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“All right, enough talk about underwear,” Coach LaConte says, strutting out of his office. “I don’t give a shit what kind of drawers you got on. Don’t want to hear about it either.”
“Yes, sir,” we all say in unison.
But I, of course, need to push it further. “I’ll even get you a pack, Coach. You strike me as a white or gray sort of dude.”
“O’Brien,” he warns, “shut up.”
“You got it,” I answer quickly.
After Coach gives us his besttry not to suck, this is our icespeech, followed by Cam giving us a short and sweet pep talk to amp us up, we all put our fists together, calling, “Wolves,” on three.
The locker room is buzzing with energy, each and every man in here driven by pure adrenaline and the hunger to win.
To most of us, the first game of the season is crucial to win. Not just because we have to play the same team tomorrow and we want to get inside their heads, but also for the simple fact that we need it for the morale of the team. If we think we’re unstoppable, we will play and be unstoppable. If we suck and we let that negativity affect how good we think we are, we’ll probably suck tomorrow too. We need this W.
I’m not scared. In fact, I’m elated. I’ve come across a handful of other defensemen who are roughhouses too. I’m known for being the big, strong, cocky, tattooed dude that people fear on the ice. But what so many spectators don’t know is that it’s not all about being the strongest. No, the mental part is just as, if not more, important. The best players will take things too far from time to time. And I’d bet a lot of us playing defense have a few screws loose too. I know I do. To my teammates and friends, I’m a happy-go-lucky guy. To the team wearing the other color…I’m their worst fucking nightmare. Past experiences fuel my fire, and suddenly, I think I need revenge or some shit. Maybe that’s not fair to flashback to my childhood when I’m on the ice, but it helps us win. So, I’m not going to say I hate my fucked up brain all the time.
Hockey is my lifeline. And I’ll do whatever it takes to be the best.
Bria
The entire Club 83 erupts into cheers as the Brooks hockey game plays on every screen in the place. I started working here last week, and this is the craziest I’ve seen it.
“Game going good, I take it?” I shrug, passing the stupidly handsome Cole Storms a beer.
He looks pissed off at the world. Maybe it’s just his cold demeanor—I’m not sure. Either way, he’s easy on the eyes, and I don’t mind looking even though I know I can’t touch since he has a girlfriend. The guy next to him, Knox Carter, is equally as hot. But at least that one is like a ray of sunshine, all smiley and shit.
“Yep, they won,” he answers curtly, not giving me a second look.
“Ah, well, judging by the buzz in here, hockey must be a religion at Brooks.”
He scowls. “Not really.”
“Ah, Storms, don’t be rude to the poor bartender—unless you want Kye Collins showing up here, beating your ass. Bria doesn’t know that you get jealous about all the attention them puck boys are getting. And you can’t really blame the campus for being excited. Have youseenBrody O’Brien’s underwear campaign that just came out today? He’s going to have to build a brick house like the third little piggy, or the bitches are going to blow his door down.”
“I am not jealous. And who gives a shit about what underwear the dude wears?” He scoffs. “Fuck off, Carter.”
A blonde comes to Carter’s side and nudges him. “Knox, are you pestering Cole again?”
“No way.” He smirks, pressing his lips to hers, giving her the most adorable PDA I’ve seen. Usually, I’m one who rolls my eyes at it, but this is too cute. “He’s just in a pissy mood because Ally’s working tonight.” Knox drops his voice lower. “Not because hockey dudes might be more loved than us this year.”
“Am not,” Cole tosses back. “If they were, you’d be crying like a little bitch.”
“He so would.” The blonde giggles before patting Knox on the shoulder. “Sorry, babe, but it’s true.”
I don’t know what underwear they are talking about because I haven’t heard anything about Brody being a model. But listening to them banter, I shake my head and chuckle to myself before carrying on down the bar.
I didn’t necessarily need another job—the part-time one I have now is pretty good money—but I like to stay busy.Reallybusy. In fact, I’ve found the less time I sit idle, the slimmer the chance I have of doing stupid shit.
Peering up at the screen, I watch the camera switch from one hockey player to the next. And before I look away, the man who I saw banging the hell out of my next-door neighbor is right in the center of the camera, smirking like a fool on the screen. BrodyfreakingO’Brien.
Even weeks later, I can hear his filthy voice in my brain, spewing his deliciously dirty words. Ones I’ve thought of more times than I can count. I can also still picture his large hands gripping her waist as he thrusts into her with no remorse. Giving her every inch of himself, not caring if it hurts.
Feeling my skin prickle, I look away from the television before getting back to work.
4
Brody
