Page 1 of In The Game

PARTONE

BEFORE

ONE

Ilove my job working for a promotional modeling consulting firm. Getting paid to party, having access to all the VIP events, and hanging out with celebrities and athletes is the greatest. I mingle, casually talk to people about a product, then the night is mine. It’s a great gig; all I need to do is stay in shape and look pretty. Easy enough.

My phone reads 12:02 a.m. Perfect! Now I’m off the clock.

I’m still in shape from when I was a goalie on the varsity hockey team in Raleigh, North Carolina throughout high school. I loved playing, so much so I was hoping to play for the University of Minnesota, but I didn’t make the cut.

After high school, I needed to get out of North Carolina, so I was thrilled to receive a scholarship to attend the university as a student, and that’s where I’ve been for the last few years—Minneapolis. College student by day, promotional model by night,puck bunny—ew, I hate that term—on the weekends. My hockey playing days might be behind me, but I never lost passion for the sport. Or the players.

New Jersey’s winger, Rahul Manzino, has already texted me for a hookup since he’s in town with a trainer. But this party has been fun, and I’m not ready to leave. The Lakes hockey team is here, and they’ve brought in a bunch of fans. It’s such a vibe.

It’s dark and seductive, the bass thumps through the floor, and the light show is top notch. Across the room is the VIP area with the team and a few other women that will probably be taken home tonight. I recognize a couple of them from other hockey events.

I squint when I look at my phone screen and then turn down the brightness before pulling up Manzino’s Instagram. Even though he’s one of the most attractive players on the team, I’m tempted to ditch him tonight; something’s telling me to skip it. Besides, Manzino isn’t my favorite player to hook up with. He’s been losing his charm, almost everything that comes out of his mouth makes me cringe.

Last time we were together, he pulled thedo-you-even-know-who-I-amcard on a doorman. We met when he was a rookie and had a promising career. But he parties too much, his game is slipping, and his stats have plummeted. Last season, he tanked on the leaderboards. I scroll through the team and jersey numbers in my contacts list until I reach the right one.

Me: Hey, sorry to cancel last minute, not feeling well. Next time?

The little dots appear at the bottom of the screen as I wait for his response.

#32 NJ - Manzino: I’m not in town until next season. You sure you want to do this?

Ugh, entitlement. Nothing turns me off faster. Unfortunately, it’s common among hockey players. Don’t get me wrong, I like to be catered to just as much, but the difference is, I have to work a lot harder for mine. He expects it.

And honestly, who doesn’t love attention?The majority of humans do. Hell, even babies need it to live. Maybe that’s why I crave it so much in my twenties, because I didn’t get enough when I was younger. Well, not the right kind, at least. Back home, I was Raleigh, the girl with an unfortunate name and even more unfortunate upbringing.

I used to curse my figure and hated being beautiful, especially when I was younger. Men would leer at me before I could even drive. Part of the reason I loved playing goalie so much was because I could hide my body from everyone. It attracted bad attention. Unwanted attention. My looks have ruined a lot of things in my life.

However, now that I’ve started over somewhere new, I’m finding not all attention is bad. Like the attention from hockey players. I don’t know if it’s because we share common ground or knowing they are so close to something I love, but being with hockey players is the best.

We have a mutual agreement: they use me for my body and I use them for a hit of oxytocin. I’m addicted to those safe, secure feelings you get when someone hugs you. The closeness that promises everything will be okay. Those happy tingles that mimic love. It’s the greatest feeling on earth.

I’ve slept with a lot of hockey players; their stamina is wonderful. It gives me a night of feeling whole and all the temporary, artificial love I can get my hands on. If I have to sleep with them to get those warm, fuzzy feelings, then so be it. I don’t want to be a bunny, I hate it. But it’s the easiest way to get a taste of what it means to be loved. Love feels good. They say it’s not an addiction until you suck dick for it.Well…

When I look up from my phone, Conway is eyeing me again. Damn, he’s really good-looking.

Normally, if I want someone new, all I need to do is hit Follow on his Insta before he gets to town, and within twenty-four hours, I’ll have a message in my DMs with the name of a hotel or bar.It’s too easy.But unless you fuck the home team, offseason can be quiet. I’m a Lakes fan, so I prefer not to fuck them. There was one time last year when I slipped up and slept with one of the defensemen, but we were both drunk, so it wasn’t memorable. It may not make much sense, but it’s nice to keep some things separate. I stick with the away teams. It’s easier to be noncommittal and uninvolved if they are only in town every once in a while.

I’m not naive. I know a relationship would never form between a local player and me, but it doesn’t mean my heart wouldn’t get addicted to the feelings that come with sex. Besides, I’d rather keep my “roster” limited. It makes me more desirable. But what’s the difference between a local or away player if it’s only one night during offseason?

It would be nice to hook up with a player that’s on his game. Hockey is the best sport on the planet, and I appreciate the athletic ability required to excel at it. Usually, some of the other girls will stick around after work, but tonight, I’m flying solo. Oftentimes, women who enjoy athletes as I do, will travel in small packs for safety. If shit goes down, we’ll help a fellow sister get out of a dangerous situation, but you don’t need more than two or three girls for that. Anything else is competition.

I should probably leave or message Manzino and say"just kidding, I’d love to take a ride on your bologna pony, thanks!"However, I can’t pull myself away from this area. As the DJ plays a bunch of electronic mashups, attractive women weave between some of the VIP guests in the sectioned off area. It’s quieter back here. There’s a full bar with three bartenders. Low circular sofas are set up all around, lending themselves to more intimate gatherings among patrons.

I step up to the wall of catered food and grab a couple items. I haven’t eaten all night, and my stomach is growling. I’ll just hit the gym after stuffing my face.God, this is good. Okay, Raleigh, food isn’t love. Good feelings come from dicks, not dinner.I pop one last bacon-wrapped scallop in my mouth, letting the buttery seafood melt on my tongue.Damn, that’s delicious.

I refocus and return my attention to the partygoers, specifically the Lakes players. Lonan’s hot and single. I slept with him last year on a whim; he had a nice dick, but I could tell he wasn’t into it. He was just going through the motions. There were no fuzzy feelings that night.

My eyes drift back to Conway, he’s distracted and talking to the player next to him, Brit O’Callahan. It gives me a chance to admire him from a distance. Near the back wall, I hide in the shadows to stalk my prey. He’s practically a giant. I don’t know his exact height, but it’s up there. I’m kind of surprised he’s not a goalie. He’s on the older side. I’m twenty-two, but he’s gotta be in his thirties.

I pull out my phone and type his name into the search bar…let’s see what we get...

Barrett Conway. No wife or girlfriend.Good start.Some women don’t care if a man’s committed, but that’s a line I don’t cross. I refuse to get my love fix by destroying someone else’s. I check his stats—he’s solid. Has a ton of career goals. Holy shit, he’s only a handful away from 200.How have I not noticed him before?He flies under the radar. It’s always the quiet ones…

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