"
"Just different." He takes a slow sip. "More focused. Less of an asshole." He laughs. "Most of the time at least."
I laugh, genuinely appreciating his bluntness. "Maybe I'm finally growing up."
"About fucking time." But he's smiling. "Thirty's right around the corner."
"Don't remind me."
We watch as one of our rookies strikes out spectacularly with a woman at the bar. She walks away, leaving him mid-sentence.
"Think we've got a shot this year?" I ask, changing the subject. "At the Cup, I mean."
Daniels considers this seriously. He's been with the Blades for twelve years, seen teams rise and fall. "If we keep playing like tonight? Yeah, we've got a shot."
"Damn, I hope so."
He leans forward. "This team's solid. Good scoring, excellent goaltending?—"
"Humble," I interject.
He flips me off casually. "Good defense. Decent depth. What we've been missing is that game-breaker. Someone who can change the momentum single-handedly."
"Like tonight."
"Like tonight," he agrees. "Do that consistently, and we're contenders."
The responsibility settles on me, heavy but not unwelcome. For years, I've been the problem child, the selfish star, the locker room asshole. Maybe now I can be something else.
Daniels finishes his beer and checks his watch. "Gotta head out. Sophie's waiting up."
"How long you two been together now?"
"Three years. Married for two." His face softens.
A sharp pang hits me. I know that feeling that I see all over his face. I just can't have her—not openly, anyway.
"Tell Sophie I said hi."
"Will do." He stands, pulling on his jacket. "Congrats again on the hat trick. You’re killing it."
“Thanks, man. And thanks for being a kickass goalie. The team would be nothing without you.”
After he leaves, I stay for another twenty minutes, talking to some of the guys and watching the scene around me with detached interest. Two years ago, I'd be in the middle of it all, buying rounds, drawing attention, leaving with whichever woman caught my eye. Tonight, it all seems hollow.
I slip out without announcing my departure. The night air is chilly against my face as I walk to my car. My phone remains silent in my pocket.
