Boone: But you’re okay? Personally?
Wow. I played so shitty my messy brother is checking in on my well-being?
Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Just a rough night.
Boone: Okay. You know you can talk to me if something is going on.
I scoff at that. As if. Boone’s attention is fleeting at best, and even if something was wrong, I would never burden him with it. He’s got enough to focus on.
Me: Appreciate it. I’m good though. Promise.
Boone: Okay. See you tomorrow night.
Me: See you then.
I tuck my phone away when Hen indicates he’s ready to go. Since the bar is just down the street, we choose to walk. Denver is a nice city with easily walkable areas, and in this case, it’s probably easier to walk than drive. In fact, I can see some of the Colorado players up ahead of us.
My teammates and I are pretty somber as we walk, but a few drinks will loosen us up and improve our mood.
“Not too much to drink,” Landham shouts. “We have an early flight and practice tomorrow when we get home. It’ll suck if you’re hungover.”
“Yes, Captain,” a few teammates shout back.
“Shots?” Hen asks, bumping his arm against mine.
“Fuck no. I’m having one beer and then I’m out. I’m not young enough to bounce back like I used to.”
“Who is?” He chuckles, sliding his arm around my shoulders and squeezing. “Glad you came out though. It’s good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I’d rather get laid, but that’s not happening. Maybe it could if I was at home. I could use the card that’s been burning a hole in my pocket since Wraith gave it to me.
Wraith.
What kind of fucking name is that? I looked it up out of curiosity to see if it was some kind of common name in a different country, but no. It means a ghostlike figure, often seen shortly before or after someone’s death. Pretty fucking eerie and very curious why someone calls themselves that. Not that his name matters. I just want to put my dick in one of his holes.
We enter the bar and join the Colorado players in a section with several tables pushed together. There are pitchers of beer and some appetizers already scattered around the table, and not far away, a group of gorgeous women obviously making eyes at the players.
“Ooh, Denver doesn’t disappoint.” Hen nods in the direction of the women.
“Yeah.” Fuck, I wish I wanted one of them. I could be like all the other guys on the team, openly flirting, agreeing to go somewhere for a quick hookup, but my dick doesn’t react at all. It never has and obviously never will.
“I’m gonna shoot my shot with that redhead,” Hen says.
“Good luck, man.”
Hen is popular with the ladies, and he’s often named as one of hockey’s most eligible players, making even more women cling to him when given the opportunity. I watch him for a few minutes, but my mind quickly shifts to dealing with my own needs. I really need to release some of this tension, but I can’t take the chance here. Colorado fans pay attention to everything. They’d definitely notice if I walked off with some random guy. Guess it’s another night of jacking off for me.
“Paxon Bouchard?”
I turn around and have to look down to see the man speaking to me. “Yes.”
“Hi.” His smile brightens his face as he tucks a lock of wavy brown hair behind his ear. “I’m a huge fan.”
“Be careful. You don’t want the Colorado players to hear you.”
A pretty pink flushes across his cheeks. “I’ve been following you, I mean, your career for years. You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.”
