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“What the hell was it?” I ask.
Pike busts out laughing again, and Pax scowls at him.
“Icy Hot,” Pax says, cringing. “She put like half a fucking tube of Icy Hot on me. Said she heard it feels amazing for guys. But it burned like you would not believe.”
“So what’d you do?” Grady asks.
“I was pulling on the handcuffs, because it was just…instinct, you know? I was dying to get that stuff off my junk. She unlocked one of them and then goes to a dresser drawer to dig for the other key, and I’m in agony by now. I’m yelling and pulling on the other handcuff, and she’s freaking out, about to start crying.”
I can’t help it; I bust out laughing as I picture the scene.
“It’s not funny!” Pax protests. “It hurt like a motherfucker. Like someone putting out their cigar on my asshole and then pouring lava all over my dick, balls and taint.”
We’re all laughing at this point. Pax furrows his brow, shakes his head, and keeps going.
“So I pull on the handcuffs so hard I break the post off her bed. And I run straight to the bathroom and get in the shower, so I can wash that shit off. But somehow…the water made it even worse. I’m howling like a wild animal at this point, because it burns so fucking bad my unborn children are sweating.”
The entire locker room is listening now, everyone either laughing or staring at him in amused disbelief.
“Then the doorbell to her apartment rings,” he says. “It’s the cops. The neighbors called them because they heard me yelling and thought I was hurting her. And they won’t take her word for it that everything’s fine. They say they need to talk to me.”
“And this is while you’re in the shower?” I ask.
“I had just gotten out. So my entire crotch and ass area are on fire, and I can’t get my erection to go down. The cops come to the bathroom door and think something’s up since I don’t want to open it all the way. One of them actually reaches for his gun.”
“Shit,” Grady whispers.
“Yeah.” Pax pauses for a second. “So I have to step out of the bathroom, and my dick is poking out from the towel wrapped around my waist. I have to tell them what happened so they don’t think I was hurting the woman, the cops are trying not to laugh, and I’m in so much pain that I ask them to punch me in the face and knock me out.”
“This is like a scene from a movie,” Pike says, grinning.
Pax ignores him. “Then one of the cops suggests I put milk on it, like you do when you eat spicy food. I would have tried anything by then, so Tamara—that’s the chick’s name—gets me some milk and I go back into her bathroom and pour it all over my dick in the shower.”
“Did it work?” I ask, dying to know how this ends.
“It worked.” Pax looks relieved, even now. “I was taking turns propping each leg on the shower wall, bending over and pouring it on my ass crack, just trying to get milk on every spot she rubbed Icy Hot on.”
“You know the cops are telling that story to everyone they know,” Pike says with a snicker.
“I don’t even care.” Pax shrugs. “I’d star in a PSA about it if it saved even one guy from feeling like his dick was being used as tinder for a campfire.”
“Did you leave after that?” Grady asks.
“Hell yes, I left. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Tamara kept saying she was sorry, but it didn’t matter. I could never look at her again and not remember the way that Icy Hot felt. I gave her some cash for the broken bed and told her to have a good life.”
Dane has been standing in silence throughout the whole story, and he finally speaks up. “It’s almost like getting trashed and letting a stranger handcuff you to her bed is a bad idea.”
Pax scoffs. “Fuck you, man. Women don’t want to have fun with you because you act like their grouchy old grandpa.”
“No, I just put hockey first,” Dane says, looking disgusted. “I’m not one of the guys on this team who acts like a frat boy on spring break. It’s Vegas, yeah. But we’re not here to party, dipshits.”
Our coach, Phil Bear, is known simply as Bear in hockey. It’s not just because of his name, either. When he gets pissed, he looks and acts like a bear that just stuck its paw in a hornets’ nest. And since overhearing Dane’s whiny bitching, that’s what he looks like right now.
“Partying?” he asks, surveying the faces of his players. “Who’s partying?” He points at me. “You, Hagen?”
“No, Coach.”
“Bullshit,” Dane scoffs.
