Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
CHARLIE
Charlie was so fucked. So fucked, and not in the pleasant way she was fucked last night.
Get your mind out of the gutter, she scolded herself. It was hard to think of anything else.
She was back in the room she shared with Heather Plaker, who had been thankfully still asleep when she’d returned home.
Plaker had left earlier to practice or get breakfast, but Charlie was still in bed, mulling over everything that had happened the prior night.
It was a lot—not just physically, but emotionally too.
She didn’t expect to feel so many things.
It was dangerous, because Charlie knew that one night would not be enough.
It had to be, though, because she really could not afford to be distracted any more.
Charlie stood up and shook herself, jogging around the small room as she tried to regulate her emotions.
She looked toward the set of dirty clothes from last night she had left in the corner next to her suitcase.
When she’d gotten home, the last thing she’d wanted to do was look at the outfit that caused her all that trouble.
She’d changed into her pyjamas with a speed she usually reserved for changing after games to go home immediately.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Charlie had not spoken much to her roommate this morning, because if the situations were reversed and she found her roommate’s clothes taking up space like that, she would’ve totally judged them.
It was simple enough to fold her leather jacket and black T-shirt into the laundry side of her suitcase, but Charlie paused when she folded her pants, feeling something in the right pocket.
She reached inside and found a folded-up piece of paper. She didn’t remember pocketing anything.
It was a note from Olive—her name and phone number on her hotel’s stationery. Her handwriting was soft and neat, just like how she appeared on the outside. It was a thought that left Charlie remembering that while she was soft in all the ways that she expected, she had an assertive side to her…
Charlie, stop. You cannot be thinking this much about sex, Charlie chided herself.
Well, it wasn’t only the sex that had her in a tizzy. It was everything else that came with it.
Charlie took a picture of the note and saved the number to her phone before she could stop herself.
She ripped up the note in the bathroom and went to shower—trying to think only about work and practice.
She would think about this later, after business hours.
For now, the best sport on Earth was waiting for her to go play it.
And she had to do that justice; she had to.
Charlie followed Coach’s instructions as she skated down the ice, practicing drills.
It helped that she was on a team with some of the players she didn’t get to see often, as they were on the American PWHL teams, and it was actually fun brainstorming plays that they could use during their games.
Charlie was so ready to expose Blake’s weakness at right passes in front of the world.
The practice did its job of letting Charlie forget about last night, and she was feeling much more lighthearted when she stepped off the ice. Charlie looked out towards the stands, where she could see Blake watching from the spectator’s stands with a mug in their hands.
Charlie went to the locker room and came back out in her Team Canada athleisure, and ran up to sit next to them on the seats.
After they regaled her with their woes, which Charlie expertly advised them on, Charlie knew it was her turn to fess up to what was bothering her.
They had called Charlie out on it, as they had noticed her unusual jitters.
“Well,” Charlie started, looking back out towards the ice, where the Zamboni was clearing it for Blake’s upcoming practice, “I went out last night.”
Blake slapped her arm playfully. “You rebel! What did you do?”
“Nothing much… just had the best one-night stand of my life.” Charlie sighed as she watched the Zamboni move in circles.
“That doesn’t explain the moping. Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Look at you, getting some! I’m so proud. My little bestie all grown up,” Blake pretended to wipe fake tears.
“How do you do it? I don’t think I’m the one-and-done type of person.”
“Did they say it was one and done?”
“No, she said we can repeat it anytime.”
Blake cheered obnoxiously, and then quieted down as nearby spectators turned in confusion. “Sorry, just love that Zamboni!” they yelled out and then turned to Charlie in a quieter voice. “Ohhh, she. Tell me more, what’s she like?”
Charlie blushed as she thought of a way to describe Olive.
“Oh, it’s like that. Nice.” Blake held out a hand for her to high-five. Charlie swatted the hand away.
“You’re a menace,” Charlie said, meaning every word of it.
“That is so rude. I am merely celebrating your obvious orgasmic late-night activities. You don’t have many of those,” they commented.
Charlie nodded. “You’re right, I don’t.” She almost thought of telling Blake about the squirting, but decided that would probably not be appropriate given the venue. Maybe if they managed to get her drunk later that evening.
“Well, do you have a way to contact her?” Blake prodded.
“Yes, her number.”
Blake put down their mug on the ground, then turned back to Charlie. Charlie had assumed it would be for a comforting hug, but they shook her instead.
“Charlie, please tell me you are going to text this woman again.”
Charlie shook her head, much to Blake’s obvious disappointment. They were about to say something else when an announcement above signalled that it was Team USA’s time to practice now.
“Good luck out there,” Charlie said. They nodded and left, heading down to join their teammates. Charlie watched their practice for a few minutes before leaving to go grab a bite, hoping some good muffins would distract her from everything else.
That distraction didn’t last long, and by the time Blake and Charlie found themselves in the local bar, Charlie was dying to speak to Olive one more time. Maybe it could be innocent. She seemed like a nice person. Charlie mulled this over on her second beer.
Blake glanced around the bar then turned to Charlie, trying to keep their voice lowered. “Dude, you’re being so weird. Weirder than usual.”
“I know. It’s because I can’t stop thinking about last night.”
“Then you should repeat it,” Blake said, as if this was the most obvious answer.
Perhaps it was, but Charlie did not want to hear it.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The last time I felt this way about someone, I was benched.”
“So? We’ve all been benched in our careers,” Blake said.
“Around the ’22 Olympics. Final game,” Charlie clarified.
Blake blinked, then sighed into their own beer. “I see why that would trouble you.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said. This relief was short-lived as Blake continued with their logic.
“That was four years ago, though. You’ve improved since then. You can afford a little distraction.”
Charlie smacked them on the shoulder. “Of course you’d say that. You are counting on me failing so Team USA can win.”
Black gasped. “Absolutely not! I don’t need you to be lovestruck to win against you. In fact, actually, you shouldn’t contact this mystery woman at all, so you can be ten thousand percent focused on the game.”
Charlie laughed. Though she knew they weren’t actually looking to use the situation to their advantage, it was fun to rib with them. Charlie jokingly thought to herself that this was a useless endeavour on Blake’s part as anyone who knew the two of them would say that Charlie was the better player.
“How about I contact her and still beat you?” Charlie offered.
“That is a great idea. Really show it to me by getting fucked again!” Blake clapped their hands sarcastically.
Charlie blushed. It was not that she talked about her sex life often, or ever with Blake, but she guessed someone as experienced as them would have her figured out in mere seconds.
Charlie took a final sip of her drink, and then stood to walk to the bar to get another. She really shouldn’t have been drinking that much, but she had a late practice the next day. It felt like the perfect day to drain out thoughts of a sexy women who made you experience things for the first time.
With a new drink in hand, Charlie went back to the table she shared with Blake.
They were watching figure skating coverage on the TV, oddly interested in it, so Charlie stared at the contact page for Olive on her phone.
She had saved it with her full name, as that is what Olive gave her, and Charlie realized that this would be the perfect opportunity to do some cyberstalking.
Charlie looked her up on Instagram, swiping past all the random DMs and notifications of posts that she was tagged in.
It wasn’t much, but with the Olympics coming up, Charlie was definitely being tagged on more fan pages than normal—especially as news sites started covering athletes on Team Canada.
Charlie’s story, in particular, was practically ripe for inspirational messages.
Charlotte Lajoie comes from a long line of star hockey players, and her stats remain some of the highest in the PWHL, said one particularly unoriginal graphic last week, in which a picture of her mid-play was superimposed over a picture of her father.
He’d been called one of the best hockey players in the world, according to him and everyone else with a working computer.
Charlie searched Olive’s name, and it only took four tries to find her profile.
It was set to public, and Charlie was grateful, though a little worried for her. It wasn’t as if Olive had many followers, so perhaps she was too used to being private, but someone as beautiful as her surely shouldn’t be allowing the whole internet access to her.
Her photos were on the fairly tame side, and she appeared stunning in each one. Most were vacation pictures, but the occasional office selfie cropped up, and Charlie paused as she admired Olive’s smile in one.
“Woah. I can see why you’re like this,” Blake said.
Charlie hastily lowered her phone to the table, flipping it so the screen was facing the table.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie said.
“It’s no use pretending with me. I haven’t seen you stare at anyone’s Instagram like that—not even when that Victoria’s Secret Angel hit on you at New York Fashion Week last year.”
“She wasn’t hitting on me. She was merely saying I’m one of her favourite PWHL players.”
“The fact that she even knows what the PWHL is means she’s gay,” Blake pointed out matter-of-factly.
“Not everyone knows what we do. Olive didn’t,” Charlie retorted.
“So her name is Olive?”
As usual, Blake didn’t miss anything. Charlie nodded, knowing she had failed all attempts at being secretive.
“That’s a nice name. Pretty name, pretty woman. Sounds like you have no reason not to contact her.”
Charlie shook her head and gestured towards the TV screen. “Go back to your figure skating and leave me out of this.”
Charlie picked up her phone to continue her innocent scrolling when she saw her greatest fear had come true.
In her haste to put down her phone, Charlie had accidentally liked the selfie she was looking at.
And it wasn’t a recent selfie either, it was at least twenty posts down on her profile.
Even to someone as clueless about social media as Charlie could tell that it was a clear sign of cyberstalking.
“I’m so fucked, aren’t I?” Charlie said in horror as she stared numbly at the phone.
Blake leaned over and looked down at her phone.
“Right you are, buddy. Right you are.”