We’re playing the Golden Knights in Las Vegas, and they’re kicking our ass. We’re down 4–1, and it’s nearing the end of the third period. My head has been somewhere else all throughout this game, namely on Madison.
It’s all because I spoke with her on the phone about an hour or so before we hit the ice. She had some questions about a situation that had occurred. I cleared everything up, but it’s had the whole team in a funk all day long.
And what was that situation?
Well, Easton—who’s married to Claire, of course—got caught in a picture kissing some puck bunny at a club we went to the other night. It wasn’t even his fault, though. It wasn’t a real kiss either. The interaction on his part was totally innocent. The girl who planted her lips on him unexpectedly was actually trying to hook up withme.
Um, I didn’t tell Madison that part.
I don’t know why, as we’re not in a relationship. I guess it just seemed like sharing that little tidbit could make things awkward.
Whatever.
I don’t know.
The bottom line is that the puck bunny turned away from me and kissed Easton, catching him off guard.
I helped him with damage control this morning when the photo was leaked on a hockey blog. Well, my agent got it taken down. He also came up with a plausible story about it all being part of some stupid bet.
That man is good at putting out dumpster fires. God knows he’s had enough of them with me.
But I wasn’t the problem this time.
Come to think of it, it kind of amazes me that I had absolutely no desire to hook up with that puck bunny.
Damn, Madison is in my head that much!
This is getting ridiculous.
This isn’t me.
I need to fuck her and get her out of my system.
Yeah, like that’ll help.
The problem is, I’m beginning to like her as a person, as well as wanting to fuck her brains out. We’ve been texting and talking on the phone a lot lately, especially on this road trip the team has been on for the past several days. I’ve discovered there’s just this really natural comfort level between us.
It’s like we’re good friends already.
“But we’re not,” I mumble to myself.
Shane, seated next to me on the bench, looks over at me strangely.
Shaking his head, he says, “Great. Easton’s been out of it all game, and now you’re talking to yourself. No wonder we’re losing.”
Hey, he’s not wrong.
But this game is too far gone. No way can we make up three goals and catch up to tie with the Knights when we’re this out of synch.
Still, with two and a half minutes left, Coach pulls our goaltender and adds an extra attacker.
My line is up, so Shane, Easton, and I hit the ice.
We’re just lackluster, though. We can’t even get a good cycle going in the Knights’ zone.
Sure, there’s a lot of back-and-forth, but it’s mostly our defensemen retrieving the puck and shooting it back up ice.
Uh-oh, one of those shots just got intercepted by an opposing player.
