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Terrible Craving
Rust
Adigital clock on the wall counted down the minutes and seconds until it was time to take the ice. Fully geared up, the boys gathered in the middle of the locker room to amp up each other up for battle, letting loose primal screams and war cries. Twenty bodies hopped, fidgeted and shook to work out the adrenaline and nerves.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Brock Benning and Kyle “Tank” Sherman bonked heads like two rams, their helmets colliding with a plasticthunk.
Brock and Tank are natural leaders, which is why both have an A stitched on the front of their jerseys. The A, if you’re unaware, stands for alternate captain. They’re the second and third guys in charge of the leadership group, after the team captain, who wears the C. Because we’re a new team this year, though, we don’t have a captain just yet. Rather than naming a captain on day one, Killer wanted to wait, believing that in time, our rightful captain will rise to the throne himself.
Typically, a team hands out three letters: one C and two A’s. But because no one wears the C, that means Killer had athirdA to hand out.
I wear the third A, ironically enough. Fuck-load of good it did me tonight, though.
At last, the timer on the wall hit 0:00.
“EVERYBODY READY?!”Brock yelled.
A chorus ofyeah’s,hell yeah’s,andfuckin’ rights’,answered his call.
“THEN LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO!”Tank howled.
I posted myself at the door, standing in my suit, feeling like an old man watching as the younger generation got sent off to fightmywar.
“Good luck tonight, boys,” I said, bumping fists with my teammates as they marched out of the locker room to take the ice.
Then they were gone and I was alone in the locker room. Rock music blared through the walls, and the entire building shook with electric energy. Surrounded by thousands of people, I figured I was in the loneliest spot in the rink.
I didn’t like it. I liked it even less when I heard the thunderous roar of the Las Vegas crowd, greeting our boys as they took the ice.
That should be me out there. What the fuck, man.
But I had to find my passion for the game again. Whatever the hell that meant. As if I hadn’t bled, sweated, and shed tears for this damned game. For nineteen straight years.
Fucking Killer.
* * *
I left the locker room and headed for the team’s club box. In the hallway, I crossed paths with countless people—some I knew, but most I didn’t—offering sympathetic expressions and vaguely inspirational platitudes, like,keep your head up, Rust!andyou’ll get back out there, bro!
In the elevator, I checked my phone to see if Johnny, Isabelle and her boyfriend, Cody, were waiting for me. But Johnny’s last text message to me said,“Running behind. Be there in a bit.”
Guess I’ll beat them here,I thought as I stepped off the elevator.
I rounded the corner and made my way to the club suite. The door guy gave me a wristband and let me in. “Hey, try to enjoy the game, alright, Rust?”
“Thanks, pal,” I said as I entered the club room.
If you’ve never set foot in a club box before, imagine a fancy hotel bar nestled inside the arena. There’s an open bar, and a full buffet with appetizers, entrees and desserts. Big screen televisions are on every wall, so you can eat and drink at your own table inside the suite without missing a second of the game. A bar rail at the edge of the suite overlooks the ice, where you can stand and drink and watch the action. Or if you’d rather watch with everyone else in the arena, you can do that, too; simply walk down the steps out of the suite and sit in your very own leather theater-style seats.
I made my way through the suite, greeting the well-wishers, who all seemed to know my name and face. I was heading straight for the plaza level seats when I spotted her—a cutie in a tight red dress, with mouthwatering curves on a fit and slender frame.
My throat suddenly ached. I felt like I’d been crawling through the desert for years and didn’t even know it until I saw her standing there—andshewas the ice cold glass of water I’d been dying to get my hands on this whole time.
Awed by her beauty, I slowed my approach to get a better look.
She leaned against the bar rail, her golden locks cascading down her back and shoulders. Thankfully, she was mesmerized by the action on the ice, so she had no idea I was completely entranced by her. My eyes wandered up and down a never-ending set of toned, shapely legs. I couldfeelthose perfect stems wrapped around my back, squeezing me, puller me deeper into her.
