“I’ll go get her.” Carolina rushes out after her to disappear in the hotel hallway.
“You have to sign this NDA.” The guard shoves papers at me, seemingly oblivious to the half-naked girls dancing around.
“Sign it for what? What’s going on here?”
“You want in or not?”
“Okay. Just so you know, these aren’t legally enforceable in Washington state, so…” I sign with a fake name.
As I’m inspecting all the weirdly expensive but tacky collection of liquor in the wet bar, a huge, naked man with a hockey tattoo on his chest swaggers into the room. All the girls scream when they see him and rush to him.
Behind him, a girl who looks, well, fucked, staggers out, clutching a bottle of Jack and her shoes. “Oh my god,” she moans, “that was amazing.” She’s clutching a seafoam-green-and-blue Seattle jersey to herself, giggling as he slaps her butt when she walks past.
He flexes his biceps to more screams from the women flocking around him. I’m feeling deeply uncomfortable. Where the hell is Carolina?
Think about your parents. This guy is a hot, rich hockey player. It’s perfect. And Kathy will fit right in.
I have my spiel prepped. I can pitch with no sleep, with nothing but a hundred-dollar bill and a screenshot of a spreadsheet.
“Damn.” He grabs a blender bottle of protein-shake slop out of the minifridge and chugs it down.
What in the hell?
“Who’s next?” the hockey player roars.
“Me! Me! Me!” The girls crowd around, mewling.
Where the hell is Kathy?
The hockey player turns to me and jumps his pec muscles. He pushes through the crush of the scantily clad girls.
“Line up.”
The girls drunkenly form a wavy line.
The naked hockey player pops a beer and slowly heads down the line. “I like to fuck my girls when she’s wearing my jersey.”
“Wait, so you’re running a reverse train? Like a reverse gang bang?” I frown.
“I’m the Orcas’ star forward. I can do what I want.” More muscle flexing. “I get paid eight million dollars a year.”
“Fascinating.” I step out of line. “Tell me, are you looking for a wife, mother of your children, or shit, stay-at-home girlfriend for the next six to eight months?”
He comes over to me. “You want to get your ass eaten?”
He throws his jersey at me. There’s sticky cum on it.
Gross. I drop it.
“I want to ride you like a puck bunny.”
“That analogy doesn’t make any sense.” I wave Kathy’s photo at him. “So, you’re not interested? We might have to come back at a later time, though. Maybe when you’re sober and have a dictionary handy.”
He pours beer into the protein shake container and chugs it.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna go. I think the hotel bar’s still serving food.”
“You’re not leaving until you let me fuck you like an orca.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s protein shake staining the scraggly hockey-player beard.
