Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“At least you don’t have kids?”
“That was part of the problem. She’s ready for them now. I’m … not. I don’t know if I ever will be. And before you say anything, I know we should have had that conversation before we got married, but we were so young when we tied the knot we didn’t talk much about anything. Eight years of marriage, ten of being together … It feels like a waste.”
I nudge him. “The minute you’re ready to get back out there, I’ll take you out and be your wingman. You don’t even need to worry about me undercutting you because we’re not in the same competition.”
Something brief but telling crosses Aleks’s face, but I don’t call him on it. Again, not an asshole. “Sounds good, man.”
“That’s if, you know, my jailer will set me free.” I thumb in Lane’s direction.
Aleks laughs. “What’s up with that anyway?”
“Team management is a teeny bit mad that I am a single gay man flaunting my gayness for everyone to see.”
Lane pops up behind us. Of course he fucking does. Wasn’t he sitting a few rows back two seconds ago? “It’s not your gayness they have a problem with. It’s the public nudity and sex.”
“Which is my gayness. My dick is even gayer than my brain.”
“Somehow, I think your dick is your brain,” Lane says.
Aleks laughs again. “You know what? I’m starting to feel a whole lot better about my divorce now.”
“Because I’m awesome and cheered you up?” I ask.
“No. Because if I thought my life was sad, I really only need to look at you. You’re a hotshot famous hockey player who needs a babysitter.”
“In my defense, when I’m left unsupervised, I make poor decisions. Fun decisions, but to the detriment of my career, it seems.”
“And mine,” Lane adds.
I turn to him. “Do you mind? We’re having a private conversation.”
“Oh, so conversations you want to keep quiet, but sex is okay to be put out there for everyone to see?”
“Yup. Keep up.”
Aleks huffs beside me. “Is this what I have to look forward to being single?”
Lane reaches over the seats and squeezes Aleks’s shoulder. “Just don’t have sex in public, and you’ll have no problem with me.”
“Excuse me, I haven’t had sex in public in weeks. Why haven’t you left me alone yet?”
“Because the minute I do, I know you’ll go out and do it again.”
I open my mouth to protest but really can’t. “Okay, fair.”
“For the rest of the season, you have one job,” Lane tells me. “Hockey.”
Luckily, I’ve got that covered.
I don’t have it covered.
At least, not tonight. We’re down by one in the third, but the only reason it’s one and not four is because our offense is kicking ass. It’s a high-scoring game on both sides, and it’s 6-5 on the scoreboard.
Aleks may be getting a divorce, but it’s not affecting his game. Actually, he might even be on a streak because of it. Something to prove or getting out his marital anger, I’m not sure. But it works for him.
Me, on the other hand, my lack of action off the ice is making me too stiff on it. I need release, and by something that’s not my own hand. It’s not enough. I’ve let way too many Detroit forwards get a shot on goal, and our goalie, Glover—nicknamed that because he’s usually so good with his glove—can only take so much.
Tonight is too much for him, thanks to me.
So when I let another guy past me, and he scores, the game is all but over. The minutes tick down to seconds, and then the finality of the buzzer seals it.
The usual disappointment of a loss cuts through me and the rest of the team, and we leave the ice with our heads hanging down.
We’re on track to at least make the playoffs this season, unlike Tripp and Dex, who have no hope, so the loss isn’t a big setback, but it still stings like a bitch and isn’t a great omen for the rest of the road games coming up. We still have Pittsburgh, Washington, Columbus, and St. Louis to go before we make our way back home.
We do the media thing where we keep our chins up and our battered pride hidden away, cool down, shower, and then climb onto the bus to take us to the hotel.
When Aleks joins me, I smile up at him. “You played amazing tonight.”
“Shame the rest of the team couldn’t get on my level.”
Ah, there’s the guy I know. Confident and easy.
“It’s not my fault,” I say.
“Is anything ever your fault?”
“Hey, I totally own up to my mistakes and take responsibility for my actions. But this is actually not my fault.”
“How so?”
“I haven’t been laid in forever, and it’s killing me. I need to be loose on the ice, not sexually frustrated.”