I don’t need to scroll back through all 300 messages to find what I’m looking for. As soon as I click the message, a picture of a pig dressed as a raccoon pops up on my screen. Oh, Christ.
The message underneath is from Ares.
Ares: Meet the latest Raccoon. Our new mascot: Bacon.
Of course that’s what he’s called him. I don’t even know what to do with this. Who just ups and gets a fucking pet potbelly pig?
Someone with a shit ton of money, who gives no fucks, and who is more impulsive than anyone else I’ve ever met. To be fair the pig is kind of cute, and it could have been worse, he could have picked up a raccoon. That would have been much worse—those suckers are vicious as fuck and hard as hell to train.
All things considered, he’s been restrained in Ares terms. So I can’t be too mad. The team is typing their adoration for our newest team member and I wonder what other carnage happened in the 299 other messages in the text string leading up to the pet pig.
Ares messages that Bacon will live with him, but we all have visitation rights and can take him for sleepovers if we want. He says Bacon is a chick magnet. He’s also going to find someone to take him to games to cheer us on, and I wonder if an arena of screaming fans is the best place to take a poor, defenseless pig.
I also think it’s a bit presumptuous to stick him in a raccoon costume on his first day. Doesn’t he need to see us play first before he decides if he’s a fan or not?
I tell the guys to focus, not on the new porcine in raccoon’s clothing, but on the fact we need to concentrate for the game later and cut out distractions. Distractions like a shiny new pet. And a beautiful woman cheering me on in the stands.
* * *
Cutting out distractions would be easier if they didn’t come to the rink. Bacon tottered around the locker room getting ear and belly scratches from all the players, right up to the point Coach burst into the room and told Ares to get him the fuck out.
I’m not sure where he put the pig, if he brought a crate with him or what, but he moved him pretty damn quick. Bacon’s kind of cute, though, and he has his own Instagram. He already has more followers than the team account which is embarrassing.
The game was… Ugh. It was fine. It wasn’t great and it wasn’t awful. It was just okay. Mediocre. We aren’t a mediocre team, though, so even though we scraped a win by only one goal, it feels like we lost by 100. I even scored the game winning goal. And I still can’t be happy about it.
I’m in my suit post-game, leaning against the bar and surveying the crowd. I know Savannah’s here—not only did she tell me she would be, but it’s as though her energy is charging the air around me. I feel her. I just don’t see her yet.
A beer appears in my periphery on the bar to my right, and I spin to face the person who brushed against my back to put it there. It’s her, my Savannah, beam of sunshine and sugar, lighting the place up with a radiant smile.
She’s wearing a Raccoon’s jersey that falls to her mid-thigh, and I swear to all that’s holy if it’s crested with a name and number on the back that isn’t mine I’m going to lose my shit.
If it’s blank and doesn’t have a name and number on it, I’m reaching behind the bar to our emergency supply of autograph Sharpies, and I’m going to fix it right here in the bar.
“Justin?” Her forehead wrinkles with a frown. “Why do you look murderous when your shot won the game?”
“I was just thinking that if you have someone else’s name across your shoulders, I’m not going to be okay about it.”
She laughs and sips her beer. The long pause before she answers almost suffocates me.
“I don’t have a name on my shirt. It would be a little…” She taps the rim of the bottle against her plump bottom lip and suddenly I couldn’t care less about the shirt, I want my dick in her hand. “Presumptuous…wouldn’t you say? Getting your name on my shirt is kind of a big commitment. We’re not there yet.” Her eyes hold hope. “We haven’t even had a real date.”
Or maybe I just think they hold hope. I slide a knuckle under her chin and drop a light brush of my lips against hers. “I’m happy to wait. But you will have my name across your shoulders someday soon.”
She’s not wrong. We do need to go on a real date. And then another. I’m already in with both feet, but she’s still reluctant to trust me, and trying to get to know someone over the holidays between deadlines, travel, and hockey, certainly hasn’t been easy.
A couple of guys are waiting to talk to me. She gives me a look that says “go ahead,” but I don’t want to. I want to talk to her. She doesn’t give me a choice though, because before I can say Gordie Howe, she’s walking away from me and over to where Athena de la Peña is holding court with two guys and a girl I’ve never seen before.
As Savannah sits down, one of the guys turns toward her and gives her a smile. Am I proud of the fact I’m jealous as fuck right now? No. We haven’t defined the terms of our very, very, very…okay, one moreveryfledgling…thing…yet, but I want to. I want her to be mine, exclusively. From now until always.
I hold up a finger to the two guys wanting to talk, but they’ve already lost interest and are chatting about the game to Tate and Scott. Scott has positioned himself to have an eye on Savannah and Athena. Does he have the hots for her too? I need to act quickly before my teammate takes it upon himself to move in on my girl.
I’d have to kill him and hide his body. Way too much work. And we’d need to find a replacement for him on the team. I shelve that thought for a hot minute and grab my phone from my pocket.
Justin: Can I take you home?
Justin: When you’re ready I mean. Not right now.
Her body jumps upright in her seat. If I had to guess, she has the vibrate function turned on, and her phone scared the crap out of her.
