Chad was a defenseman, more of an enforcer than a finesse player, who would inevitably be the one caught in the middle of a fight, or encouraging the boys to get into some sort of trouble.
Zach was also a forward, and the team’s leading goal-scorer. He was charismatic, funny, and what could only be described asa pretty boy. On vacation, that meant Zach would be the reason girls approached them, and Jack wouldn’t be surprised if Zach hooked up with more than one on this trip.
Jack, meanwhile, was their starting goaltender, and had been his entire four years of high school, even starting over a senior during his freshman season. Despite his floppy blond hair and blue eyes, which gave off more of a laid back, California surfer vibe than a guy who wanted to take pucks to the face for a living, Jack was often described by his friends as the shy, strong, silent type. Girls he’d had relationships with—more like situationships, meaning they made out a few times, maybe participated in some over the clothes groping, and several blow jobs for Jack before parting ways—liked to call him standoffish and emotionally unavailable.
Truthfully, he didn’t think he was either. One thing people failed to realize about goalies is that their brains were wired differently, and Jack was no exception. He had his quirks, and a lot of them revolved around his game. Even off the ice, he had a habit of constantly tracking his surroundings. He wasn’t quiet, or “standoffish,” because he was shy or emotionally unavailable. He was quiet because he overanalyzed every interaction, oftentimes preferring to observe than engage, his goalie mind refusing to rest even outside of game play.
Come to think of it, that’s probably why he was still a card carrying member of the virgins’ club.
True to form, Chad sidled up to the bar, demanding the bartender give them a round of shots and a round of beers. Tyler, for his part, smiled apologetically at the girl working and in flawless Spanish, politely repeated what Chad had asked for.
Jack didn’t dare ask what they were shooting, simply tipped his head and threw the liquid back, the liquor burning a path down his esophagus before hitting his stomach, the warmth spreading.
Once they’d all downed their shots, Chad turned to survey the crowd and let out a cry of victory before grabbing Zach by the forearm and hauling him into the melee that was the dance floor.
Tyler stayed at Jack’s side, tipping the neck of his beer bottle into Jack’s.
“Let’s have a good night, yeah?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah.”
“You know…we’re on vacation,” Tyler said.
“Yes?” Jack responded, unsure where he was going with the comment.
“We don’t have to be who we are at home. In fact, I think this is a good opportunity for both of us to be completely different than we are in Philly.”
“How so?” Jack asked, equal parts intrigued and confused.
“Like…maybe I don’t have to be the straight-laced captain. Maybe I can take a page out of Chad’s book and let loose.”
Tyler tipped his head and lifted his beer bottle, indicating where Chad and Zach were in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by girls.
“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “So get out there and dance.”
“Only if you come with.”
“Dancing isn’t really my thing.”
“And that’s the whole point,” Tyler said, giving Jack a meaningful look.
Jack sighed and said, “Get to the point, Ty.”
“You don’t have to be top-Pennsylvania high school goalie, Michigan State hockey commit, strong, silent, and broody Jack DeLuca here. If you want to go out there and dance with hot girls, do it. If you want to walk over to that group”—Tyler nodded over Jack’s left shoulder to a girl laid out on the bar, guys lining up, the bartender holding a bottle of liquor over her navel—“and offer to take the next shot out of that girl’s belly button, do it. Or, if you want to spend your night making out with that girl wemet at the pool today, I don’t think she’d complain if you walked up to her and said that to her. In fact, she seems the type to appreciate a guy who goes after what he wants.”
Jack studied his friend, who flashed him a toothy grin. Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe this was his chance to try on a different Jack DeLuca for size. Afterall, he was going to college in the fall, and if there’s one thing he knew about college, it’s that the female population loved athletes. And if he was going to start—and hewouldstart; he would accept nothing less—he’d quickly become easily recognizable, and forced to socialize with not only an entirely new set of teammates, but classmates, coaches, staff, and other university officials. In college, he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with simply standing on the sidelines and watching the world pass by. No, he’d have to actively participate.
What better place for a trial run than Mexico?
“It really could be that simple, couldn’t it?” Jack said finally.
“It really could,” Tyler said with a knowing smirk. “So what do you say? Shall we?” He swept his arm out at the mass of bodies gathered in front of them, and Jack grinned.
“We shall.”
As they made their way to Chad and Zach, Jack rolled his shoulders back and set his face in one of those bored expressions he’d seen Zach adapt on more than one occasion. For whatever reason, girls were drawn to men who appeared uninterested, and he’d witnessed Zach secure hookups that way more times than he could count.
And when he reached the outer circle of girls gathered around Zach and Chad, Jack did something truly bold. He settled his hands on the hips of the nearest girl and pulled her back against his body.
