Joanie Sambosa has her head between my legs when my best friend, Deke, comes barreling into my apartment.

“Fuck!” he hollers as he turns his back on the sight of me getting a blowjob at three o’clock in the afternoon.

“Dude, you need to lock your door,” he grumbles.

“Why?” I answer as I lounge on my sofa. “You’ve got a key, and nothing’s ever kept you out.”

Joanie releases my dick with a pop and grins, delicately wiping her lips. “Hey, Deke,” she says coquettishly.

“Hey, Joanie,” he answers, back still turned to us. “How’s it going?”

Joanie is one of the team puck bunnies. She’s always available to party with the guys, and with a few of us she has a friends with bennies arrangement. Although I guess I shouldn’t use the term us anymore. I’m not part of us now. I’m just a guy who knows the team.

“I’m helping our poor injured boy feel a little better,” she coos. I pull my track pants back up, grimacing as I stuff my still-hard dick into place.

“That’s nice of you,” Deke answers as if this is a tea party and we’re all standing in the garden discussing the weather.

“You can turn around, dude. It’s not like you’ve never seen my junk before.”

“Five years in a locker room together is more than enough exposure to your junk,” Deke answers, turning to give Joanie a tight smile.

Since he’s obviously not going to leave, I tell Joanie I’ll catch up with her later and walk her to the door.

“Call anytime, hot stuff,” she purrs, before laying a kiss with a lot of tongue on me.

When I close the door and return to the living room, Deke is standing there, disapproval all over his big, furry face.

“What?” I ask, arms out to my sides.

“It’s fucking three pm, man. What are you doing?”

I collapse on the sofa and lay my head back, eyes closed. “If you don’t know the answer to that I’m worried about what they taught you in sex ed all those years ago.”

He sits down facing me. “Mick, for real. I get it, I really do, but you need to do something other than sleep and fuck.”

I open one eye and look at him for a moment. “Why?”

“Because you’re not even thirty years old. You’re not dying anytime soon, man. You’ve got all the time and money in the world, and maybe that’s part of the problem. If you needed to get the hell out of the apartment to earn a living it’d probably be better for you.” He sighs. I do as well. “But since you don’t have a financial reason, you’re going to have to motivate yourself some other way, because at this rate you’re going to end up just like her, and I know that’s the very last thing you want.”

He’s right, it is the last thing I want. To end up like my mother. The woman who couldn’t manage to get past her own pain no matter how much we all loved her—needed her. But I think that’s something Deke doesn’t realize, something that makes me different from her. If someone needed me, I’d never let them down. Like my team. I lived to keep my promises to my team. And now that I’ve lost them? Somehow I’ve lost me as well.

* * *

It’s nearly eight pm by the time I leave my apartment for the first time today. I grab a t-shirt off the bedroom floor and put it on with my sweats. It’s easier to wear sweats because of the brace, but I don’t really care anyway, I have no reason to wear anything but sweats, so it all works out nicely. I run a hand through my hair and opt to put a ball cap on it, flipping the brim to the back of my head.

I could have the Thai place down the block deliver my dinner, but I’m supposed to walk a certain amount every day so I follow the doctor’s orders. I know it won’t ever get me back on an NHL rink, but I think I’ll want to do a few things like walk and run, so I adhere to the regimen, hoping that eventually the plastic hip joint they’ve given me will act like a normal one.

As I shove my wallet in my front pocket and dig for my keys to lock the door, I hear a huff of frustration from the hallway behind me. I turn to see a woman struggling to unlock my neighbor’s door. I know it’s not my neighbor, a Petrovich associate of some sort, because she’s short, brunette, and a good five years older than me, while this woman is blonde, tall, and has an ass on her that could star in my spank bank.

My dick takes charge and I find myself hobbling the fifteen feet down the hall to stand near her. “You need some help?” I ask.

She jumps, dropping the keys, and nearly stumbling over the duffle bag she has at her feet.

Her hand goes to her chest as she looks at me with wide eyes that grow even wider in recognition. Yes, I really am him. I sigh. It can get old.

“Uh…” She breathes out, then rallies, visibly gathering her wits and also a little spark in her eyes. It makes her even more striking than she already is.

“I think I have it, thanks.”

“Really? Because it looks like you can’t get in, and I happen to know for a fact that you don’t live here.” I point to my neighbor’s front door.

“I’m housesitting for my professor,” she explains, then her eyes narrow. “What’s your excuse for loitering?”

I point to my apartment. “My place,” I answer, one eyebrow raised.

Her face goes pink and I chuckle. Then she bends down to pick up the keys she dropped. I barely manage to keep from checking out her ass again.

“So, your professor apparently didn’t tell you the secret to opening the doors in this building,” I say as I gently lift the key out of her hand and slip it into the lock. “First left.” I twist the key counterclockwise. “Then right a half turn.” I twist it back a hundred and eighty degrees. The lock clicks and the knob turns in my hand. I push it open and gesture for her to walk through.

“Okay,” she admits grudgingly. “I’m impressed.”

“Now that you know the trick you’ll be a pro.” I grin at her, then in a less than graceful move I bend my good knee, letting the braced leg swing behind me, and scoop up her duffle bag from the floor. “Come on, let’s check out your new digs.” I sweep my arm out again, encouraging her to walk ahead of me. I’m hoping that she’ll be too polite to wrestle her bag out of my hand and tell me to fuck off. My gamble pays out when she nods and steps over the threshold. I follow close behind. I’m fully aware that if I weren’t a celebrity she would never let me inside like this. It’s one of the perks, but also the reason celebs who aren’t good guys can be so dangerous. People mistakenly think that because they recognize you it means they know you.

We make our way into the apartment that’s the same floor plan as mine, but decorated entirely differently. The floors are wood like mine, but a light ash color, the walls are gray and the furniture is all glass and chrome. A huge black leather sectional is the most prominent piece of furniture, and the walls host a few framed pieces of modern art, the only bits of color in the space.

I set her bag down on a barstool and put my hands on my hips taking a look around. “I’m Mick, by the way,” I say, holding out my hand.

She smirks as she shakes it, and when her skin touches mine my insides do a little merengue. “Yeah, I sort of figured that one out. I’m Solana.”

“Welcome to the building, Solana,” I say, not releasing her hand even as she tugs slightly.

For the first time in five months my interest is piqued, and I’m not about to let the object of that interest escape.

Game on.

****