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In the corner, is a booth seating a jacked group of men, which is where the guy with the gorgeous smile is sitting. He’s still here. Various beautiful women are draped on their arms, they look like supermodels. The women are flirting their little hearts out, and honestly, good for them, Lord knows I’d be doing the same if I was in their shoes.
First, I’ll get a drink to take the edge off. I’m naturally on the shy side, so some liquid confidence will help build up the courage to meet someone. Generally, I wait for men to buy me a drink, but tonight, I’m willing to go outside of my comfort zone if it means I can bag a man as fine as that one. Most people are at high-top tables and booths, but the bar top is not packed, so that’s where I find my seat.
SIX
We wrapped up two back-to-back games in Anaheim and San Jose. We won both, but not by much—which is bullshit. We can play better than we did, considering how poorly Anaheim has been skating this season. Back-to-backs already suck, but when you factor in all the traveling, hotels, and press boxes, the fatigue piles up quickly.
Even our star wingers, Sully and Banks, were skating like shit. Passes weren’t connecting, and we looked sloppy. And it takes a lot for me to admit Banks’s puck-handling skills in the first place. Personally, I think he’s an absolute tool. We call him Banks because his last name is Teller and he comes from money. Serious money. There’s nothing wrong with having rich parents, but he’s a trust-fund baby with a bad attitude. Last night he got in a fight with some local San Jose fan that called him a “cake eater.” Naturally, he threatened to beat the guy with his money clip and then he had a make-out session with the man’s wife for good measure. He practically needs a babysitter when we go out nowadays. One of these times, he will piss off the wrong person and it will bite him in the ass.
Sully, on the other hand, is our golden boy. I’ve got no issue shouting his praises. He’s the poster child for hockey captain. Nordic, blond hair, tall, chiseled jaw, and nice as hell. He always plays good cop. It’s what makes him a strong leader on the team. He’s got a great rapport with the refs, the coaches, the staff, and his teammates. However, outside of studying the game, he doesn’t do much else. We all agree he could use a better work-life balance. He lives for this team and is fiercely protective of it. Whenever a fight breaks out, he’s one of the first ones to have your back. On paper, he doesn’t seem like the most riveting man, but looks can be deceiving. There’s a tough side to Sullivan. But he’s one of those secretly dangerous types—the kind of person with a presence other men don’t want to fuck with. I’ve never seen him lose control, and I want it to stay that way.
We’ve been taxiing around the tarmac for the last forty-five minutes. I stand to stretch and crack my neck. Everyone is getting cabin fever—pun intended. My teammates with wives want to get home, and everybody else wants to party.
“Who’s up for a beer after we get off this goddamn merry-go-round?” Jonesy groans.
A few people cheer.
“Burke, you in?”
“I dunno, this trip was brutal. I’m pretty beat,” I answer truthfully.
“What the fuck, man? You never come out with us anymore.”
“It’s the bunnies—I need a break. Same old shit every time. It’s not exciting anymore. I’m bored.”
“Oh, fuck, he’s turning into Conway.”
Barrett Conway was one of the biggest sluts on the team until a few years ago. He still goes out, but it’s rare he takes anybody home. He met some puck bunny a few years ago and got hung up on her. Then she dipped out, and I guess it fucked with him or something. I don’t know what went down. Sometimes I think he goes out with us just in case she shows up again. It sounds pathetic, and he’d never admit it, but every time he’s scanning the room, it’s obvious he’s looking for someone specific.
“I’m not turning into Conway.”
“Please. You wish, asshole,” he says, turning around in his seat.
I laugh. “It’s nothing on you, bud. I’m just saying the difference between you and me is that you fell for your bunny, and I’m trying to get away from all mine.”
“I didn’t fall for her, but she was cool. Just wish I would have gotten her number. I think she said she had family in Phoenix. Maybe she moved. Would have been nice to have a little pussy on the side when we play Arizona.” He smiles, his big white shit-eating grin. “And at least I still go out. You’ve just been sitting at home for the last couple of months.”
Next, Bishop pipes up, “Burke, you gotta get your dick wet. Jonesy said he’s tired of giving you handjobs in the locker room.” He shouts the last part toward the front of the plane.
“Jonesy wishes.” I chuckle.
Jones whips around in his seat. “Yeah, man, my fucking hands are tired.” He mimes like he’s got arthritis. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and find someone else to cover for me tonight, eh?”
Conway chuckles but levels his gaze with mine. “Look, whatever you do, get her number.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I should go home after we get off the plane. Pick up a couple burgers, watch a movie, jerk off, and call it a night. But the last time I went out for a beer was when I met up with Jack over a month ago. I can still go out tonight with the guys andnottake a girl home, I suppose. However... it has been a long time since I got laid.
* * *
By the time I get back to my place and change out of my travel clothes, I’m ready to let loose. Fuck it. I’ve been celibate for almost eight weeks—that’s long enough. Two months ago, that would have seemed like a lifetime. I throw on jeans and a black Henley and call it good. I’m not going to work too hard, but if it happens, I’m not going to say no either.
I don’t know why the boys wanted to come to this hotel bar tonight. We always go to Top Shelf. They know us there, we have our own section, and it’s closer to my condo. Whatever, a change of scenery might do the body good. While pulling into a parking spot, Banks hands his keys to his Porsche to the valet. I roll my eyes. Hope the other guys are up for watching him tonight, because I’m off the clock. The rest of the team better be here, so I don’t have to make small talk with him the whole time. He’s a douchebag and cocky as hell. I get the feeling he thinks he’s more important than our other players, but I’m probably “projecting my insecurities,” as my therapist would say.
I press the lock button on the key fob as I shove my keys into my pocket. Inside the bar, the guys have taken over the corner booth—generally, the corner spots are the only ones that fit us and our large group. It’s a nice cocktail lounge but very different from the hockey bar where we’re regulars. I get the allure of this place. It’s no surprise everyone who came out tonight is single. These bars offer the perfect environment for picking up women.
After I slide into the oversized booth, it doesn’t take long for the server to come over and take drink orders. We order a few rounds of beers and relax after the long flight, and just as I suspected, the bunnies start hopping over, one of them climbing right into my lap.
