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Search for new apartment.
Learn a language. Time is running out. Do it now!
Start that grapefruit diet?
Check work emails one more time on the way home.
Prepare clothes & tasks for tomorrow.
Make time for Steely Dan. Why does the Dickhole’s dick seem bigger than the Dan?
Wind down with spicy novel. (Goal is to read/listen to 110 spicy books this year. 51 down, 49 to go.)
Make list for tomorrow.
Put this down for the satisfaction of crossing it off the list.
5
Rick
"You said 'yes' to the role?" Sinclair Sterling, also known as one of the Seven who run one of the leading financial companies in the country, and one of my oldest friends, holds the punching bag steady as I take my stance.
"I was played into taking it." I slam my fist into the boxing bag. The vibrations from the impact shudder up my arm, down to my ribcage. The dull pain sharpens my nerve-endings. It’s a familiar ache, one my body is used to from all the beatings I took while in the Royal Marines and before that, from the NHL games. The latter is something I’ve worked hard to forget, and now I’ve agreed to take on a position that’s going to take me straight into the eye of the storm. Fuck.
"You and played?" He scoffs. "I’m assuming it wasn’t Knight’s persuasive powers that convinced you to accept the role.”
"That, too, but not only." I follow up with a second hit, and a third, alternating fists and keeping the hits going for another fifty before I finally stop, heart pumping, blood racing, pulse spiking as I bounce on the balls of my feet. Sweat pours down my temples and drips onto my T-shirt. I shake my head and droplets fly to the ground.
"You’re not in too bad shape for a senior," Sinclair murmurs.
"I’m the same age as you." I frown.
"I’m not taking on the captaincy of a hockey team and competing with men a decade younger."
"Thanks,CaptainObvious." I wince, then snatch the bottle he tosses at me. I glug down the water and slide it to the side. The task of pulling together the team is something I’ve yet to come to grips with. Knight and I will be scouting the country in search of the most hopeful candidates. It’s a pipe-dream he has of taking this team to the finals of the League, but I’m someone who’s yet to back down from a challenge.
"Why are you putting yourself through this?" His eyebrows knit. "Not that I don’t understand the lure of leading a team to victory, but do you want the attention it brings with it? Not to mention, the torture you’re going to put your body through."
My biceps twitch and my triceps ache. My shoulders and legs are already leaden, and I’ve only been working out for the past three hours. I’m in excellent physical shape, having worked out every single day since I left the Royal Marines, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not when I’ll need to hit speeds of twenty to twenty-five miles per hour on the ice and hit the puck at more than double that speed, all while on skates. My entire body aches at the thought, my guts churn, and I haven’t even begun the season. I roll my shoulders, then begin to unwind the tape from around my fingers. "It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I agreed," I admit.
"What made you agree?"
"You meanwhomade him agree?" a new voice asks.
I turn to find the former Father Edward Chase, now simply Priest, as he prefers to be called, prowling over to us. He’s not often in town, but when he is, he can be found at this gym in the basement of the 7A Club.
I chin jerk in greeting. "As always, nothing skips your powers of observation."
One side of his lips twitches. "Whoever it is, I hope you don’t waste too much time dancing around the obvious."
I pull off the tape and glare at him. "Going straight for the jugular?"
"You don’t get too many chances in life."
"Not all of us want the girl," I shoot back.
He winces. "Nice shot, and I probably deserve it—not."
