I guess love wasn’t meant for me. Not in my childhood, and certainly not now.
But I can’t lie and say I don’t sit there and think about just saying “fuck it” and finally finding the courage to lose my virginity. Because I have, on several occasions. But I couldn’t just dive right in, I’d end up humiliated and I’d have to admit how inexperienced I am, and in return, she’ll probably laugh in my face.
No amount of porn or research could suddenly make me the next big hot shot porn star. I needed actual guidance, someone to physically teach me. It’s embarrassing to ask that of someone though. To ask them to tutor me in all things sex related. Andif I’m honest, I have no idea how to even ask that of someone.
I’ve had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind for weeks telling me that the time is right to begin this new adventure, but I’m scared.
Scared of rejection, scared I won’t find the one to help me…scared of finally losing a piece of me that’s been sacred for all my life. Fuck, I’m scared of more than I’d like to admit.
I know that deep down I’m doing the right thing, waiting for the right person. But it’s hard to hold onto that belief when the world around me seems to be moving at a different pace.
And what if I’m waiting for someone that doesn’t exist? Or more so, what I'm only setting myself up for disappointment?
Chapter 9
Greyson
Exhausted, that’s the only word to describe how I am feeling right now. Completely and utterly exhausted. It’s Wednesday, and usually that’s our day off from practice. But when Coach told us a couple of days ago we were expected at the rink at exactly nine sharp, we had no other choice but to obey.
He wanted us to be prepared for our game against Brightstone Boars on Friday, which I don’t understand why because it’s going to be the easiest game we’ve played since the season began.
And I'm not just saying that because we're a better team, I'm saying it because it's the truth. Their Coach suddenly left the team without an explanation at the end of last season, which meant they had to get a new one in ASAP, and either their new Coach hasn't got a fucking clue what he's doing, or the team is just slacking. Either way, it was going to be an easy game, so I wasn't worried.
“Again!” Coach shouts from the side.
My gloved hand reaches up and rubs at my helmet, loosening it slightly from my head as I groan frustratedly.Again, again, fucking again!How many times do we have to do this?
Hunter charges toward me, the puck close to his stick. Crouching lower, my eyes lock on the puck as he fakes right, then left, trying to throw me off. But I stay focused, tracking his every move. Dropping to my knees as the puck leaves his stick, my gloved hand reaches out to catch the puck with a satisfying thud.
“Nice save, Montgomery!” Coach praises, clapping hands together. “Now, that’s a move number fourteen likes to do, fake it both sides, thinks he’s got a chance, and boom! You catch the puck, and he goes crying to mommy and daddy because he couldn’t get a goal.”
Chase and Theo take their turn next, each trying to outsmart me with their shots. Theo’s shot is powerful but predictable, and I manage to block it with my pads. But Chase? That’s a different story. He winds up sending the puck flying toward the top corner of the net, not usually his go to move. Leaping, my gloved hand reaches out, and Ijustmanage to deflect it with the tip of my glove before it reaches the net.
“Now what Kingston just did, that’s what number two does. His go to is always in the corner of the net, so keep an eye out for him, okay?” Coach sends me a look.
“Yes, Coach.” I nod, but I knew this already.
Most nights before I go to sleep, I pull up the opposing team's gameplay, and have their playbook beside me so I could go through their strategies and memorize them. As a goalie I need to understand the way they play so I can protect our goal better. Obviously sometimes goals slip in here and there, but for the most part, I like to think I’m a decent goalie. I mean, come on, I’m literallyone of the top ten goalies in college hockey—number three, but who’s counting?—so, if that doesn’t say something, then I don’t know what does.
“Right, speed shots and then we’ll be done for the day,” he announces. “Montgomery, you ready for this?”
“Yes, coach.” I nod, even though in reality, I wanna be done, likehoursago.
Everyone gets into place before me, each of them eager to get off the ice as I am. Tightening my grip on the stick, my eyes lock on the puck as it moves around the ice from teammate to teammate, waiting impatiently until one of them decides to take a shot.
“Alright, Montgomery, here they come.” Coach shouts, like I haven’t got eyes and can see for myself.
The first shot comes like a bullet that completely takes me off guard. Sinking into my stance with my knees bent, I slide to the right, feeling the puck slam into my pads.
The next one is high and fast, snapping my glove up, I manage to catch the puck cleanly. The satisfying smack of the puck hitting leather was like music to my ears. The shots keep coming, each one faster than the last. Moving with precision, my body reacted instinctively as they seemed to fly at me faster than I moved around homes, which was pretty damn fast.
A low shot to the left, pad save.
A high shot to the right, glove save.
A shot to the five-hole, I dropped into a butterfly, sealing off the bottom of the net.
I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, neck, back…even in places I’m not going to say. My muscles were burning, and I'm sure I have a nasty bruise forming on my inner thigh from when one of the freshman slapshotted too hard when I wasn't ready. But bruising comes along with the position, and I'm used to it.
