I miss a training session because I don’t get back to Chicago until late on Sunday. After dropping off Lily I stopped in to see Michael, the kid we held the exhibition game for back in September, before I caught a flight home. Miller had been to see him yesterday, like I figured he would. We can’t be this close and not visit. I talk to him on Facebook and stuff, but it’s not the same as face to face. It’s hard to see a thirteen-year-old sick like that, but his treatment is going well, and surgery is scheduled for early December.
I’ve ignored my phone since I left Toronto for Guelph. More like I turned it off. I have seven messages when I turn it back on. Three are clearly speech-to-text-recorded from Miller because some of it doesn’t make sense. The rest of are voice mails. I only have to listen to one to know he’s stressed.
“Dude. You need to call me. Shit’s about to go down. Coach is pissed. I mean pissed. You have no idea. Where the hell are you? We have a team meeting at eight tomorrow. You better not miss it or you’re gonna be benched. You might be anyway for missing today.”
That’s early for a game day. It’s already after eleven. I’ve just walked in the door after my flight back from Lily Land. Calling him to find out what’s going on will probably kill the buzz I’m still riding.
Instead, I throw some food in the microwave and send Lily a message while it heats.
Back in Chicago. I’d rather b in u.
We used an entire box of condoms. All twelve, with the last time in the Jeep. That’s a record. I’ve never had that many consecutive hard-ons in a row and been able to finish every time.
If that keeps happening, I’m going to develop some kind of addiction problem. To her. I glance down. I’m hard. Again. And everything is hypersensitive after so much action in such a short period of time. I’m almost inclined to pull a Miller and walk around naked to keep the friction at bay. If I end up having to whack it tonight, I’ll need some kind of lube to prevent it from being unpleasant.
The microwave beeps, so I take the plate out, burning my fingertips. I search for a dishtowel or something and take my meal into the living room so I can watch sports highlights. I also call Miller on the off chance he’s still awake. I should probably know what I’m walking into in the morning.
He answers on the third ring. “Fuck you for calling me this late, asshole.”
“What’s going on?”
“We have a meeting at fuck you o’clock in the morning, and a game tomorrow, night, and you’re calling to ask me what’s going on? Screw you, Balls. You’ll find out in the morning.” I get dead air.
I’d call him back, but he sounds pissed. Miller’s usually a level guy. He wasn’t exactly happy about me swinging by Guelph to visit Lily. He didn’t so much say it as I could tell by his attitude.
I check my messages again, even though my phone hasn’t beeped. Lily’s definitely asleep. I’m sure I wore her out this weekend. She kept up, though. It’s hard to find someone who can manage my sexual appetite. I kinda wish she lived closer.
Since there’s so much time between seeing each other, I should be able to stretch things out a little longer than usual with her. Which is fantastic since the sex is out of this world. Plus she’s not clingy. Usually after a marathon sex-fest like the one we had, the girl is texting me nonstop, asking about the next hook-up. Lily’s not like that. I appreciate it, and I don’t. Her lack of communication makes me second-guess how well things went and how she’s feeling about it.
I scrub my hands over my face and vow to stop fixating on Lily and start wondering what I missed at our training session this afternoon. I’m probably in trouble for that, but I’m sure Coach’ll understand my flight delay—which didn’t actually happen, but I’m pretending did.
I give Lance a try, but I get his voice mail. I don’t leave a message. I try one last person. I hit the call button and regret it immediately. Waters and I aren’t all that tight yet, but he seems to like me well enough. As the team captain, he might be willing to give me the information Miller isn’t.
I’ll be lucky if I’m not waking him up. I second-guess myself and am about to end the call when someone picks up. “Horny Nut Sac, why are you calling my fiancé’s phone at this hour?” It’s Violet. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been inside a Canadian haven’t you?” she asks.
“What?”
“You’re apologizing, and you don’t even know for what. You’ve definitely been inside a Canadian.”
“I don’t—”