That was more than eight months ago. Since then I’ve been on a dating hiatus. Hockey players of any kind have been strictly off the table. Until Alex.
The irony that I’m involved with a would-be manwhore-who-was-never-a-manwhore is not lost on me. In my defense I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. It’s not my fault all the rumors turned out to be false and Alex is a nice guy.
Several members of Alex’s team wander into the lounge. Most sit on the couches and watch TV while they wait for the rest of the guys to finish cleaning up. They’re all wearing suits, looking refined. A guy named Spencer sets a brush and a ponytail holder in front of me. His hair is long and pulled back into one of those man bun things I’ve seen a lot of lately.
“You look like you might need this.” His cheeks pinken as his eyes lift to my hair. I’d appreciate it more if I wasn’t so embarrassed.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
By the time I’ve brushed my hair into a semismooth ponytail, Alex returns to the lounge, freshly showered and dressed in a black pinstripe suit.
“Leaving the locker room should be interesting, hey, Waters?” one of the guys says, nodding in my direction.
It takes a few seconds for this information to process. I have to leave through the same door I came in. There are always camera crews waiting, even after the interviews are done. How the hell am I going to get out of here without the world finding out I’ve become Alex’s puck bunny?
VIOLET
Closing my eyes, I pray for the ability to beam myself out of the locker room. Unfortunately, when I open them I’m still standing here staring at Alex. He’s nice to look at, so that’s a consolation.
“I can’t leave the locker room.”
Someone starts to speak. I shush them with a karate chop through the air. This is unreasonable. I’m aware I’ll have to leave this room eventually. I’m so freaked out. I must look like those weird greeting cards with the animals whose eyes are half the size of their head. I don’t want pictures taken of me like this. Unable to contain myself, I pace around the room, continuing my mini-tirade, explaining why I can’t leave should Alex or any of his teammates within earshot be interested.
“People are going to think I’m your hockey hooker. Or I’m gangbanging the team. Then you know what will happen?” Alex opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Some porn producer will try and put me in a movie. It’ll be called Hockey Hooker does the Hawks.”
I suck in a deep breath. It’s not enough; I can’t get sufficient air into my lungs. I’m sweaty and clammy. If this is what a panic attack is, I never want another one. The room is dead silent, except for Kirk.
“I’d totally buy a porno with you in it,” he says.
I laser-beam holes through him with my eyes. I guess he means it as a compliment. I look over at Alex, ashamed for enjoying the murderous glint in his eye. Primal yet sophisticated in his suit, he bares his teeth at Kirk.
“I’m not going to be in a porno.” I try for indignant, but my voice is shrill and choked.
I’m full-on panicking. Alex better fuck me into oblivion later tonight so I can forget about this fiasco.
It doesn’t matter if I look like a hooker or not, I’ll be tarred as one if I leave the locker room with the team.
Buck’s hockey bag has to be in here somewhere. I’ve seen it enough times to recognize it. Better yet, maybe I can find Alex’s bag. Those bags are huge, and I’m small. If his crap isn’t in there, I can most certainly fit inside. Buck can wheel me out and no one will be the wiser.
I stride into the other room, ignoring the eyes on me. I have a goal: avoid the walk of shame from the locker room into the paws and jaws of the media slores. I unzip Buck’s bag and I’m almost knocked over by the smell.
“Holy hell, Buck. I think something died in here.” I lift his sweaty jersey, searching for a rodent corpse, or human remains.
“Those are my lucky socks. I won’t wash them until we lose a game.” As if luck is going to stop them from smelling like a carcass.
“How do you not have trench foot from wearing these things? Have you checked to make sure you have all your toes?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Really? You wanna get on my case right now?”
I shove the offending sock back in the bag and zip it up. The smell is so putrid my eyes water. Even my nose hairs feel singed. I look around the room and spot Alex’s bag. I know it’s his because it says “WATERS” in huge red letters. Rushing over, I open it up. Everything smells sweaty but not vile, so I’m willing to make a temporary home of it. I start unloading the contents, surprised by how much stuff fits in there.
Alex kneels beside me. “Violet, baby, what are you doing?”
I pull out his skates and a couple of the bigger items, making room to climb in. It doesn’t smell bad at all; hanging out in his hockey bag should be manageable for a few minutes.
“This is how you’re going to get me out of here.” I mean, isn’t it obvious?