The not remembering Poppy bugs me a lot. I keep trying to find her in my memories, but she’s not there—not the way I want her to be. All I get is the swish of a long, strawberry blond ponytail and the urge to pull the end of it.
I close my eyes, trying to pull up other memories from the night, anything to make a connection between that girl in the picture and Poppy.
As I start talking about the little I recall, more memories trickle in until it becomes a flood. “I remember going upstairs and stopping in my room to grab that girl a shirt. I wanted to check on Miller since he hadn’t come outside.” It had been my excuse to go upstairs since it was late and we had the training session in the morning. I didn’t want bunnies in the house when Tash got there. She was pissy with us when she knew we’d been out partying. Me especially.
“That’s when you drew the dick on his face, right?”
“Yeah. Exactly. But I didn’t sleep with her after that. She had a freak out.”
“What do you mean?”
I remember tears. I have a weakness for girl tears. I don’t like it when women cry. My mum used to do it all the time. After she’d have one of her epic raging sessions on me, she’d feel bad. That didn’t stop it from happening again, though.
I sift back through my memory. The girl had been wrapped in a towel. I took her to my room. My phone had been sitting on my nightstand, lighting up with messages. It was Tash, reminding me she’d be there in the morning. I’d given the bunny a T-shirt while I messaged Tash back a thumbs up, because typing anything more required too much coordination. Then I realized it was after two in the morning, so she’d likely know we’d been out, anyway.
The girl had come up behind me and put her hands on me. It felt like spiders crawling on my skin, which wasn’t unusual. I’d grown accustomed to that sensation when any woman touched me, so I managed it for a few seconds before I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door instead of the bed.
I took her with me down the hall to Miller’s room, not because I was pawning her off on him, but because he’d been super drunk thanks to all the shots I’d fed him. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t face down in a pile of vomit.
“When I found Miller passed out, butt-ass naked and not responding other than grunts, the girl made a joke about drawing something on his face. She was wasted, falling all over the place, which should’ve been a solid tipoff that it wasn’t a great idea, but you know how it is.”
Randy gives me a short, curt nod. We’ve been drunk plenty of times together, and I’m sure he’s made some questionable choices in those uninhibited states. Nothing like the ones I make, but then he and I are a lot different.
“So I snapped a bunch of pictures of her posing with him, and I asked if it was okay if I posted a few of them, because they were funny. When my social media feeds started lighting up, she realized how bad it looked and how many people would see them.” She’d been wearing a shirt with nothing underneath—not that anyone could see that, but she was braless, and that much was clear.
“Ah, man.”
“Yeah. I mean, I should’ve known, especially with how much shit it created for Miller, but at first I couldn’t understand why she was so worked up. Anyway, it turns out she still lived with her parents, and the last thing I wanted was some father showing up at my front door with a shotgun, so I deleted them, but you know how things go viral.”
“Yup. I sure do.” Randy rolls his eyes.
“Anyway, this girl was all worried she’d be kicked out if her parents ever saw them. Then she really started to lose it and locked herself in my bathroom.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. I spent an hour trying to coax her out. She apologized and then wanted to fuck still, but I was tapping out, right? I felt bad though, so I wasn’t gonna kick her out. Besides, she was still drunk, so I let her get in my bed. I ended up sleeping on the floor because she kept trying to get on me. She knew a lot of my stats, where I grew up, when I moved to what team. It was a little creepy.”
“So she was, like, a super fan?”
“I guess? If I’d slept with her, it would’ve been a bad deal. She didn’t want me to tell anyone what did or didn’t happen.”
“You could’ve had a serious clinger if you’d jumped on that.”
“Right? So I guess that’s why Poppy thinks I fucked her friend.”
“Yep.” Randy seems mildly impressed with my recall.
“Do you think I should tell her it didn’t go down that way?”
“Why bother? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to see her again, right?”
“I have massages scheduled for when I get back.”
He looks stunned. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Well, I can’t go to the team massage therapist.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like how it feels.”
Randy stares at me. “I don’t get it. You mean she uses too much pressure? Just tell her to ease up, or take off your pussy panties.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what’s so special about Poppy, other than she’s hot?”
The sliding door opens, and I’m glad for the interruption. I don’t want to explain why I hate being touched. I’ve never really shared any of that with these guys. They know I had a brother and he died. That’s it. It’s not that I don’t trust them; it’s the possibility that they’ll look at me differently. Getting the beats I did from my mum was a special kind of humiliation, one I don’t like reliving if I can avoid it.
Miller comes inside and shakes off the cold, pausing when he sees me. “What’s up, Romance? You get sick of Rookie telling you how awesome you are already?”
“Rookie’s found himself an afternoon bunny.”
“You share your entire contact list with him or something?”
I laugh it off, but the comment stings. “He found her on his own. No help from me. How’s Sunny?”
“She’s calling the midwife, and she’ll get back to me. Hopefully soon.” He turns to Randy. “Lily’s at our place, and if things change at all, Sunny’s gonna call her mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I just want her to hold on until I get home.”
“She’ll have lots of support even if that’s not how it goes,” Randy assures him. “Why don’t we play some Xbox, or watch highlights?”
“Yeah. Good call.” Miller goes over to his bag and rummages around until he finds his gaming console, which always comes with us. We play for a while until I think it’s safe to go back to my room.
The bunny’s gone when I get there, which is good, because I didn’t want to deal with having to kick her out so I can get ready for the game. Before we head to the rink, I make the mistake of checking my phone. Tash has left more messages, which I stupidly check, so when I take the ice for my first shift I’m already amped up.
In the first period I get a penalty for checking. In the second period I get one for sticking, and in the third period McHugh, the forward for Philly, gets all up in my space and keeps pushing at me from behind. We’re up by two, and they’re getting desperate. My ribs are still sore from the fight last weekend, and that’s exactly where he keeps elbowing me.
After the sixth time, I lose my cool and say a bunch of shit to rile him up. It works. He shoves me from behind, so I turn around and get up in his face, looking for him to throw the first punch. He swings a right hook, which I deflect. Then I let him get in a few solid hits. I rip my helmet off and shove him back, so he goes for my face, his gloved fist slamming into my cheek.
The pain is almost a relief. I need it. I want it. I don’t know how to exist without it. I don’t brace for the next punch, letting it take me to the ice. I’m careful to keep my head up, though, which means I take the hit with my back. I don’t even have a chance to fight back before Miller and a couple of refs are between us.
Randy’s right there with him. “Romance, you gotta take it down. Come on, buddy.”