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- CHAPTER ONE -
Miles
I pull a deep gulp of my Budweiser, resting the cold bottle on my knee. The television blares loudly in front of me. The darkness of my dim living room makes the flashes of slow-motion replays even more eye-catching.
We fucking did it. Another win.
I take another sip as images of Parker Philips slapping home the fifth goal of the night plays out on the screen. The crowd roars on the TV and the camera pans to our leader, Coach Best. I chuckle, as the screen makes him look even more intense than in real life.
If Coach knew I had downed three beers already, he’d have me skating laps for hours.
I don’t care.
I’m thirty-six years old, so I’m going to kick back on a Saturday night and drink a few fucking Buds if I want to.
Don’t get me wrong, hockey is my number one priority. It always has been. Ever since I was twelve and I was drafted to the Edmonton Eagles. I made an instant impact, rising quickly through the team to make my senior debut at the prime young age of fourteen.
To this day, I’m still the youngest player to debut at the Eagles.
But when Canada’s best team came in for me, there was no fucking way my dad, God bless his soul, would let me knock back the Vancouver Vikings. Not that I wanted to. They offered me big money straight off the stick. I don’t care who you are - a few grand a week for a pimple-faced rookie is a lot of money.
And I haven’t looked back since.
Four Stanley Cups. Five MVP awards. And my pride and joy, the Olympic Gold medal.
A smile creeps across my face as another goal flies in the back of the net. This time Noah Edwards slaps the puck home from a tight angle late in the third period. The camera zooms in on him, and then quickly pans to the crowd.
A sea of red and white rise from their seats, all clapping and cheering on the TV. I know it’s only a replay, but still, a feeling of pride builds in my chest. Being the captain of Vancouver’s favourite team is a privileged position. I can’t walk anywhere in this city without being pulled aside for a selfie. Even on the rare occasions when I go to The Bloody Viking, the famous bar in the city centre, I’m mauled and harassed by drunk men and horny chicks all night.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for the foul stench of the fans’ breath, or the way the girls rubbed their plastic tits against me, I seriously wouldn’t mind the attention.
Could I put up with it every minute of every day?
Hell no!
Why the fuck do you think I’m sitting in my living room on a Saturday night all alone?
But I understand. I’m a hockey fan, too. Even I get all fan-girl crazy when I see Wayne Gretsky and Mario Lemieux at the end-of-season award functions. The first time I met The Great One, I was in the bathroom of the Ritz Palace in London. I was so excited that I forgot I was pissing at the urinal and let go of my cock. I peed all over his shoes and ruined a very expensive pair of leather Oxfords.
We joke about it now, but believe me, it was awkward between us for a while.
The last dregs of my beer slide down my throat. The final buzzer blasts, and I watch Noah Edwards pick up yet another man of the match award. That’s eleven this season – he’s favourite to defend his MVP title, and deservedly so.
I scooch forward in my armchair, pressing my knees to head into the kitchen to fetch a fourth beer. As I feel my knees creak beneath my hands, I’m stopped mid-way by the image of a gorgeous, curvaceous woman on the television screen.
“Ellie…”
The name leaves my lips like a breath of fresh air.
A twist in my stomach forces me to stand tall, my eyes fixed on the screen. Noah’s twin sister, Ellie Edwards, is cheering from the stands. Her lips are red and glossy – they look as plump, chapped and kissable as ever. Her dark, chocolate brown hair is as smooth as it always is, shining in the flashing lights of the Viking Arena. I love her hair… The way it flows down her body, long and elegant towards her busting cleavage.
I feel my cock twitch, but before I can reach down, she’s gone. Ellie’s perfect face is replaced by two men in suits. They’re not even close to being as good looking as Ellie. They’re holding microphones and talking passionately about yet another impressive win for the Vikings and it’s enough to force me to spin around.
I grunt and turn to retreat to the fridge, the image of Ellie’s tits stirring inside my head. I reach for the final beer in the coldness of my bare fridge and when I pop the cap, I hear my phone buzzing in on the table.
I run back, sucking a deep gulp of the fresh fizz of the lager.
“Hello?” I grab my phone and swipe without looking.
“Miles, bro!” A deep voice shouts, though a mix of background noise is making it hard to hear. “Are you there? Hello?”
