In the locker room, I strip out of my sweaty jersey and pads and drop my hockey pants on the gleaming floor. We’ve got a state-of-the-art facility here. The room is huge, the lockers are padded leather, and the ventilation system is top-notch. It only slightly smells like old socks in here.
Garrett comes up beside me and whips off his helmet. His dark hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. As he reaches up to smooth his hair away, I glance at the badass flames tattooed on his biceps. It always makes me think I want to get inked myself, but then I remember the travesty on Hollis’ leg that he got after our first Frozen Four win. Three years later, and he still wears long socks to cover it up most of the time.
“Think we’ll ever remember how to play hockey again?” he says wryly.
I snort. “Season’s just started. We’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. Neither does Hunter Davenport, who lumbers over with a sour look.
“We keep getting worse,” the freshman growls, and then, in eighteen-year-old fashion, hurls one glove against the wall.
I quickly glance around and sigh in relief when I don’t spot Coach. The man would shit a brick if he saw one of us throwing a temper tantrum in the locker room.
“Chillax, kid,” Mike Hollis, a junior, tells Hunter. He’s bare-chested and in the process of undoing his pants. “Who cares if we lose a scrimmage in practice?”
“It’s not about the scrimmage,” Hunter snaps. “It’s that we suck.”
Hollis tips his head. “You got laid last night, didn’t ya?”
The dark-haired freshman furrows his brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. We embarrassed ourselves in that game, got our asses kicked, and you still had chicks lining up to suck on your knob. Doesn’t matter if we win or lose—we’re still hockey players. We rule this school, dude.”
“Spoken like a man without ambition,” Garrett says, his lips twitching.
Hollis shrugs. “Hey, not all of us have a hard-on for the pros like you do. Some of us are happy doing this for the pussy.”
A heavy sigh sounds from the end of the long bench spanning our lockers. Colin “Fitzy” Fitzgerald, an enormous junior with scruffy hair and more tats than a biker, saunters over and smacks Hollis on the ass.
“Do you ever not talk about pussy?” Fitzy asks.
“Why would I talk about anything else? Pussy’s great.”
He’s right about that. Unfortunately, I won’t get to experience any great pussy for at least…oh, a month? Two? I’m not sure how long it’ll take my cock to forget about Sabrina James. If I hooked up with anyone else right now, I’d only be comparing her to Sabrina, and that’s not fair to anyone involved.
“Oh hey,” Hollis says suddenly. “Speaking of pussy…”
Garrett rolls his eyes. Hard.
“I’m hitting up Boston this weekend,” Hollis continues. “Crashing at my brother’s place. You guys want to come with? Barhopping, a few clubs, hot girls. It’ll be a good time.”
Our team captain frowns. “We’ve got a game on Saturday.”
Hollis waves a hand. “We’ll be back in time.”
“You’d better be.” Garrett shrugs. “But I can’t go anyway. Got plans with my girl this weekend.” His face takes on a faraway expression, a mixture of wonder and pure bliss, before he saunters off toward the shower area.
I tamp down the envy that rises in my throat. Garrett’s been with Hannah for a year now, and it doesn’t seem like that new love glow is ever going to wear off. He’s so in love with his girlfriend that it’s almost disgusting. Ditto for Logan, who recently got back together with his girlfriend Grace and professed his love for her on the radio.
It feels a bit…wrong, I guess, that the two biggest players I know have settled down. Out of all of us, I’m the guy who’s into all that commitment stuff. When I first came to Briar, I figured I’d meet the woman of my dreams—the one—during freshman orientation, date her for the next four years, and propose after graduation. But it didn’t turn out that way at all. I’ve dated lots of girls, slept with a lot of them too, but none of them were the one.
Meanwhile, Garrett and Logan found their ones when they weren’t even looking for them, those lucky bastards.
“Tuck?” Hollis encourages. “Boston? Dude weekend? You in?”
My first inclination is to say no, but my mind trips over the word Boston. I know Sabrina said she didn’t want to see me again, but…would she really tell me to get lost if we happened to run into each other in the city? I mean, she lives there, and I happen to know her address, so…who knows, right? Maybe a stellar Yelp review will take the guys and me to some amazing bar in her neighborhood. Maybe we’ll bump into each other. Maybe—
Maybe you’re turning into a stalker?
I stifle a sigh. Fine, my mind’s definitely treading into Stranger Danger! territory. But even knowing that, I can’t stop myself from saying, “Sure, I’m in. Wouldn’t mind catching a Bruins game at a sports bar or something.”