Chapter 5 The Wingman Trap
The Wingman Trap
Cole
The weight room still smells like sweat and disinfectant from this morning’s session, but most of the guys have cleared out by now. I’m wiping down the bench press when Sirus flops down beside me with that particular grin that usually means he’s about to ask me for a favor.
“Need you Friday night, man,” he says without preamble.
I toss the cleaning rag into the bin and give him a look.
Sirus’s a decent defenseman and a good teammate, but he’s also twenty years old with the impulse control of a golden retriever.
The last time he “needed” me, I ended up helping him move a couch up three flights of stairs because he’d promised his ex-girlfriend he’d get his stuff out by midnight.
“What is it this time?” I ask, grabbing my water bottle. “Bailing you out of a bad Tinder date or moving furniture again?”
“Neither.” His grin gets wider, which is never a good sign. “I’ve got a date with this girl Maddie. She’s incredible, dude. Funny, hot, into fitness, probably way smarter than me—”
“Definitely smarter than you,” I interrupt. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is she’s bringing her cousin, and I don’t want her cousin feeling like a third wheel while I’m trying to work my magic.” He makes air quotes around “magic” like he’s some kind of dating genius instead of a dorky guy who doesn’t score often.
“Cousin?” I ask. The distaste is clear in my mouth. What the hell is this? “So you want me to babysit.”
“I want you to be my wingman. The noble sacrifice. You swoop in, keep her cousin entertained, and I get quality time with the woman of my dreams.”
I lean against the weight rack and study his face. “Sirus, I don’t do setups.”
“This isn’t a setup,” he protests. “This is strategy. Pure and simple. You’re not looking for love, she’s probably not looking for love. Everyone has a nice time, mission accomplished.”
The thing is, I’ve heard this speech before.
From Sirus, from other teammates, from well-meaning friends who think what I need is to “get out there” and “have some fun.” What they don’t understand is that I’m perfectly fine with my current social life.
I don’t need to be set up with random women just because I’m single.
“Blind dates never end well,” I tell him.
“It’s not blind if I tell you she exists.”
“That’s exactly what blind means, you moron.”
Sirus rolls his eyes. “Look, it’s low pressure.
She’s normal. She’s not in hockey circles, so she won’t spend the whole night asking if you know Sidney Crosby.
You’ll probably never see her again after Friday.
Just one evening of being charming, which I know you can do when you’re not being a grumpy hermit. ”
Sirus’s not wrong about my hermit tendencies, but there’s a reason I keep my dating life separate from hockey. Too many girls see the jersey before they see the person, and I got tired of being treated like a novelty instead of an actual human being. I leave those girls for Liam. He eats that up.
“Come on,” Sirus continues, sensing weakness. “I’m asking as a teammate. Help me score.”
“That’s possibly the worst phrasing you could have chosen.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do know what he means, and despite my better judgment, I’m actually considering it. Sirus’s a good kid, even if he does have the emotional intelligence of a hockey puck sometimes. And it’s not like I have anything better to do Friday night besides homework and Netflix.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally.
His face lights up like I’ve just promised him a Stanley Cup ring. “Really?”
“I said I’ll think about it. That’s not a yes.”
But he’s already bouncing on his toes like an overgrown puppy. “You’re the best, man. I owe you big time.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
Liam comes around the corner and says, “Cole is the best. What do you owe him for?”
Great. Now Liam’s going to give me shit.
Sirus lights up. “My man is going to come on a double date with me this Friday.”
Liam grabs my shoulders and laughs. “You got this nerd to agree to that?” He lowers his voice and mocks, “Little Cole needs someone to set him up on dates with?”
I push him off. “Fuck off.” I laugh.
Liam laughs, running a hand through his hair. “If he bails, I’ll step in.”
“He would,” I say to Sirus.
Sirus just laughs and says, “Nah, it has to be Cole.”
The contrast between me and Liam is obvious, and I hate the look on Liam’s face right now because he knows it.
“Alrighty then,” Liam says. “Have fun on your boring ass date.”
He leaves the locker room, and I follow behind. We walk in silence to our cars.
By the time I get home that evening, I’m already regretting my moment of weakness.
My townhouse is quiet when I walk in, and I immediately feel my shoulders relax.
This place is mine in a way that nowhere else has ever been.
Clean lines, warm lighting, a mix of thrift store finds and the black-and-white photography prints I’ve been collecting since sophomore year.
I don’t live with Liam, which surprises people sometimes.
We’re best friends, but we learned freshman year that when we dormed together that we wanted our own places.
His version of organization is shoving everything into whatever drawer happens to be closest; mine involves actual systems that make sense.
Besides, I like having a roommate who isn’t on the team.
Finn works downtown at some tech startup, keeps normal hours, and doesn’t feel the need to dissect every play from practice over dinner.
He’s also got the best-behaved golden retriever on the planet, who comes prancing over the second I walk through the door.
“Hey, Rex,” I say, scratching behind his ears as he tries to climb into my lap despite being roughly the size of a small horse. “Miss me?”
Rex’s answer is to try to lick my face off, which I take as a yes.
The evening routine is feed Rex, shower off the day’s sweat, cook something that doesn’t come from a delivery app.
While the chicken’s cooking, I settle at the kitchen table with my laptop and dive into the business management assignment that’s been staring at me accusingly all weekend while I was sick.
Most people don’t know I’m working toward a degree in something other than “professional hockey player.” Hell, most of my teammates think planning for life after hockey is admitting defeat.
But I watched my dad’s construction company nearly go under when I was playing juniors, saw him work eighteen-hour days just to keep the lights on, and I promised myself I’d be ready when my time on the ice was over.
Because it will be over, eventually. Hockey doesn’t last forever. Youth doesn’t last forever. Bodies break down, reflexes slow, and then what? I’ve seen too many former players who never planned for anything beyond their next contract.
So I study hard. I save money instead of blowing it on expensive cars and designer clothes. I think about the long game.
My phone buzzes.
Sirus: She’s really cool, Cole. This is going to be perfect.
I ignore it and go back to my assignment.
Sirus: Did I mention she works in marketing and criminal justice? Smart and pretty. Your type.
I’m not sure what Sirus thinks my “type” is, considering I haven’t seriously dated anyone since sophomore year, but I appreciate his confidence.
Sirus: Friday at 7. Just give me a solid yes.
Me: Yes.
I turn my phone face down and try to focus on the financial projection spreadsheet on my screen, but Sirus’s enthusiasm of this girl has me curious.
It’s been a while since I went on an actual date.
And it’s not like I’m opposed to meeting new people, I just prefer it to happen organically instead of through elaborate schemes involving teammates and their dating lives.
Friday arrives faster than I’d like. We had a Thursday night game. By four o’clock, I’m staring at my phone with my thumb hovering over Sirus’s contact. I should just call and cancel. Tell him I’ve got too much homework, or I’m not feeling well, or literally any excuse that will get me out of this.
Instead, I find myself dialing his number.
“Please tell me you’re calling to confirm,” he says instead of hello.
“Actually, I’m calling to bail. Sorry, man. I’ve got this paper due and I’m way behind—”
“No. Nope. Not happening.” Sirus’s voice takes on that stubborn edge that means he’s not going to let this go easily. “This is Maddie, Cole. Maddie. I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me for three weeks.”
“You’ll live. You’re good with people. You don’t need me there to have a successful date.”
“Her cousin is coming no matter what. What if it’s awkward? What if her cousin blows the entire thing for me? What if—”
“Sirus, you’re overthinking this.”
“Says the guy who’s currently overthinking his way out of leaving his house.”
“Look,” I say, “Blind dates just aren’t my thing. Find another wingman. Liam said he would go.”
“Can’t. I already told Maddie you were coming. She’s excited it’s you. You. Not fuck boy Liam. It can’t be Liam. Maddie will be pissed.”
That stops me short. “You told her about me?”
“Just that you’re a good guy. Responsible, smart, not a complete disaster with women.” There’s a pause. “I may have also mentioned you’re single and looking to meet someone.”
“I never said I was looking to meet someone,” I scoff.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Sirus continues. “I’ll do your laundry for a week. I’ll write your next paper. I’ll—”
“You’re not writing my paper.”
“Then what? I’m begging, bro. Come on.”
Before I can answer, there’s a knock on my door. Rex starts barking, and I frown at the sound. I’m not expecting anyone, and Finn’s at work until late.
“Hold on,” I tell Sirus, walking to the front door. “Someone’s knocking.”
I look through the peephole and see Sirus standing on my porch, grinning at me through the glass, phone pressed to his ear.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, opening the door.
“Knew you’d try to wriggle out of it,” he says cheerfully, holding up a garment bag. “So I came prepared.”
“Sirus—”
But he’s already pushing past me into the house, tossing Rex a treat from his pocket. Rex immediately decides Sirus is his new best friend.
“It’s always so clean in here,” Sirus says, looking around approvingly.
“Get out.”
“Can’t. I’m on a mission.” He heads straight for my bedroom like he’s been here a dozen times before, and I reluctantly follow. “You’re showering, you’re putting on these clothes”—he tosses a crisp button-down and pants on my bed—”and you’re coming to dinner. End of discussion.”
I stare at the shirt. “Why do I let you talk me into this crap?”
“Because deep down, you’re a good teammate,” Sirus says, rifling through my closet with the confidence of someone who clearly has no boundaries. “And because you’ll thank me later.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Trust me. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
I can think of at least five instances off the top of my head, but Sirus’s already moving toward the door with that satisfied expression that means he considers this a done deal.
“Shower,” he calls over his shoulder. “We leave in an hour.”
I look down at Rex, who’s watching this entire exchange with the kind of canine amusement that suggests he’s enjoying my suffering.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him. “This is probably going to be brutal.”
Rex just wags his tail, which I take as agreement.