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Before we lucked out with Alex Parker having another scandal that got him traded from the Capitals to the Flyers, we were on a ten game losing streak. We had zero chance of getting into the playoffs, let alone winning the Cup. With Alex, maybe next season we will have a real shot. But he spent most of our season wallowing in his depression over Coach. His game suffered. Our mojo suffered. Any team spirit we had gone down the fucking toilet.
Growing up in South Jersey, I watched the Flyers religiously. My life consisted of eating, sleeping, and breathing hockey. I was the local kid who busted his ass and lucked out, somehow managing to find an agent who signed me to the team I have loved my entire life right out of high school. But that agent couldn’t even get me a sponsor deal, so I had to replace him with Coach, a sexy female sports agent who Parker scored. I tried hard to hook up with Coach our first year together, but she had rules that Parker talked her into breaking. Lucky bastard.
Now, we’re at Club Rave to celebrate Parker handing over his balls on a silver platter to his girl, and I’m doing my best to drink away another loss. Bringing the glass to my lips, I look up at the girls dancing in cages suspended from the ceiling, knocking back my third Jack and Coke since I talked to the sports reporter with a sexy as fuck phone operator voice.
“What are you doing out here?” Donovan yells over the thump of the bass. “I’ve been looking for you for the last hour.”
“I went outside to call that reporter for Parker. Then, I got a little distracted.” I point at the girls dancing in slutty costumes on the bar in front of me, my eyes traveling up to the cages above.
My teammate and best friend, Carter Donovan nods. “I can see why.” He licks his lips, making eye contact with a girl who has long, dark hair pulled into pigtails over her shoulders wearing a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. “We thought you left. Now that Parker doesn’t drink anymore, I look like an alcoholic doing shots by myself. Let’s go back to the VIP room. The next show is about to start.”
“If they’re not flashing their tits this time, I think I’ll stay right here.”
He clamps a hand on my shoulder, pinning me in place. Donovan is a big ass dude. Even at six feet two inches, I seem small in comparison to his giant frame. “It’s not that kind of club, bro. We can go down to Scores after Parker leaves.”
“Nah, we can stay here for now.”
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, sending a tremor up my leg combined with the house music pumping through the speakers. Expecting it to be the reporter from Sports Buzz, I get a little excited as I pull the phone from my pocket. Until I check the Caller ID.
Then, my heart plunges into my stomach like an anchor hitting the ocean floor. The one person who has the ability to ruin my night i
n an instant has the nerve to text me. What does she want now?
Her message reads, Just a heads up. The Hudsons said we can come over to see Blake next Saturday instead of Sunday. I let your parents know about the change earlier.
I want to crush the phone and Hulk Smash it into a thousand pieces. She did this to me. She made me this way. She broke my fucking heart and gave away a piece of us that I wasn’t ready to give. I hate her. I hate that I still love her. I hate myself for letting her convince me that we did the right thing for us, for my career. Now, all I have is hockey and the pain I carry because of her conniving.
“You okay, man?” Donovan says with a concerned look on his face.
I shake my head, unable to look him in the eye, feeling ashamed. She opens up old wounds every time she calls, every time we have to be in the same room together.
“It was Payton. No, I’m not okay.”
He places his big hand on my back and shoves me toward the bar, like the ogre he is, and calls out to the hot bartender dressed in black spandex and leather, her cleavage spilling out of her corset.
“Can I have a bottle of Johnnie Walker and two glasses?”
The girl raises an eyebrow at him. “We only have bottle service in the VIP rooms. You’ll have to book one if you want to order a bottle.”
He removes his wallet from his pocket and slides his American Express black card across the bar with his finger. “Now, do you have bottle service?”
A tiny smile crosses her full lips. “Sure. Coming right up.” She takes his card and slides it through the register, ringing up one of the most expensive bottles of whiskey they have, before standing on a stool, giving us a nice view of her perfect ass, to grab a bottle from the top shelf.
I bet she’s already counting the tip in her head as she climbs down from the stool. She lines up two glasses in front of us, her tits shaking out of her top. We chug down the amber liquid in one sip and slam the glasses down, waiting for her to pour us another one.
After that text, I could pound the entire bottle, and it still wouldn’t be enough to erase Payton from my brain.
I lean over the bar so the bartender can hear me better. “What are you doing later?”
“Closing down the bar and going home.”
“You should come back to my place,” I say, slipping my fingers through my short blond hair and giving her my best crooked smile, the same one that makes girls drop their inhibitions along with their panties.
She looks to Donovan first, biting the inside of her cheek, before shifting her gaze back to me. “Depends on if you will both be there?”
I get close enough that she can feel my breath on her lips. “No, just me.”
“Shame,” she says, brushing her hair over her shoulder, “but I guess you will do.”
