Jake
Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.
That’s how long we stayed in my apartment together. Talking. Kissing. Making love. Eating together. Showering together. Then making love again because, Christ, this woman was so damn amazing naked I couldn’t keep my hands off of her.
We watched television. Made meals. Then, when the groceries ran out, we ordered in takeout just so we didn’t have to leave the sanctuary of my apartment.
Outside it had begun to rain, but inside it was warm and cozy. Which was good, considering the amount of time we spent without clothes.
I was a slave to her and I didn’t mind one little bit.
Our lovemaking knew no bounds and just when I thought I was satiated, I’d wake up and realize my body was thirsty for more. I would realize there was no other place I would rather be than right there with her and the need to make love to her again would consume me. I didn’t want to let her go—I couldn’t let her go.
They were three magical days to rival our first four days together at Moose Lake. They also made me wonder how I’d ever existed without her.
On day four, the real world re-entered our existence, and we flew to Texas to meet with Johnny Pepper and the new coach of the Galveston Fury, Don Sandusky. I knew Don. He was a legend. And that got me excited.
But I also knew the Fury, and they didn’t get me excited.
They had a reputation as the sloppiest team in the NHL, and later, when we went to watch them practice, I could see why.
We arrived mid-training session and Coach Sandusky started with introductions.
First up was Hank, a tank of a man from Sweden. I mean, hell, I was six-foot-seven and this guy towered above me like a goddamn giant. He wasn’t a handsome man but he was one big wall of solid muscle, and apparently it didn’t matter to those girls watching from the opposite end of the rink what he looked like. They never made it past that torso of pure muscle and strength. He might’ve had an IQ of twelve but he was a genius on the ice. He was the Fury’s muscle. Big and braun. But he was slow. Too slow.
Second up was the star forward, Casanova. No, seriously, that was his name. And he was Casanova by name and by nature. I wasn’t into dudes, but geez, this guy made me look like one of the ugly stepsisters. And going by the reaction of the group of women at the far end of the rink when he stepped out onto the ice, he was a favorite among the puck bunnies.
Next up was Cowboy. A native of Texas and the quintessential farm boy who just happened to be faster on skates than on a horse. But only just, apparently. He was also a favorite of the group of girls who hung out behind the glass at the other end of the rink.
Not all the team were present. But other players who’d made themselves available included a British D-man called Jupiter, a newly-appointed right winger called Michael Angelo (seriously!), and an aptly name goalie called Loki the Destroyer. I had played against Loki during my last season with the NYC Ice Cats when he was playing for the Minnesota Menace. The kid was crazy as a cut snake but he was freakishly fast.
Mackenzie and I watched their scrimmage from behind the boards.
Cowboy flew across the ice then smashed into the plexi behind the net.
I looked at Mackenzie. “Yee—fucking—hah.”
When Loki the Destroyer threw his stick to the ground and went chest to chest with Jupiter, I turned away.
“This is the team you want me to join?” I asked.
“This is the team you are joining.”
I shook my head and folded my arms. “Fuck!”
Mackenzie gave me a friendly punch to the arm. “That’s the spirit!”
I gave her a sideways glance. “I’m serious, Z. I’m not some magic fix for these guys.”
“And no one is expecting you to be. You just need to play. Just be you.” She smiled up at me. “The awesome you. Not the pain in the ass you.”
I sighed and turned back to the ice just in time to see Cowboy get in a tangle with Casanova and the two tumbled to the ice.
That’s when I realized . . . I’d taken a gamble and landed right at the bottom of the leader board.
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