Three
Blaine
“Great game, boys! Fuckin’ A!” Ethan claps his hands.
The locker room fills with back pats and ass slaps as we strip out of our gear.
Someone connects their phone to the built-in sound system, and within seconds, our standard post-W playlist is blaring through the speakers.
Gloves are thrown in the air, along with sweaty jerseys and the odd sock, in celebration.
Some teams might not celebrate a win like we do, but it’s become a tradition.
It helps keep morale up throughout the season, plus a hard-fought win against St. Louis is fucking fantastic. It was a close call to overtime, but I managed to pocket one in the top left corner with twelve seconds left in the third.
Earlier today, after morning skate, I showered before returning to Coach Harris’s office, like a kid being sent to the principal’s office.
When I got there, I found Hayden waiting outside, dark shadows under his eyes, which only caused my guilt to grow.
They ordered me not to engage with any puck bunnies, hookup apps, or any form of distraction that would take my focus away from hockey.
“I want you to succeed, Blaine. I know what it’s like to have temptation dangled under your nose like a carrot.
I’ve lived it, remember? Breathed it. But you’re better than this.
Take this as your final warning, and don’t let yourself be caught in their trap,” Hayden told me once Coach dismissed us.
Hayden had played for Boston for twelve years before he retired six years ago from an ACL injury. Even though he was the one all the girls wanted to fuck, and the one guys wanted to be, including me, he managed to stay on the right side of the press.
Like I need to now.
Once our post-W dance and singalong is over, we stand in front of our cubbies, each of us in various stages of undress, when Ethan steps up to award our “player of the game”.
“That win was very well deserved, boys. We played hard, we fought hard, but I’m sure you will agree that the player of the game tonight was the one who stepped in when his brother was in need and still managed to sink two in the net…
Blaine, congrats, man.” Ethan heads toward me and hands over the “award”, which is a costume helmet based on Odin’s.
I give an aw-shucks grin as I put it on my head. The boys cheer and clap, and I bend at the hips with my arms out wide, bowing like I’m center stage.
“Thanks, Cap. You know I’ll have every one of your backs. Nobody touches my guys. Each one of you gave it your all out there, so let's keep that up. But tonight, let’s hit up Gino’s, celebrate in style, and get ready to kick some Detroit ass!”
After a final cheer, I place the headpiece on top of my cubby. Some of the guys head off to do press while the rest of us use the bikes to cool down before taking a shower and getting ready to celebrate at our favorite bar.
The moment we step through the doors to Gino’s, we’re surrounded by fans congratulating us on our win. A sea of black and red jerseys fills the space from wall to wall.
“That uppercut on DeLuca was incredible!” One fan slaps me on the shoulder, a wide grin across his face.
“Thanks,” I answer back, blowing on my knuckles and rubbing them against my shirt. They’re bruised as fuck, but it was worth it. I meant what I said in the locker room—nobody touches my teammates, let alone my brother. “I hope he feels it tomorrow.”
I leave the fan laughing and make my way through the crowd toward the bar.
I like Gino’s.
A family-run bar that's filled with sports memorabilia—hockey, football, baseball—you name a sport, and it will have some form of history displayed on the walls here.
It’s a large open space, a sectioned-off area of a converted warehouse; exposed brick, high ceilings with lighting hanging down from the metal beams casting a warm glow.
There’s also this silent agreement that fans can drink here on game nights on the basis that we can hang out here without being swamped.
I love our fans. We have the best fans in the league, but sometimes I just wanted to shoot some pool and drink a beer with my bros, and Gino’s is the place that lets us do that.
They also make the most amazing bourbon chicken wings I’ve ever tasted.
As I reach the bar, I nod and wave at Dylan as he serves some people further down. We hooked up once a few months ago after one too many tequilas, and he’s the only person I’ve ever hooked up with where there’s no lingering animosity.
It was a mutual sharing of orgasms, just as it should be.
On my right, Zach leans against the bar, typing away on his phone, while on my left, Ethan scans the space with his signature stern expression. If you didn’t know him, you would think he’s wishing everyone would disappear, but it turns out it’s just his face.
I turn and rest my elbows on the wooden bar top, silently cursing as I stretch my aching body. I took a few hits tonight, aside from the fight, and even with the hotter than normal shower, I still ache.
In hindsight, I probably should have gone to see Joe for a massage instead of just doing a cooldown and some stretches.
Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
I look over my shoulder and groan as a flash of skin catches my eye.
“You need to keep them away from me,” I say under my breath.
The bunnies are already swarming like a pack of hungry hyenas. Although this morning's drama wasn’t created by them as individuals, I still have this bitter taste in my mouth. Coach’s words play through my mind on repeat, and I refuse to make the same mistake.
I’m not going to let anyone threaten my spot on this team, or risk me losing this family I’ve found.
Ethan glances over his shoulder to where the bunnies are circling their prey and rolls his eyes. I can’t recall a time when he’s ever gotten involved with them, in any city.
In fact, he’s never talked about hookups at all.
Huh.
“Ignore them. You need to keep your head down for the next few months. I don’t want to piss on your fun parade, but you need to take Coach’s threat seriously. He won’t think twice about putting your name on the trade table if you carry on.”
My shoulders sag at his words.
The only time I was able to shut out Coach’s words was when I was on the ice. The second my ass was back on the bench, they were swirling through my mind like a verbal hurricane.
“Excellent game tonight. First round is on the house,” Dylan announces, planting his hands on the bar, leaning in so he can be heard over the loud, pumping music. “What can I get ya?”
We order a round of beers before Elliot pops his head over my shoulder and adds, “Tequila us, amigo!”
Dylan’s eyes cut to me, obviously remembering the last time we had tequila. He shakes his head, hiding his smile, before he starts lining the beers up on the wooden bar top.
“Why? Why are we always ordering tequila?” Mitch Henry whines, his bottom lip pouting out like a child. “You know I can’t handle it.”
“Then you need to learn, my young padawan.” Elliot wraps his arm around the young rookie’s shoulders, who is already looking a little green around the gills at the mention of the drink.
“Tequila is scientifically proven to make you lose your clothes and heighten your sexy time mojo with its aphrodisiac properties.”
Mitch’s eyes go wide in awe. “Really?”
I chuckle behind my bottle. “Gullible fuck.”
Elliot nods at Mitch. “Yeah! It’s also scientifically proven to enhance bedroom activities.”
“Scientifically proven?” I scoff.
Elliot’s attention flicks to me, giving me a grin which has been dubbed by the media as the ‘cheeky Olsen grin’, because we both do it. “Yeah, twinny, didn’t ya know?”
I shake my head, swallowing my laughter, as Mitch asks about how many tequilas he needs to have to be in “top form for the bedroom Olympics”.
Poor kid hasn’t got a chance.
After our shots, we squeeze through the throng to our usual section, which has been roped off. I take a seat beside Zach, his focus still on his phone, no doubt texting his buddy Carter in Denver, and look out at the faces in the crowd as Ethan slides in next to me.
“Who’s on the menu tonight, then, Blaine?” Mitch sits down opposite me, his cheeks already flushed from the one drink he’s had.
Lightweight.
Shaking my head, I reply, “No one. I’m on a bunny-free diet for a while.”
Mitch’s eyes bug out as he shrieks, “What? Are you insane?”
“Maybe you need to find yourself someone more permanent,” Elliot suggests with a shrug. “You know Mom would love someone else to fuss over at Christmas.”
I snap my head up at that comment. “And why would I subject myself to that particular torture?”
“Because it would be good for you to have some stability,” he replies. “And it’ll keep your ass off the blogs.”
“Literally.” Mitch cackles, snorting at his own joke.
They high-five across the table. Morons.
I flip them both the bird. “Fuck no. The day I get into another relationship is the day hell freezes over.”
Because I’m not going down that road of hurt again.
The whole reason I’m in this position now is because I took advantage of how bunnies threw themselves at me everywhere after every failed relationship attempt.
Maybe love just isn’t for me.
“Your brother has a point,” Ethan pipes up.
“I know we said zero distractions, but it could do you some good to have someone steady. You just gotta find the right person, the one who can handle what being with you entails. But you won’t find them while you’re fucking your way through North America”.
“Please.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to be tied down. I’m happy as I am, I just need to stay away from hookups for a little while. Why would I want to deprive everyone of a night in the sack with me for eternity?”
I would never admit it out loud since I’d never hear the end of it, but they have a valid point. The only thing stopping me is the crippling fear that if I give in, and give relationships another chance, I’ll fall in love with someone, and they’ll never love me back.