Chapter Two
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I roar, grinning widely at my teammates. We bump chests, slap each other on the back, and cheer uproariously. It’s Tuesday, and the season is now in full swing, and we won our away game in Anaheim.
The locker room is filled with cheers as we shower and get dressed in our suits. Even our grumpy looking coach is smiling, if you can call it that. Personally, I just think his frown is less intense.
“You did good,” he praises as I loop my belt through the hoops on my suit pants.
“Is that coach speak for ‘we kicked ass’?” one of my teammates sniggers.
Coach snorts. “Don’t get cocky, boy. This was only the first game of the season, and I’m still not holding the damn Stanley Cup in my hands.” He looks around at all of us. “You did good. And if anyone asks, I’m not embarrassed to say I’m your coach.”
I suppress a smirk. The old bastard is stingy with his praise, but it works. It makes everyone work harder and better. Reaching for my dark gray suit jacket, I shrug it on and button it. While I shove my shit into my bag and focus on my hair, Coach goes on about the media circus waiting outside.
“I want everyone on their best behavior when you leave this room. You’re winners, boys. But you’re gracious winners. No bashing the Anaheim team. Got it?” He glares at one of the assistant coaches when he chokes back a laugh. “I’m serious. We have an image to maintain. Don’t you dare fucking ruin it by being cocky shits.”
We all nod to show him we’ve heard what he said. “Yes, Coach,” we answer in unison, just the way he likes it.
Once I’ve tied my long hair into a bun and combed my beard so it doesn’t stick out all over the place, I hoist my bag over my shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of here and back to Minneapolis. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but when I see who’s calling, I hit the ignore button. I don’t have it in me to talk to my bitch of a mom right now.
“I wish we were staying,” the assistant coach next to me whines. “The women here are so much better than the ones back home.”
Shaking my head, I walk by him. “It’s not about the quality of the woman,” I say with a wink. “It’s about the man.”
He looks up from his phone long enough to follow me out of the locker room, and we’re quickly flanked by our PR team that traveled here with us. “Easy for you to say. You have panties dropping left, right, and fucking center.”
“Jealous much?” Soren, our goalie, guffaws as he joins us. “Sex is like pizza, my man. Even if it’s bad, it’s still good.”
I don’t know what’s worse… the fact that a grown ass man is complaining about the quality of pussy his job gives him, or my buddy comparing sex to food. It might be a tie. I tune them out as we walk out of there. Since I’m not gonna get my dick wet, I don’t care about the fact that we’re flying back home tonight.
My last public stunt cost me an endorsement deal, and to say that our GM is unhappy that I fucked someone in public and ended up causing yet another scandal is an understatement. All he’s done so far is issue some fines and threats, but I know he’s at the end of his tether. Which is why I’m on a self-imposed hiatus from PBP; Puck Bunny Pussy.
Shame, though, I’m going to miss the easy tail. Plus the added bonus of no strings attached. Since I don’t do relationships, it’s been the perfect way to get my dick wet.
All thoughts of not getting laid tonight disappear when Coach bellows from behind us. “Hang on a moment.” We all stop walking, giving him and Jo from PR time to move to the front. “Jo has some things to say before you go out there.” He points at the door behind him.
As head of the Sabertooths PR team, Jo doesn’t normally travel with us. She usually sends her worker bees. But she’s always there for the first game of the season. “Congratulations on the win, Sabertooths.” Most of the guys whoop and shout excitedly. “Get ready to smile at the cameras. Oh, and don’t forget to congratulate the home team on their efforts,” she says. “And don’t react, no matter what they say or ask.” As she adds the last part, she looks straight at me, much to the amusement of my teammates who break out in laughter. Jerks.
She makes a call, and after confirming we’re good to go, she opens the door. Since the weather in Anaheim is a lot warmer than back home in Minneapolis, I haven’t bothered with anything but my suit jacket. The second we walk through the doors, we’re assaulted by questions and lights flashing in our faces.
“You did amazing tonight, Soren. Do you have a new regime since you blocked every attempted goal?”
“Sawyer… over here, Sawyer.” I turn my head toward the voice. “Are you staying the night to sample the local women?” Rather than answering, I smile and shake my head.
We push our way through the throng of reporters and photographers, and despite this not being my first time, it’s hard not to react when they shout my name. But I do my best to keep my gaze down and ignore the questions that grow more and more taunting.
“What happened to that woman sneaking out of your hotel room last month, Sawyer?”
“Did you know there are speculations that you’re overcompensating for being gay?”
Jesus, fuck. They’re reaching, and it’s beyond pathetic. I’m not gay, but if I were, I’d like to think I’d act the same way. I sigh as we reach the bus that’s taking us to the airport. Fans and puck bunnies have gathered around it. Damn, some of those women are pushing my self-control to the limit. So while my teammates stop and talk, I push my way toward the bus.
“Excuse me.” I turn at the voice, noticing mini Jo, or Lucia as she’s called, pushing her way to the front.
I stop walking and gesture for her to walk in front of me. “Be my guest,” I smirk, not bothering to hide that I’m checking her out. My eyes stay glued to the top of her tits that look like they’re barely kept in place by the bra that’s teasing through her button-up shirt. And as she passes me, I drop my gaze to her ass as it sways enticingly in her tight pants.
I’ve seen Lucia around the arena and on our trips more times than I can count, yet I don’t think we’ve ever spoken much. She’s one of the people working directly on my social media accounts, that much I know. But beyond being nice to look at, that’s it.
She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Sawyer.”
Giving her a curt nod, I file into the back of the bus, waiting for everyone else to take their seats. I know this part sucks for those with partners. Our GM and Coach have a very strict policy barring partners from traveling with us. So when we leave right after a game, they don’t get to see them until we’re back home. Sucks to be them.
The drive to the airport goes smoothly. We’re all pretty high on the win, so there are lots of cheers, and talk about the game. “It was like you were flying. Fucking flying, man,” Mickey, our left defender, says as he sits next to me.
Grinning, I slap him on the shoulder. “Right back at ya.”
“Don’t make his ego bigger than it already is,” Soren groans, throwing himself into the seat in front of us. “Tell him he did shit.”
“Which one of us?” Mickey asks with a sly smile.
I laugh. “Don’t get jealous just because no one ever gives you a compliment, Soren.”
Scoffing, he flips me off.
I’ve known the two of them since before we joined the Sabertooths. Soren was the first to join, then Mickey, and I was the last one. While the Sabertooths is the only NHL team Soren’s played for, both Mickey and I have played for others. Before signing here in Minneapolis, I played in Boston. But that’s the past, and now that we’ve played on the same team, I can honestly say I never want to be against either of them again.
On the ice, Mickey is the person you want next to you, and Soren’s the one you want guarding the goal. Not that I’d ever tell them that, their egos don’t need to get bigger. They’re two of my closest friends on and off the team, and that’s all that matters.
The driver takes us to the private landing strip where two different Sabertooths jets are waiting. Our GM doesn’t want the players and other staff flying together. I’m not really sure why that’s a thing, but I guess it has something to do with the PR team working while we just want to celebrate and relax.
As soon as we’re on board the private jet, I lean against the window and give in to some much needed sleep. I don’t notice the chatter going on around me or the drinks being supplied. I’m blissfully unaware of anything until we land in Minneapolis.
We’re once again met by reporters, but now that we’re on our home turf, they’re less confrontational with their questions. They’re congratulating us on the win and wanting to know if we think we have what it takes to go all the way this year.
“I can smell the Cup,” Coach says in his gruff voice. “It belongs to us this year.” Some locals that have gathered to show their support whoop in excitement.
Jo and her mini me, aka Lucia, stand with Coach, nodding their heads like this is all part of their plan. For all I fucking know, it might be. “We like our chances this year,” Jo says.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Mickey whispers.
I shrug. “Until we’re done.” That’s the best answer I have.
Jo carries on, talking about the team more than the game. She’s telling them all about the charity stuff we’re doing this year, competitions for the fans, and things like that. I’ve heard it all before, we all have, so I barely pay attention.
“And if you want to follow the players, we’re—” Jo lets out a startling cry as she stumbles forward. I frown as Coach moves forward to catch her before she falls. “I’m sorry about that,” Jo says, smiling sheepishly at the camera while looking around. Probably to find the reason she almost fell down. There’s none as far as I can see.
Lucia still stands there, but she isn’t looking at the cameras or Jo. I don’t know what she’s seeing, but it’s something that’s causing her to frown. I nudge Mickey and incline my head in the direction Lucia’s still looking.
“This really isn’t the fucking time to check her out,” Mickey deadpans.
I open my mouth, about to tell him that’s not what I’m doing. But before I can make a sound, an agitated man forces his way toward us. Lucia takes a step back, but it isn’t enough to avoid him as he barrels forward, shoving her out of the way. An unwarranted surge of protectiveness runs through me, making me wish I’d pulled her out of the way.
“What the fuck?” I ask. I’m barely aware I’m moving until I find myself next to Coach.
“Where’s the goddamn security?” he barks, looking like an angry bull.
It’s all happening so fast, and I’m so fucking confused by what’s going on that I don’t register the man’s shouting my name until Mickey clamps his hand around my arm. “Don’t react,” he warns, pulling me backward.
“Sawyer, you fucking piece of shit!” the man roars. “Show yourself, fucker.”
I have no fucking idea who this guy is, and I don’t particularly care right now. I’m too preoccupied wondering where the fuck our security team is. It’s not like we really need them as most of us are bigger than them, but unlike those guys, we’re not armed or allowed to strike back.
“Calm down, son,” Coach says, trying to calm the angry man down.
The guy, who’s looking like an unhinged mad man, pushes Coach out of the way. “How could you fucking do it? Only a coward sleeps with another man’s wife.” When he finds me in the crowd, he points an accusing finger in my direction.
“What the fuck?” I growl, immediately angered by the fucking accusation.
“Get out of here,” Mickey urges, pulling at my arm.
I don’t budge. I cross my arms over my chest and stare the man down. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, trying like hell not to give in to my temper. I might be many things, but I’m not a fucking cheater or home-wrecker, and it pisses me off to hear him call me that.
“You fucking slept with my wife,” the guy shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. “She told me everything, so there’s no point in denying it.”
As I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, the sounds of more commotion reach my ear. A woman that I’ve seen before runs toward the guy. “I told you it was only a one time thing,” she cries as she attempts to take his hand.
The guy shrugs her off, barely paying her any attention. Instead, he narrows his eyes on me. “You recognize her.” It’s not a question, so I don’t give him an answer. Yeah, I fucking recognize her. It was only a month ago I was balls deep in her, but she didn’t wear a wedding band.
I don’t need to look around to know that everyone’s attention is on us. The tension in the air is growing and twisting, becoming its own entity, feeding off the hostility. Fuck me, there’s no point in denying what the guy already knows. Especially not since his wife was spotted leaving my hotel room the next morning.
Knowing that I have to play this cool with cameras on us, I say, “I didn’t know she was married.” Is that the right thing to say? I’m not sure there’s such a thing, given the circumstances. All I can do is hope it doesn’t escalate.
Without warning, the guy lunges at me. “You fucking disgusting coward,” he roars. Before I can move out of the way, he punches me square in the jaw. His hand comes back again, but I manage to push him away from me. “You ruined my marriage. Why did you have to go after my wife?”
I’m distantly aware that Jo’s calling for security while Mickey and Coach are trying to hold me back. If the guy was just some deranged fucker, I might have let them. I can’t when he’s publicly accusing me of doing the one thing I’ve sworn I’d never do. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I shout.
When the guy tries to punch me again, I see red. I duck before slamming my fist into his face. With one hand, I grab a hold of his shirt and throw him on the ground. I lose count of how many hits I get in before I’m pulled off the guy, and it’s only then I notice the blood smeared across his face and my fist.
“I. Did. Not. Fucking. Know,” I seethe, barely out of breath and still high on my anger.
“Calm the fuck down.”
“I didn’t know,” I repeat, less angry this time.
“Get him out of here,” Coach barks, and Mickey is quick to grab me.
“Let’s go,” my buddy says, pushing me away from the crowd.
We don’t get far before we’re stopped by the police. “Sawyer Perry…”
“Fuck off. He was defending himself,” Mickey growls.
“... You’re under arrest.”
I feel like I’m walking through a fucking dream as I’m placed in handcuffs while the cops read me my rights. All I hear is the blood rushing to my ears and the wild pumping of my heart.