I’m also still surprised that she so eagerly let me fuck her.
I don’t believe for one second that she showed up here, intending for that to happen. I know I baited her into it, but I don’t feel bad because I gave her every chance to back out.
And she’s also right in the fact that there really is nothing quite like a good hate fuck.
My body kicks into gear at the reminder, the memory of her fine round ass on display for me prevalent in my mind. I groan, then squash it down as I’m also reminded of the fact that she willfully invaded my privacy, and none of this would have happened if I had turned out to be a disease-ridden low-life. The fucking nerve of her.
Still unwilling to move, I grab the remote off the table next to me and flip on sports highlights. I only have to wait a few minutes before tonight's game pops up on the screen. I turn up the volume, knowing that the two guys leading the discussion will be 50/50 split on loving and hating me. I’m not sure if either of them really likes or dislikes me, but that’s just the nature of the newscast.
Of course, the bigger highlight is me losing my shit and ending up in the penalty box for the second time. They can’t highlight the two goals I made or what could possibly end up being a new high goal-scoring record for the season. They’re too busy talking shit about my attitude and my age and how I better get my shit together before I end up injured, released, or just outright forced to retire.
I resist the urge to throw the remote at the screen, hitting the power button and then dropping the remote back on the table unceremoniously instead. I probably wouldn’t be so annoyed if they weren’t correct in everything they’re saying. But at some point, I know I’ll have to decide once and for all because I’d much rather leave on my terms than by injury or force.
The mere idea of leaving hockey behind has me feeling hollow. Even if I can’t play, I have a difficult time not seeing myself in the mix on a daily basis. Unfortunately, it’s a rare thing to have a former player become a coach or even a trainer. Because they have far more qualified coaches and trainers at this level. I would even be the guy running the Zamboni someday if that’s what got me in the door.
Chuckling at the idea, I force myself to sit up. I get my feet beneath me, dreading the idea of having to move but knowing I’ll feel even worse if I let myself stay here until morning. Groaning, I slowly manage to get to my feet, taking a moment to stretch out my limbs and get the grease going in my joints. It’s no wonder I’m in even more pain than usual after the fucking I gave Cassidy. The reminder makes me smile, though the smile is short-lived as the true nature of her visit wipes out the carnal memory.
What a presumptuous, deceitful little hellion.
If I had already played my true last game, the decision wouldn’t be this difficult. She has what I want, and this is the only path for me to get it. But I also know if I take this deal, it’s pretty likely I’ll immediately be released from the team. Which means it’s probably in my best interest to make my exit beforehand. Everyone will assume that I’ve been dating her on the sly. I can’t remember off hand if there’s a no-fraternization clause in my contract, but if I’m a betting man, I’d bet that there’s a pretty solid one. I dig my phone out of the bag I left inthe entryway, slowly making my way toward my bedroom as I put in my code and bring up my messages.
Ren: Is there a no-fraternization clause in my contract?
I stare at the screen, only slightly surprised when I see the bubbles indicating that my lawyer’s answering my message in the middle of the night. I’m sure he charges double for such correspondence, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised at all.
Shark face: Probably. Why are you asking?
Ren: I need a definitive answer before I respond to that question.
Shark face: Do you need to know right now?
Ren: Ideally, yes.
Shark face: Stand by.
I continue down to the master suite, glancing at the chair in the corner where I first saw Cassidy. I shake my head again. Stripping out of my clothes, I walk into the bathroom, knowing the best thing I can do right now is wash the scent of her off my body.
I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper, stepping under the water before it’s fully hot, cursing my short-sightedness in my haste. I brace myself against the frigid water, breathing through as I accept the punishment I inflicted on myself and then relaxing once the water begins to warm and then turns hot. I make fast work of washing myself, quickly rinsing off and exiting the shower as my phone beeps on the counter. I half-ass drymyself off before picking up my phone, frowning at the unknown number the message came from.
Unknown: You can just reply deal or no deal here when you’ve made your decision.
Fucking Cassidy. Obviously, she must have gotten my number from my employee record, also where she probably got my address. Oh, and let's not forget my fucking medical records.
I hold the phone up closer to my face, gritting my teeth as I stop myself from sending her a derogatory message. Instead, I get extra juvenile by flipping off my phone screen as if she can see it.
I drop the phone back on the counter, drying the rest of my body before hanging up the towel. I grab my phone, exit the bathroom, and make my way to my closet, where I find some underwear, dragging them into place as my phone beeps again. This time, it’s my lawyer, who made exceptional time reading over a very long contract. Of course, it’s more likely that he roused his legal secretary because she probably knows that thing from one end to the other.
Shark face: Shockingly, there are no fraternization rules at all.
Ren: Are you serious?
Shark face: I’m always fucking serious.
Ren: Fair.
Shark face: Now, are you going to tell me why you’re asking?
Ren: Nope. You just have to wait and see like everyone else.
