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“I’m up to my neck in it… literally,” Jay says, just as our main course is served. “I’ve got a late night drop in after this, actually…”
I roll my eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea the night before a big game?”
“It’s a perfect idea,” he assures us. “I have my rituals.”
“Better not fuck things up tomorrow because you’re hung over and pussy whipped,” Ty warns him. “Or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Keep your panties on, big boy. I know what I’m doing. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight… I promise to get home by then.”
Ty rolls his eyes.
I glance at Ashton. “What about you?” His love life is about as disastrous as mine.
His folks were divorced back in high school, and I know the custody arrangements were difficult, though he’s never really said much about it.
His relationship with his father isn’t the best either. I’ve met the guy, and I certainly didn’t warm to him. His mom, however, is a gem of a lady. She lives in Tampa Florida where Ashton grew up with his sister who has special needs.
Ashton is a fan favorite. He has that look women seem to love, thanks to his mom’s Hawaiian heritage. He’s the NHL poster boy and has the charm to boot.
However, he’s not good at relationships, and he’s the quietest out of the team when it comes to women. He’s not the kind of guy to have a different girl every night.
He shrugs at my question. “Like the old saying goes… women weaken legs, right?”
“We’re talking about a woman shaking your dick, not weakening your legs,” Jay jibes.
“Same thing, isn’t it?” I laugh.
Ashton laughs too, shaking his head. “Nothing on the horizon, brothers. Sad, but true.”
I slap him on the back. “Nothing sad about that.”
But fuck, it gets lonely.
“As long as we have our game on tomorrow night, that’s all that matters.” Ashton eyes Ty. “You gonna keep seeing Cindy then?”
“Second coffee date?” Jay muses. “Who knows, he might propose.”
Ty shoves him this time. “Early days,” he says. “She’s a sweet, sexy, woman. It’s fucking hard to stay away, but Coach will have my balls on a platter.”
“That’s if you’re lucky,” I say. “Just keep it in your pants until after the playoffs.”
That’s my advice, but what the hell would I know?
* * *
As game night approaches, I’m equal parts pumped and equal parts nervous over the prospect of Emmerson being here. No matter what shit I dribble to my friends about none of it being an issue and that I couldn’t care less, I’m reeling inside.
I’m also fucking nervous.
She’s never been to a professional game before. I don’t know what to make of that. A stupid part of me wonders why she wouldn’t tell me she was in town.
I always get this way thinking of the past, no matter how much I’ve practiced not going there. Maybe I have to accept the fact that you never really get over your first love.
It’s something I can live with, though. I know it’s not an issue.
It’s Emmerson Daley… my best friend and my first love.
That’s it.
