ONE
KNOX
The heavy scentof perfume hits me, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. It’s always the same smell, just a different body…exotic florals mixed with a dose of regret and bad decisions.
Sunlight streams into the hotel window, causing me to wince from the daggers shooting through my skull as I fling the bed sheet back and go in search of some clothes.
Going out with the team last night, on the day before practice season starts, wasn’t one of my top five best decisions. When they put me in a group text and kept adding me whenever I would duck out, I finally caved just to shut them the fuck up.
Being the team captain, I felt I owed it to them to at least socialize on a more personal level since I’m brand new to the team. Trust off the ice is just as important as on and can make or break a season.
Luckily, I’ve got a good relationship with most of them from playing together in the past or getting to know them through thekid camps I help fund. There are only a couple I need to work through some shit with, and last night was a good start.
Rummaging through my suitcase, I find a pair of grey sweats and throw them on. Running my fingers through my unruly head of dark blond hair, I go in search of some coffee.
Fuck, do I need some coffee.
I get a flash of auburn hair buried under the covers as I walk past the king-sized bed and into the other room, where the small kitchen is.
Reaching for the expensive-looking water the hotel supplied me, I pour it into the espresso machine and start brewing my cup. I don’t bother keeping quiet, hoping that my company will take the hint that our fun is over, and it’s time to wake up and leave.
Yeah, I’mthatasshole.
Popping two Motrin, I grab my freshly brewed coffee and wash the pills down before walking across the gleaming white-tiled floors toward the balcony doors. The warm, salty air hits me as soon as I step outside and take a deep inhale.
It’s a far cry from my New York view as I take in the beautiful ocean before me. Part of me is happy to be back home in Florida, and the other half of me is terrified the demons of my past will find a way to suffocate me here.
The click of heels behind me causes me to turn toward the sound. Melanie, or at least I think her name is Melanie, is walking my way. She’s dressed in her same tight green dress from last night, and I watch the gleam in her eyes appear when she sees the view.
When you’ve played hockey for as long as I have, it doesn’t take long to recognize a puck bunny when you see one. They show up dressed to the nines in outfits barely covering their asses, with either dollar signs in their eyes or just simply wanting bragging rights and a story to tell all of their friends.
Either way, I couldn’t care less. They are a means to an end for me, and since they are so willing to be a body for a night, nobody gets hurt in the process when I send them home the next morning.
“God, this view is amazing. This place must have cost you a fortune for the night.” She runs her manicured finger along the plush outdoor furniture that surrounds a glass fire table. “We didn’t even get to enjoy the jacuzzi,” she pouts as her gaze takes in the big hot tub in the corner.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I lean against the glass railing and take another sip of my coffee. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl with a great body, but that’s where it ends for me. My heart is too cold, I guess, to feel anything more.
“We could have a replay of last night,” she says, closing the distance between us. Her fingers skim across the tattoos covering my chest, and I feel…absolutely nothing. “Try out the hot tub…maybe order some room service for breakfast?”
“I’ve got practice in an hour.” I step out of her grasp and walk back towards the room. “I’ll get you an Uber,” I say, not bothering to glance back at her. There’s no reason to give her any hope that we will be doing this again.
She’s got her story to tell, and I got another night to help me forget.
This.
This is what I was born to do.
My blades slice through the ice with speed, causing bits of crystals to fly at my ankles. Sweat drips down my face, and my legs burn like the fires of hell as I do another set of drills with my team racing down the length of the rink to snatch the loose puck.
My stick touches first, and I easily maneuver it without breaking stride as I hone in on the net. Cayden Blade is a damn good goalie, but I’ve studied him enough through the years to know his weakness.
Going for the shot, I go hard and low, flicking my wrist at the last minute, landing the puck at the top right corner instead.
“Fuck,” I hear him mutter as it lands behind the red line.
Grinning, I angle around and ice him with my skates as I abruptly stop in front of him.
“Gets you every time,” I chuckle. “Thought we’ve played against each other enough that you would have learned my moves by now.”
