I know, I know, my car is awesome. It should be, for a $400,000 Lamborghini Aventador. I like the way it comes off the tongue. Aventador.

It’s white and fast and the V12 engine sounds like a mountain is about to come down on top of you. Especially in the parking garage at the arena as I rumble down several levels to the team’s private parking area. I pull into my spot, next to Georg’s candy-red Audi, and turn off my baby’s purring engine. Georg is also into motorcycles, but his contract prohibits him riding during the season. He bitches about it, but the rule is there for a reason.

Can I just share I spent all of last night tossing and turning, thinking about the luscious lips on Holly Laurent? I normally don’t spend a lot of time thinking about any one specific woman. Certainly not to the degree I’ve thought about her. Wonder why that is?

Either way, it left me feeling pent up and in need of some serious stress reduction, so I came in early to hit the gym before a meeting with my agent and the team’s owner. With two goals in my first game, we’re gearing up a discussion about a bonus for consistent performance. I’ve got a sweet deal, no complaints, but NHL teams fill seats by scoring, and by winning. I’m leading that charge and I don’t see a thing wrong with setting up a little carrot for myself, just a little something to keep me motivated.

I start with a fast two-mile run on the treadmill and follow with a full body circuit for arms, core, and legs. Though Georg’s car was in its spot, I don’t see him, so I wonder where he is in the building.

My workout helps calm my overworked mind for sure, but my body is still spring, like a snake waiting to strike. I have a feeling whoever gets in my way on the ice next is going to regret it. Look out, Mikhail.

After a quick shower, I change into dress pants and a sharp button-down. Not too dressy but not too casual. Usually Scott Rose, my agent, is in a suit while Max Terry, the owner, will be in golf-wear. If he’s in his suite for games, he’s usually in a suit, looking slick, but on these days, he’ll be gearing up to head out on the links.

I wander into the owner’s suite and find both of them already there, enjoying Scotch on the rocks.

“Start the party without me, why don’t you.” I go in joking.

“Get you one?” Max asks.

“Nah, thanks, I just came from the gym.”

“Good for you,” he says. “We need you in tip-top shape if we’re going to keep squeezing goals out of you.”

“No squeezing necessary, I’m just doing what you pay me to do.”

He laughs. “Yes, you sure are. Thank God someone is.”

We all laugh, and Scott jumps into the conversation. “Well, since we’re talking about this, I wanted to run something past you.”

“What’s that?” Max asks.

“Evan here is metrics driven,” Scott says. “He’s like the best guy on your sales force. He’ll meet his numbers if you pay him well, but he’ll triple his numbers if you dangle a little bonus in front of him.”

Max lets a little, amused laugh out through his nose. “More money, huh? It’s only game one. Long season ahead…”

Scott jumps in and the two banter about it, but in the end, Max Terry is no dummy. He knows I’m leading scorer in the Western Division. I led us straight into the playoffs last year and it was only a torn ligament that kept me off the ice for the final few games and All-Star series. Max brings this up, worried I’ll push myself too hard, injure myself and cost us the playoffs again.

“The All-Star games are a goal of mine,” I say. “If I don’t make it to playoffs, I don’t make it to All-Stars.”

“Strange prioritization, but whatever motivates you,” Max says. He brushes a hand through his silver hair. “Let me think about it, talk with Bellikowski about it.”

We shoot the shit for a few more minutes before Max grumbles that he needs to get moving or he’ll miss his tee time. We all walk out together. While Scott and Max head out to the parking garage, I stick around, saying I want to pop in on Fiona to talk about a media package she’s been planning.

They must know that’s bullshit. I never go into the administrative offices. Like, ever. But I really want to see if Holly is in. I just really feel the need to see her, which makes me the equivalent of a desperate teenager, but whatever.

I wander in, noting the wide eyes of some of the staff. Fiona comes out of her office, stiff backed like she’s got a stick up her ass. Seriously, woman’s kind of uptight. Anyway, she fusses over me with shit like, “Oh, Mr. Kazmeirowicz, what are you doing up here? How can we help you? It’s such an honor to have one of our players visit the administrative suite.”

“I was actually looking for—”

Bud Bellikowski, the GM, comes out, from under a rock somewhere I suspect, his tie askew, his thinning hair wind-blown. “I thought I heard one of our big stars was in the house,” he says, his hands up like he’s trying to raise the roof.

I’m sure my placating smile probably just looks uncomfortable. “I just popped in from another meeting with Max,” I say. “Thought I might have a conversation with the new social media guru.”

“Why?” Fiona asks quickly. “Has she upset you somehow? The Kazochev thing?”

I shake my head, chuckling. “No, no, I’m not upset. It’s funny and getting a lot of traffic. Now, I just wanted to check in with an idea, and an offer. Is her workspace around here?”

Fiona looks like she just tasted something sour. She looks toward a cubicle which is, unfortunately, empty of the woman I’m itching to see. “Looks like she’s stepped out,” she says. “Can I give her a message for you?”

“No ma’am,” I say. “I’ll just leave her a note to give me a call.”

“Hhhmpf,” is Fiona’s answer. She opens her mouth then shuts it again, folding her arms across her chest.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” she says, tight-lipped, “we have a strict policy here about fraternization.”

I lift my eyes to meet hers, a challenge there. “Well, I’m under a pretty nicely-worded contract for the next couple of years which doesn’t say a thing about it.”

“She’s not, however,” Fiona says. “I mean, I suppose the two of you can do whatever hobnobbing you want, but I doubt you want the young lady to lose her job, since you like her work so much.”

The words she says, they make sense. No, I don’t want Holly to lose her job. She does seem to be pretty good at it. Great, actually. But the venom, the threat embedded there…I don’t like being threatened.

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll leave a note for her. I expect it to remain private. I can assure you there will be no…fraternization.”

“Good, fine,” she says, waving a hand at me like she’s bored with the conversation. “I appreciate your interest in our little media operation.”

She wanders back toward her office. Bud is still standing around, looking totally lost.

“You okay, there, Bud?” I ask.

“That woman scares the shit out of me,” he says.

“You and me both, buddy. Hey, you think it would be okay for me to teach young Holly how to skate? I think it’s a damn shame that our social media genius has never been on a pair of blades. Not fraternizing or whatever, just part of her training. Her uncle Troy’s one of our top scouts; I’m shocked he never took her to a game and I think it would really help her understanding of the game to get out on the ice.”

“Oh, yeah,” I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Great, buddy, thanks,” I say, smacking him on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Evan,” he mumbles. Then he shakes his head and bumbles back toward whatever hallway or tunnel he came from.

I find a notepad and a pen and jot down a message.

I head out of the office, whistling as I walk, head held high like the cockstrong young buck I am. My cell rings as I get into my car.

“Yo, Georgie.”

“I saw your clip with Kacey King. The woman is still hot for you, my man. Did you tap that again?”

“Nah,” I say. “Not interested.”

“What? Are you nuts? She’s blazing hot.”

“Yeah, she’s all right. Not as great in the sack as you might think. Not worth a second go.”

“More than once means feelings,” Georg says, trying to imitate my accent.

“For her,” I say. “Not for me.”

He laughs. “Were you in the gym?”

“Earlier, yes,” I say. “Then in a meeting with my agent.”

I decide not to mention I went looking for Holly. Somehow, for some reason, I don’t want Georg thinking about Holly like she’s just some chick I want to bang. I’m not sure what she is to me yet, and I guess I’d rather have the idea of her to myself for the moment.

We have the day off since yesterday was a game day, but we’ll have to be back on ice again tomorrow, plus we have some PSA’s to shoot for the charitable foundation the team runs. It will be a busy day, a day that will keep me away from my phone for most of it.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to wait around for a girl to call me. Normally, I see what I want, I make it known I want it, and it appears. But Holly Laurent? No, I’m pretty sure that’s not how this young woman operates.

I knew it when I saw her the first day in the arena. I felt something crackle between us and call me cheesy, but it was like it was chemistry or something. And now I’m sitting here with my dick in my hand, waiting for her to call as if I’m some teenage kid who asked a girl to prom.

As I drive, the song Limelight by Rush comes on the radio. I am a real hockey guy like that, loving the old rock songs. So I turn it up and let it wash over me, not even a little bit sure what the heck Holly Laurent is already doing to me.