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“The way the media portrays me is inaccurate.”
“Uh-huh.” Of course he’s going to say this.
“Uh, excuse me.”
The interruption breaks the tension. Two guys stop in front of our table.
“Are you Alex Waters?”
“Hey.” Frustration lies under Alex’s smile.
“I told you, man!” He smacks his buddy on the arm, his excitement gaining momentum and volume. “I told him it was you! This is so cool. You’re like the best player in the league, hands down!”
“Thanks, man. Listen—”
“Can I get your autograph, man? No one’s gonna believe this!”
“Yeah, sure.” Alex shoots me an apologetic look.
He’s genuinely trying to be nice to this guy whose social skills have lapsed in the face of idolization. The guy pulls out a piece of crumpled lined paper, rambling on about how he plays defense in Junior As and how he wants to go pro. He’s a skinny little guy and clearly a college freshman. Alex lets him go on for a few minutes, snapping selfies and asking questions. He gives them the “Keep working hard and you can reach your goals” speech. I understand why he’s the captain of his team. Once they’re done fawning, Alex gives me a pained smiled.
“I’m sorry.” He dips his pinkie into the whipped cream and slips his finger between his full, soft lips . . . and I’m wet. I want to skip the make out session and go straight to naked. I’ll suck the whipped cream off any damn thing he dips in there. Including the monster cock.
“It’s okay.” I clear my throat and shift around, trying to get comfortable. I need to get a handle on my hormones. We’re supposed to be having a discussion, and my mind is in the gutter.
“What were we talking about again?” He takes a small sip of his drink. Whipped cream forms a mustache he quickly licks away.
“You’re not the person the media portrays you to be. Yet, you sure seem to play the part.” I give him my resting bitch face: squinty eyes paired with pursed lips. It makes Buck run for cover, and Sidney usually finds somewhere else to be if it comes out. Alex sinks in his chair.
“When I started playing for the NHL, the rumors were somewhat justified. The media likes to blow things out of proportion. I won’t deny there was some accuracy. I was eighteen and a rookie. There were lots of girls . . .”
I guess I can understand this. If you’re a single, hot professional hockey player, women are going to throw themselves at you. I’m a case in point, although his appeal was only physical before the Fielding comment.
“Anyway, the Hat Trick rumor is a load of crap. I threw a party when I bought my house, and my cousin came because she wanted to be introduced to one of my teammates. If I’d known then what I know now, I never would’ve entertained the idea, incidentally. Another girl was interested in me, but she . . .” He shudders. “Let’s just say she wasn’t my type. Anyway, the third girl they accused me of sleeping with was my sister. She was underage, and she crashed the party. I was trying to get her under control. Some jerk took grainy pictures and posted them, and the myth of the Waters Hat Trick was born.”
“You never deny it in the interview.” It’s all hearsay, anyway. He can tell me whatever he wants; I can’t disprove it either way.
“No. I didn’t.” He drops his head with a sigh. “It was a bad move on my part. All it’s done is made me look like a total jerk.” He’s whisper quiet. “You have no idea what it’s like, Violet.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I can’t fathom why you would want to come across as a womanizer.”
“Did you know Buck took figure skating lessons?”
The abrupt change in topic throws me. I learned of this after Buck became my stepbrother. I found the idea of Buck in spandex hilarious and disconcerting. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s standard, really. Most of the guys who play professional take figure skating to develop their skills on the ice.”
“It’s usually a year or two, right?”
He lowers his voice to make sure no one eavesdrops. “Usually. I was in figure skating for ten years.”
I almost choke on my latte. “Pardon?”
“I started when I was seven. My mother wanted me to be a figure skater. I picked up hockey when I was nine. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I did both for a long time. I think she believed one day I’d change my mind and pick it over hockey. Until I was drafted into the minors, she was positive I’d make the Olympics.”
I feel bad for Alex. Why would his mother force him to do something he didn’t love for so long?
