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I pause at the landing. There’s a lot of shit in the hallway. Girl clothes. Some nice underwear. And a lot of holes in the walls. And more broken glass.
Lance isn’t a bad guy. He’s actually a decent person under all the bullshit and fighting, but he’s got a complex. No one knows why, or what he’s trying to prove, because as much as he invites everyone to his house to party, none of us is close enough to know why he does the things he does. All I know is his relationship with his family back in Scotland isn’t good. The rest of them are in Connecticut, and he doesn’t see them much, either.
Miller goes ahead of me. “Romance? You up here?”
Lance stumbles out into the hall, his shoulder slamming the wall. He’s holding a bottle of booze, and his knuckles are bloody. He’s definitely responsible for all the holes in the walls, not that there was any other possibility.
Miller rushes him and grabs the bottle before he loses his grip. Lance points an accusing finger at us. “Why didn’t anyone warn me?” Weaving into the wall, he stumbles toward the bathroom. He doesn’t quite make it to the toilet, but at least he hits the sink.
Getting him sobered up for the game tonight isn’t going to be fun.
***
Over the next couple of weeks, Miller and I keep an eye on Lance. He’s not going out to the bars, and he’s not throwing parties, which is a surprise. I figured he’d for sure bunny-fuck his way out of his funk, but he’s not interested in anything—apart from training and booze, anyway. After his three-game suspension, I was sure he’d get himself in shit on the ice, but he’s managed to keep it together for the most part. He still leads for penalty minutes, but at least he’s not picking fights as much.
I haven’t heard from Lily at all. It should be a good thing, but it kinda bugs me. I decide I’ll be the one to break the silence when I realize our next Toronto game is coming up. This time I want her at the game, and then in my bed for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, the game’s not at the end of a series, so I don’t have time to stick around. But at least we can have the night—and breakfast or something before I fly back to Chicago.
Lily answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice is raspy, like it was when I woke her up in the middle of the night—repeatedly—to get back inside her.
“Hey. I wake you up?”
She makes a noise that isn’t really a word.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You want me to call you back tomorrow?” I don’t want to, but I figure I should give her the option since it is kind of late. I don’t even know if she wants to talk to me. Maybe after last time she’s not all that interested. Although considering how into it she was, I’d be surprised.
“No, it’s fine. I can sleep later. How’re you?”
I laugh at her mumbling. “You musta been out cold.”
“Musta. What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
“Wow. I’ve been out for hours.” The words are clearer now, no longer running together with the heaviness of sleep.
“Working too much again?”
“Still. Yeah. Nice goal last game.”
“You saw that?” I grin.
“The highlights, but yeah. How’s the new trainer? Sunny told me what happened with Lance. It’s kinda soap opera-y, eh?”
“Yeah. I guess. We’re all adjusting.” There’s a few seconds of silence, so I decide to throw it out there. “Since you mentioned games and scoring goals, we’ll be in Toronto in a couple weeks. Wanna come play with me?”
“You wanna see me again?”
I put her on speaker phone. “Well, yeah. I’m gonna be local. Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from you since last time.” She’s all quiet.
“You didn’t message me either.”
“Well, I don’t know how this works. I figure it’s supposed to be all casual and stuff.”
Sometimes I forget this is different. She’s not a bunny. “You can still message me and send me pictures of yourself. I like naked ones the best.” I adjust the pillow behind my head. “In fact, I think you should send me one right now.”
“I’m not sending you naked pictures. They’ll end up on the internet.”
“I promise I’ll keep them to myself.” I don’t expect her to send me naked pictures, although I’ve had plenty of women do that.
“Still no.”
“You can’t blame me for trying. I guess you’ll just need to come to my game so we can get naked in real life afterward.” Several memories, including the sex in the hotel bathroom, make my dick spring to life.
“I don’t know, Randy. I think I’m still recovering from last time.”
“Three weeks later?”
