I’ve let my fixation on Maya take me on a ride. Coach commended me on my way out of his office when practice ended Saturday morning. He believes I suggested goat yoga for alternative training because of my dedication to the game. I’m always looking for ways to edge out our competition by doing everything to train at peak condition.
The truth is, I really want to see her. There’s no doubt how much I like her, which makes me fucking nervous because I’venever been in this situation before. This is brand new territory to be more interested every time I see her.
At first she caught my attention because I was curious how she had the guts to sit front and center in the Heston student section, cheering for the opposing team. Then she held my attention with that dance in the bar and her intriguing challenge. After only a handful of encounters, I’m drawn to her, searching campus for her in every brunette I pass, hoping it’ll mean I get five minutes with her.
Maybe in the past I’d fuck her a few times and get it out of my system, but this isn’t about that. Yes, I want her. Obviously I want her. But it’s more than that. I’ve been thinking about hanging out with her and holding her hand, for fuck’s sake.
This is beyond simple attraction to her because she’s hot as hell. I’ve never become so consumed by an unending desire for a girl like this. I want more—way more than I should. If I’m this crazy over her when I hardly know her, I can only imagine what it will be like once I do. The thought is equally exhilarating and nerve-racking.
I haven’t even kissed her yet and I can tell once would never be enough. She’s not a hit it and quit it girl. Not if the strange sense in my gut like I’m excited and freaked out all at once whenever I’m near her is anything to go by. Not when I want to be around her in any way she’ll tolerate my presence.
I justlikeher. End of.
Our upcoming games against UConn and UMass didn’t factor in when I talked to coach.
UConn is always a tough team that we fight neck and neck with to win overall in our division on the road to Frozen Four. Playing UMass is personal for me. I fight for every win against them. Their recruiter came to a few of my games in junior league, but ultimately they passed on me.
At eighteen, that shit stung. By now, I know I’m where I should be. Since I started at Heston, I’ve put the work in to prove to the coaches, to my teammates, and to myself that I’ve got what it takes to take us all the way every time.
Am I putting all of that at risk if I keep chasing Maya? This isn’t the time to split my focus. Being drafted from the NCAA is a slim chance at best, yet it’s way better prospects to reach the NHL that way over going the free agent route.
I have been skating my ass off in games, especially against Vermont last weekend. In fact, I played incredibly every time it was my shift on the ice. We won in a shutout, and I’m not going to lie, I wanted to win it for her because she wished me luck. Even if she wasn’t there to see it.
If I can win while she’s on my mind, it’s okay, right?
“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I reason under my breath.
There are guys on the team who have girlfriends. They find the balance, like Keller used to say to me and Cameron as rookies. He and his girlfriend—now fiancé—made it through okay, so maybe I have nothing to stress out over.
There’s never been a deeper connection to worry about before. I’ve worked so hard at keeping girls as a surface level thing so I’m not distracted from my goals. Screwing that up now when I’m so close to the goals I’ve been striving for could be the end of everything. It hasn’t been an issue until her.
I never expected a girl to catch my eye, least of all Donnelly’s sister.
Maya turns me into a man possessed.Obsessed.
The only thing I’ve ever been obsessed with is playing hockey.
When I’m around her, there’s nothing I won’t do to earn her gorgeous smile. Then when she’s not around, I hear her voice, imagine her sarcastic eye rolls that ignite something warm and thrilling within me. She’s constantly on my mind.
And half the time, it’s like she barely acknowledges that I exist.
A soft laugh leaves me. I set my stick aside and massage my forehead. What the hell am I doing?
The shuffle of feet on pavement draws me out of my thoughts.
Neil Cannon pauses in front of the short pathway leading up to the house, eyeing me. The retired NHL player is a local legend. He comes to all of our home games and usually takes a walk about this time. Some of the guys think he does it to keep an eye on the players coming back from practice. He stops sometimes to offer his advice.
After another moment of scrutiny, he turns down the path and takes a seat beside me on the porch steps with a gruff, crackling hum. Neither of us speak until he sighs.
“I don’t have all night.”
“Uh.” I’m not clear on what he means.
“Talk,” he grumbles without making any move to go. “Better be quick, or I’m leaving you to sort out what’s on your mind for yourself.”
“Oh. Okay, right.” I clear my throat, pushing my fingers through my hair as I search for where to start. “I’m just out here thinking about a lot of stuff.”
Cannon snorts. “You don’t say.”
