5. Sam
5
SAM
Sam
I stare blankly at the ceiling above me, trying to shake the thoughts out of my mind. I thought I would be excited when I first found her.
I remember the way she ran her hand over my body, the deep brown skin of her arm a stark contrast next to my tanned abdomen. Her long brown curly hair framing her face. Large brown eyes. That same angelic look to her features. It was almost uncanny.
But it wasn’t not good enough. It wasn’t the real thing. I couldn’t get over that as she pressed her lips to my skin, and I closed my eyes, picturing what I wanted.
And it made my skin crawl with the feel of another woman near me.
She was good at her job, I’ll give her that. But the girl couldn’t make anything in me stir.
When she tried to bring her mouth to mine, I ripped away. “You should go. I’ll still pay you for the night.”
And the girl dared to give me a pout. “Oh come on, I can make you feel all better.”
A growl escaped me as she prowled closer. “I said get out.”
I grabbed my wallet next to the bed, digging into it to grab a wad of cash. Without even counting it, I threw the cash at her giving her a final warning stare. and thankfully, she understood the message that time.
My skin itching with the reminder of another woman in here, I roll out of bed and head into my giant bathroom.
I turn the shower on and shut the door. Once the water is scalding, I step right in. The feeling of the water on my skin wakes me up a bit, but it doesn’t take away this shitty feeling.
It’s not the fact that I paid her that’s getting to me. It isn’t even the fact that I couldn’t get into it, because I know exactly why that was.
She wasn’t her. She may have looked like Kim, especially after a few drinks, but she wasn’t.
That fact makes my blood boil. Makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I stand in the shower for what feels like forever, even after I’ve long been clean. My skin is bright red by the time I get out.
It’s probably a good thing I don’t have practice today. I can’t concentrate in that place- the place where I know I’ll see her. Where I’ve watched her for weeks now, barely able to peel my eyes away.
She knows I’m watching. I catch her watching me too. Yet, neither of us have said a word.
I smile to myself. It’s fun, this little game we’re playing. But it has to end soon.
I need her. I need her more than I’ve ever needed anything in my entire life. More than I needed to make my first NHL team. More than I needed to win my first Stanley Cup.
The difference is that with those, there was a clear path to success. A straight line, for the most part. Practice, get better, do your best. Play every game like it’s the most important one.
But with this, I don’t see a clear path. I don’t even see a path. Because this isn’t just need, it’s obsession.
And the way I need her, I know it’s not normal. I want her as mine, but it’s more than that. I want to own her. I want her every second to be dedicated to me. Her every breath. I don’t want her to eat or sleep without thinking about me.
My breath comes faster just thinking about that. I envision her sitting on the ground in front of me, waiting patiently on her knees for my command.
No amount of hired lookalikes can satiate this hunger. I need the real thing.
“Sam?”
I freeze as I pull a shirt over my head. Fuck , I know that voice.
“Sam, are you home? I saw your car outside!”
I groan, flinging open my bedroom door and walking out into the hall. Her heels click on the marble floors as she saunters up to me.
“Mom, what are you doing here? I don’t remember inviting you.”
Her jaw drops, and she looks deeply offended.
“Is that any way to talk to your mother? I went through two whole days of labor for you. Everything you have is because of me. Do you think you’d even be where you are without my legacy?”
I roll my eyes. My mother thinks that because she was a silver screen actress back in the day, none of my success is my own. As if hockey fans give a fuck who my mother is.
I win games, and that’s all that matters. But trying to explain that to Emilia is pointless.
“I repeat, what are you doing here?”
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. A classic sign of her annoyance.
“You didn’t show up to your brother’s birthday party the other day, and you’ve been ignoring everyone’s phone calls. I haven’t heard from you in days, and your house staff says you’ve barely left your room all week. What’s going on, Sam? Are you getting burnt out?”
“Well, it looks like the house staff is getting fired.”
“Come on now, what kind of people would they be if they didn’t help out your poor mother? It’s not their fault.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine, mother. You really didn’t need to come here.”
“I did need to come here. You never do this. This isn’t like you. I had a perfect date set up for you for your brother’s party and everything. Imagine how embarrassed I was having to explain to her that you weren’t going to show.”
I let out a scoff. Of course she set up a date for me. No doubt, that’s why she’s really here. To yell at me for hurting her reputation.
My mother is always trying to set me up. Each girl is exactly the same. Blonde, beautiful, and utterly boring.
Nothing like Kim.
“You shouldn’t have done that. That isn’t my fault. Now please leave.”
Her eyes narrow and she steps closer to me. “Are you doing drugs, Sam? Is that what’s going on?”
I raise my voice, unable to help myself. “Mom, enough. I’m fucking fine, and I don’t need you in my house questioning me. Nothing is going on. I missed a party, so what? I’m not obligated to be anywhere.”
Her lips smash into a thin line. She gives a small nod, the same one I’ve seen directed at me a thousand times. I know exactly what it means. I’ve hurt her feelings, and she’ll be expecting a very heartfelt apology.
Without another word, she spins on her heels and walks back down the hall towards the elevator. Her reflection shines on the marble floor, and I wait until I hear the ding of the elevator as the door closes before heading down the hall.
I enter the breakfast nook at the opposite end, eyeing the coffee machine. I’m usually not a coffee drinker, it fucks with my focus during practice. But seeing as how I don’t have practice, a shot of espresso sounds amazing.
Once the machine is done making it, I down the shot. I walk out of the room, heading to the elevator next. I’m sure my mom is long gone by now, which means it’s safe to head to my basement gym.
By the time I reach my home gym, my mind is already back on Kim. In my head, I see the way her body moves as she skates across the ice. The way she flips her hair and runs her hands along her body as she dances. Most of my teammates use intermission time to rest or refuel, but I stay near the ice, watching her perform.
My obsession hasn’t affected how I play, surprisingly enough. If anything, I think I play even better, especially when I notice her watching.
After a grueling set of weightlifting, I toss the barbell to the ground and grab a bottle of water from the nearby fridge. A plan starts forming in my head as I chug the entire bottle.
I know what I need to do. I think I’ve known it for a while, but now I’m ready to actually see it through.
More like, I can’t wait any longer.
But the playoff games are nearly over. The Stanley Cup finals start this week.
And Kim will be mine after we win the Cup next week. Whether she wants to be or not.