3. Michael
”Hicks! Hurry up, we”re waiting on you...again,” I call up to my perpetually late roommate.
Landry, the owner of this house we all call home, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
”Every freakin” time,” he mumbles. ”He”s worse than my sister.”
I pull back the sleeve of my suit to check my watch. If we don”t leave right now, we”ll catch traffic and end up doing extra laps next practice thanks to our time-challenged left winger.
”Forget it. Let”s leave him,” he says, grabbing the keys to his Bronco.
I look up the stairs one last time and say, ”We”re leaving you behind, molasses. You”ll have to take your hunk of junk.”
”Goddamnit,” Hicks cries out.
Landry and I exchange glances before both screaming up, ”Jar!”
Hicks appears at the top of the steps with his bow tie still placed around his neck.
”Seriously, that”s what”s taking you so long?” Landry says to him.
”I”m sorry. Did you guys take some kind of bow tie class in college that I happened to miss?” he says sarcastically as he rips it off and stomps down the steps.
”It”s called the internet...you get it for free by mooching off of me,” Landry deadpans. ”Now let”s go, we”ll fix it when we get there. Rina”s gonna ream our asses.”
I grab the growing swear jar off the kitchen counter and slide it toward them both.
”Nope. I covered my fee for the week when Zane gave me that wedgie at the BBQ. I threw in that fifty,” Hicks points to the Benjamin sitting at the top of the jar change.
”Wait, that”s my Benji!” Landry protests. ”I tossed it in when we were playing Never have I ever, and Ryker and the rookie both drank to ”I”ve never made out with a teammate”s sister.””
I try to hold back a laugh remembering the interaction, considering both of them had technically made out with Landry”s sister at one point or another.
But they stare each other down. Tensions have been high since beating Nashville on their home ice earlier this week, securing our spot in the conference finals. We try to relax and have fun as much as we can. But between practices, workouts and public relations events—we”re all running on fumes.
We just need some relief.
”You know what...fuck the jar,” I say.
They both turn to me. ”What?”
I grab the swear jar that”s been a staple since we all moved in together last summer and empty it onto the counter. The bills all float down as the coins clank against the marble counters and clammer onto the tile floor.
”Fuck the jar,” I say again. ”Let”s just go.”
Landry tilts his head and assesses me. ”Are you ok?”
”Maybe he”s getting a fever?” Hicks says, placing the back of his hand on my forehead.
I swat him away.
”Look, it’s served its purpose. I’ve had my fun. But let”s be real, I really don”t give a shit what my dad thinks anymore.”
My dad—he’s the reason we have this swear jar in the house in the first place. I was seven when I told him I wanted to play hockey. He”d never been a big sports guy, preferring to spend his evenings diving into the words of an ancient book to which he”d devoted his life, and I respected him for it.
But I didn”t want to be a pastor like him, nor did my older brother at one point in our lives. We wanted to make our own way in this life.
Dad accepted that I wouldn”t be like him but insisted that if I were to play hockey, I”d need to keep my testimony intact, at the very least.
That”s church talk for: don”t act a fool. No swearing, drinking heavily, or sleeping around.
He would insist that you can be in this world and not be of it. At seven, I didn”t care what I agreed to as long as I could play the game I desperately loved.
But now, I just want my life back.
It”s not like he ever comes to any of my games. And if it weren”t for our weekly Sunday dinner, I”d rarely see the man. He”s made it clear that he thinks I”m losing myself. The only thing keeping him from making me his full-time project is my brother.
The prodigal son returned from his worldly ways to be groomed to take over the church a few years ago. So, really, I”m not needed anymore. I”m free from the responsibility of being my dad”s replacement. The true heir is where he needs to be.
”So we can say fuck now? In the house?” Hicks asks as he slips on his suit jacket. ””Cause you know I love saying fuck.”
”And shit. And damn. And all the four-letter words you can imagine,” I clarify.
Landry scrunches his face.
”What?” I ask him.
He shrugs, ”Nothing. It”s just...I kind of liked the swear jar.”
”Are you kidding me right now?” I open the front door, and they both brush past me. ”You liked me swindling you for your use of cuss words?” I ask, genuinely confused.
He pushes the remote start button on his keys, and the bright yellow Bronco purrs to life.
”I mean, no, it”s not that. It was just nice to have something to keep us all...connected.”
I shake my head, ”Landry, what the hell are you talking about?”
We all slide into our usual seats. I”m in the back alone, Hicks is in the passenger seat, and Landry is driving.
”I get what he”s saying,” Hicks adds. ”It was like a team-building thing, right Cap?”
Landry pulls the vehicle around the circular driveway and onto the road that leads out of this gated community for the rich and entitled.
”Yeah, it”s like our roommate thing. You know, like my ”my house, my rules, roommate dinner” or BBQ game nights with the team.” He shrugs again. ”It”s our thing.”
I shake my head again. ”Unbelievable. You all complain every single time I ask you to pay up, but you secretly enjoy it? I live with masochists.”
”I don”t enjoy it one fucking bit,” Hicks admits. ”I”d like to keep my loose change, thank you very much.”
“And that was a lot of loose change. You collected enough from us all to fill that jar fifty times over. What did you even do with all that money?” Landry asks me, watching me through the rearview mirror as he drives toward the downtown hotel where we”re meeting up with the rest of the team.
I laugh. ”You guys would think it”s stupid.”
”Then you definitely have to tell us. Technically we were your angel investors in this stupid thing you did,” Hicks says, rolling down his window and letting his arm hang out.
I run a hand through my hair. It”s not like Keelan Landry”s, nice and slicked back, looking like a debonair secret agent man. Nor like Joshua Hicks, who clearly spent the last hour perfectly coaxing his locks into place with hair spray.
My brown hair reflects exactly how I feel—unruly, especially after secretly launching my own dating app over the last few months. Late nights, lots of Zoom meetings with team members worldwide, and keeping it all a secret from my nosy teammates will do that.
I open the app on my phone and slide it to them on the center console. Landry eyes the phone as Hicks picks it up to get a better look.
”You paid for a membership for a hookup app?” Hicks laughs as he says it. ”That”s nothing new, preacher boy. We all know your luck on these things.”
”He what?” Landry tries to examine the app. ”Is that BlindBang?”
I groan before admitting to them, ”I didn”t pay for a membership...I made it.”
Hicks turns in his seat to look me in the eye, my phone still in his hand. ”You made...what exactly?”
”The app. I developed the app.”
Landry stays quiet for a second as Hicks just stares at me blankly.
”I told you it was stupid,” I say, reaching for my phone.
”Wait, you made a hookup app? H-how the fuck did you do that?” he asks, holding the phone away from me as he scrolls through the app.
”Well...you said it yourself. You were my angel investors.”
Landry chuckles, low at first, but it grows into a full-on laugh. ”You made a hookup app using the money from our swear jar? Fergie! Dude, who even are you?”
”Michael Ferguson, you dirty, dirty dog, you.” Hicks finally hands me my phone, and I snatch it back.
”I figured if I controlled the outcome, it might actually work out for me.”
Landry is still laughing, hitting the steering wheel as he maneuvers through downtown traffic. ”So, does it? Does it work?”
I shrug, opening my conversation with KeepHerWild and scrolling through the photos she sent me over the last week.
I still don”t know what the girl looks like. But that”s the point. I made an app that connects people based on their interests in a very thorough questionnaire that they get to answer privately. The algorithm matches them up based on what they”re looking for. Kinks. Fantasies. Fetishes. All of them are kept a secret from the users. But the algorithm knows. Therefore, you get to date people who automatically fit your most secretly held fantasies.
There are safety features to ensure that only serious people use the app. I”d never want to put people in compromising situations so users don”t see the facial features of a person they match with until they meet up for an agreed-upon date. Our soft launch was a few weeks ago, and we already have over two million users.
”So?” Hicks presses.
”I guess we”ll find out.” I leave out the part about my first date tonight. I”ll need to sneak away after this event to make it, but it”ll be worth it.
”Wow, I swear you guys never cease to amaze me. We got Ryker having a baby with my sister. Zane suddenly married to the love of his life. You”re about to match with your perfect sexual fantasy girl,” Landry says, turning to Hicks. ”Soon, it”ll be just you and me.”
”And then there were two,” Hicks says, slapping a hand on Landry”s shoulder.
”You”re both so dramatic. This is why I didn”t say anything. And it goes without saying, but you’re both sworn to secrecy, got it?”
“I agree to nothing of the sort. I will use this information as emotional blackmail however I see fit,” Hicks says.
I flip him off and he smirks.
”Look, I”m just glad you took matters into your own hands. If I had to see you get catfished on one of those other apps one more time, I was going to start an app of my own,” Hicks admits. ”I”d call it Save the Pastor”s Son. You”d be the only male user, and real girls with sympathy in their hearts would sign up to bang the misery out of you.”
Landry lets out another boisterous laugh, shaking his head next to him.
”Wow. Revolutionary,” I say. ”Really appreciate the sentiment.”
”That”s what friends are for,” Hicks says, flashing one of his charming smiles.
”And if I were to start one, I”d call it Chiclets for Dicklets,” Landry says. ”That way fuckboys with missing teeth would have a chance at true love.”
He smiles wide and looks over at Hicks, who punches him in the shoulder.
”I got them fixed, okay. Nobody can even tell. It”s the greatest disappearing act. I sleep with a girl, and as soon as I want her to leave, boom. Remove the teeth. She bolts before I even say another word.”
”One day, you”ll find one that prefers you with missing teeth. Then you”ll be stuck marrying her,” I tell him.
”Maybe, but until that happens. I”m going to have my fun.”
We stay quiet the rest of the drive. Tonight isn”t about any of us. Tonight is about serving our city. As our PR manager, Rina Lopez, so nicely put it—giving the rich ladies of Houston what they want for the sake of the children.
And apparently, what the rich ladies want is a chance at claiming their favorite Heatwave hockey player for a date all to themselves.
We pull up to the hotel. The parking lot is full and the front doors are adorned with signs and balloons that tell everyone exactly what”s taking place inside.
Welcome to the Date-a-Player Heatwave Charity Auction.
Landry glances down at his phone. ”Shit, Rina”s already sending her search dogs. Let”s go boys.”