Chapter 7

Erik

I walk out of the team shower area, a towel around my waist and another draped around my neck. I’m all kinds of weirded out by how good the water felt on my freshly waxed balls. Goddamn, that shit hurt, and I will never, ever do that again. Not for any woman. Not even if humanity’s fate rested on it.

My level of respect, though, has increased for any woman who does that to her body. I personally suspected women had a higher pain tolerance than us men—you know, childbirth and all—but this sort of confirms it. My eyes were watering the entire time and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling each time a wax strip was yanked off.

Bringing my fingertips to my left eyebrow, I run them along the three stitches that are there. I dropped the gloves early into the second period tonight and took on Ronny Reaves. I didn’t like the way he cross-checked Tacker in the back, and gave him a little jab with the end of my stick in retaliation.

“Do it again, and I’m going to kick your ass,” I’d told him.

He did it again.

So I kicked his ass good.

Unfortunately, he did land a lucky hit to my temple and my skin split just to the side of my eyebrow. That was nothing but a ten-minute trip to the locker room, where the team doctor stitched me up. I didn’t even let her give me anesthetic because I didn’t want to waste the time.

Yeah, the doc stitched me up without anesthetic, and it was a mere tickle compared to the waxing of my groin, nuts, and ass.

I take a seat on the bench that runs the length of the cubbies. They’re custom built with our names written on fancy plaques across the top of each. There are no doors on the front of each unit, but our locker room is closed off from the public and you need a security code to get in. None of the players would ever steal from one another, so no doors are totally okay.

Leaning over, I pull my duffel from a bottom shelf toward me and unzip it with one hand, while pulling the towel from around my shoulders with the other. I let it drop to the floor.

“How’s that cut feeling?” Bishop asks as he sits a few feet away on the same bench since his locker is two spots down. He’s fresh from his shower too.

“It feels like a butterfly kissed me there,” I tell him, which gets a deep belly laugh from our assistant captain. As hockey players, we would never admit to being hurt in a fight.

I snag my boxers out of my bag and push up from the bench. I undo the towel around my waist and let it drop to the floor. As I lift one foot to step into my underwear, I ask, “You and Brooke going to come out to the Sneaky Saguaro tonight?”

Bishop gives me a brief glance. “Yeah. We’ll come out for a bit.”

He looks away, but then his head snaps back to me with eyes rounded. His arm raises and he points a finger at me. “What the fuck is that?”

I look down but I know what he’s talking about. I hastily pull my boxers up my legs, covering my newly soft and smooth balls.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl as I reach into my bag for a fresh T-shirt to wear under my dress shirt.

“Seriously, Erik…what the fuck was that?” he asks with a laugh.

My head snaps his way. “What the fuck are you looking at my dick for?”

“I’m looking at your naked nuts, dude,” he replies, his laugh getting slightly more hysterical.

Dax walks toward us. His locker is opposite mine.

As I’m pulling my T-shirt over my head, Bishop guffaws. “Dax…did you know that Erik shaved his nuts?”

My head pops through the top of the shirt. “I didn’t shave them. I waxed them.”

Bishop starts laughing so hard he almost falls off the bench. Dax’s lips quirk up in amusement. He didn’t get to see my fresh new balls, so he doesn’t see the same hilarity that clearly Bishop does.

He does ask, however, “Why did you get waxed?”

“To get a date with Blue,” I reply. No sense in lying about it.

That makes Bishop laugh so loud, several teammates start poking their heads around the corner of our locker row to see what’s going on. I just shake my head and keep getting dressed.

Tonight I’d worn a light gray suit that I’d recently had custom tailored. We’re required to dress up for home games, Dominik Carlson wanting us to look our best for the press and fans who wait for us outside the player parking lot. We’re also required to wear them out of the arena for the same reason.

“You seriously waxed your nuts for a date?” Dax asks incredulously.

“It’s Blue,” I merely reply, as if that’s all the damn reason I need.

“Who waxed their nuts?” Legend asks as he enters our row. His locker is to my immediate left.

Bishop is still leaning over, pressing one palm down on the bench with the other to his ribs as if they hurt from laughing. Which he’s still doing.

“I did,” I tell Legend, deciding to just take ownership. “I asked Blue out to dinner and she agreed if I got a Brazilian wax.”

“That’s torturous, dude,” Legend says sympathetically.

“How do you know?” Dax asks him.

Bishop continues to laugh, dabbing at his eyes now.

“Dated a girl once that did it and she told me. I didn’t doubt her.”

“It was nothing,” I lie to my friends.

“What’s it feel like?” Bishop gasps as he tries to sit straight up. “Not the actual waxing, but you know…silky, soft testicles.”

I don’t bother answering him. Whatever I say will only give him a hernia, probably.

“He’ll let you know once he has Blue licking them,” Dax chortles and I whirl on him with a savage snarl.

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I grit out.

Bishop starts cackling now and Dax holds his hands up apologetically. “Whoa, dude. Sorry. I guess that means you’re serious about this girl.”

“I just let someone pour hot wax on my balls and in the crack of my ass, and then rip out my hair. What do you think?”

“Crack. Of. Your. Ass?” Bishop laughs, panting the question out.

“Oh, grow up,” I snap at him. He’s had his laugh. Time to let it go.

But I tell them all in case there’s any doubt. “Blue’s off limits.”

Nothing else needs to be said. Even Bishop finally stops cackling. It will circulate around the players. Blue is not to be hit on or talked about in anything but a respectful manner from here on out.

---

The Sneaky Saguaro has become the go-to hangout for a lot of the players. It’s two stories of southwestern flair with the waitresses dressed in tight shorts and cowboy boots. I like it because it carries 127 types of beer and I like beer. The food isn’t bad either.

The manager has taken to roping off an area on the second floor for the players so we can drink and chill out without fans swamping us. But that doesn’t mean we don’t attend to the fans that come here to see us. As soon as we arrive, we’ll mill about the first-floor bar area and give all the fans an opportunity to take pictures and we sign autographs.

There are more and more coming to see us after every game, particularly because we’re doing so well. Tonight there’s an actual line of people waiting to get inside.

I nod at a bouncer who now tends the door since the Sneaky Saguaro has become so popular and enter. It takes me a good half hour to make it to the second floor where I find several of my teammates sitting at tables or standing around talking. Several puck bunnies have been allowed in and are doing their best to get noticed by the players. The outfits are ridiculously sexy and I’m not complaining.

Except, I’m not here for a hookup tonight.

Haven’t been interested in that since I saw Blue at the harvest festival with Billy.

Winding around tables, teammates, and hot women, I make my way over to Bishop and Brooke. I normally would go stand over with the single dudes and start my selection process for whatever woman I’d want to fuck that night.

Bishop gives me a knowing grin as I sit down, but Brooke just gives me a sweet smile. That means Bishop hasn’t told her yet about my waxing, but I know he will. He won’t keep it from her.

“You played great,” Brooke says.

“Thanks,” I tell her and flag a waitress. She gets within five feet of me and I call out, “Give me something pale on tap.”

When I give my attention back to Brooke, she adds on, “You kicked Reaves’s ass so bad.”

“And only needed three stitches in the process,” I quip, pointing at my cut.

Bishop gives me a nod, looking at my cut for a brief moment. “You really did play a hell of a game, Erik. Other players are going to think twice before fucking with you too.”

That’s the truth. Part of being a good enforcer is being vigilant and watching everything on the ice. The minute one of the opposing players dares to think they can get rough with my boys, they’re going to pay. The formula is really simple, and we can use Reaves tonight as an example.

Reaves cross-checked Tacker, which thankfully didn’t hurt him. But it could have, and Tacker is our leader and our most veteran player. On top of that, he’s averaging 1.32 points per game, which puts him second in the league right now.

My job is to impress upon Mr. Reaves that it’s not a good idea to try to injure my teammates. I drop the gloves, we fight, and I hurt him. Sure, I got a tiny cut that bled, but Reaves had to be helped off the ice. He was a little disoriented when they picked him up and because of concussion protocol, he never returned to the game.

Now, next time we play, Reaves will think twice about taking a run at Tacker.

Our fight will be televised on all the sports shows tonight and tomorrow. Other players will see it.

Those same players will also think twice about tangling with me.

That’s the whole point of having an enforcer on the team.

Tonight wasn’t just about physically kicking ass. It was about doing so on all fronts. We easily beat the Vegas Spades tonight and in addition to my awesome fight, I also got an assist. So Brooke is correct.

I played great.

Brooke leans in to Bishop to talk and I use the opportunity to do something I’ve been dying to do since I walked out of that waxing salon this morning.

I pull up Blue’s contact information in my phone—courtesy of Legend getting it from Valerie—and I send her a text.

I’m ready to take you out to dinner. What night is good for you?

There’s no expectation she’ll respond right away. I have no clue if she’s a night owl or not. It’s closing in on eleven P.M. and she could very well be asleep.

The waitress returns with my beer and I hand her a ten-dollar bill, telling her to keep the change. Her eyes light up as if that might indicate an interest in her past my gratitude in bringing me a tasty beverage. I don’t pay her any mind, though, as my phone vibrates and I see Blue has responded.

Prove it.

I snort, a wicked grin taking over my face. My reply is swift. Sorry. I don’t send dick pics to women. It’s crass.

There’s no helping my laugh when she texts back. Ordinarily, I hate dick pics, but I do require proof. You see, you could be tricking me into dinner and still have all your curlies intact. So dick pic or no date.

A bark of a laugh escapes and both Brooke and Bishop look at me curiously. I just shake my head at them, grinning as I write her back. Give me a minute.

“Be back,” I tell Brooke and Bishop as I stand up.

I have to say, this is never how I thought I’d be showing my cock to Blue. It’s humiliating in a way, having to use one of the stalls in the men’s room. After undoing my belt, unzipping my pants, and tucking my shirt up out of the way, I’m able to expose myself enough to get a picture.

If I’m sending such a picture to a gorgeous woman like Blue, I’d like to impress her with my full size—a little over eight inches in all its glory and proportionately thick in its making. But there’s nothing about this situation that would induce an erection out of me, and besides…she’s seen me at my best before.

So I merely hold the camera out as best I can and take a picture of my groin, smooth as a baby’s butt.

I immediately text it to her and I barely get myself tucked back into my pants before she replies, I can’t believe you did that. I guess I owe you a date.

Yes, she does and I don’t want to leave her any room to get cold feet. Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7 PM.