Chapter 10
After my self-imposed pity party and takeout, I decide enough is enough. I throw on my favorite party shirt, which is guaranteed to make it a great night. After pulling on a pair of jeans, I call up the boys. Luckily, they are just getting started. It won’t take me long to get there. I get a car and set out on my way to meet up with the team. As I settle into the back of the car, I embrace the shift in my mood. The prospect of a night out with the team, blowing off steam and forgetting about today’s mess, is exactly what I need. With a deep breath, I push all thoughts of the reporter and my dismal performance out of my mind. Tonight, I’ll shake off the funk and let loose.
The city lights blur together as the driver pulls up to the bar where the boys are waiting. He drops me off right at the entrance. I can feel the low hum of nightlife wrapping around me. Once I get inside, I spot some of the boys huddled around a high-top table with an entourage of ladies surrounding them. Laughter echoes through the space.
“Sauce me a beer, eh bud,” I say, sliding into the group and clapping one of the guys on the back. A cold bottle is thrust into my hand, and I take a long, satisfying swig, feeling the tension of everything that happened prior starting to melt away. The company is a welcome distraction, and for the first time in hours, I feel like I can get past what’s dragging me down.
Vlad pops up beside me and says, “You better chug that beer fast, brother. We are about to head to the next spot.”
My boy, Oren, nods, “Yeah, it’s getting way too crowded in here.” I give my beer a once over and start chugging. I hear the people cheering me on, and I drain the last drop from the bottle. I might as well catch up.
We have to fight our way past the mass of people packed into the bar, elbows, and shoulders bumping as we squeeze through the crowd. The air is thick with the mix of sweat and perfume, and the noise is almost deafening. Finally, we break free into the cool night air, a collective sigh of relief escaping us. We start walking through downtown, the neon lights casting colorful reflections on the pavement. The city is alive with energy, and we feed off it, joking and jostling each other as we make our way to the next destination. The streets are busy, but the crowd feels less oppressive out here, giving us room to breathe and enjoy the night.
We stop outside one of the bars as we pass, pausing to debate if we want to go inside. The sign flickers invitingly, but the crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk already looks like a dud.
“Nah, let’s skip it,” someone says, and everyone agrees. The boys move on ahead to the next stop, but just as I’m about to walk off, something catches my eye.
Through the throng of people, I see a woman standing by the bar. She looks familiar. It takes a second, but then it hits me—it’s the Barnacle. Ziggy. My cock jumps with excitement at seeing her. Fuck!
It’s short lived as I observe her. Ziggy’s body language screams discomfort as several men crowd around her. What the hell is she doing here? Before my brain realizes what’s happening, I’m moving, and I quickly approach the bar, determined to intervene. As I approach, I can see her trying and failing to fend off the unwanted attention of the guys surrounding her. I push through the crowd, my irritation growing with each step.
Navigating through the haze of drunken assholes, I zero in on Ziggy. She’s surrounded by a cloud of bad intentions, closing in around her, crowding her space. She looks like a hot mess, stumbling around and trying to push herself away from them. Her eyes dart around, panicked and desperate. It’s obvious she’s in over her head, struggling to break free, and despite everything, seeing her like that makes something stir in me. Frustration, maybe? Definitely the undeniable urge to intervene. What a night this is turning out to be. I definitely didn’t anticipate this turn of events.
I watch as one of the guys gets handsy with Ziggy, his intentions unmistakable. Without thinking, I lunge forward, grabbing the guy by the collar and throwing him to the ground with a force that surprises even me.
“Never touch another woman like that again,” I yell, my voice cutting through the noise. The crowd seems to freeze momentarily, the guy looking up at me with fear. Ignoring him, I turn back to Ziggy, her eyes wide with shock and relief.
“You okay, Barnacle?” I ask, my concern evident in my voice. Sensing my protective presence, the guys back off and disperse into the crowd.
“Don’t call me that again, asshole!” She slurs her words in my direction.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I ask, “What are you doing here?” still trying to comprehend why she would be out like this by herself and, from the look of it, drunk as can be. She sighs, discomfort evident in her voice.
“Forgetting about you.” Her face looks a little too pouty for my comfort. My annoyance with her turns into a dumb sense of responsibility toward her.
“Come on, you need to go home,” I urge, my voice steady but insistent. Ziggy glares at me, her eyes blazing with defiance.
“I’m fine, Elliot. I don’t need you to rescue me,” she snaps, turning away from me. The smell of alcohol is strong on her breath, and I can see she is struggling to stay upright.
“You’re not fine, and this isn’t the place for you right now,” I argue, my patience wearing thin. She stumbles again, and on instinct, I grip her waist and stabilize her.
“Let go of me. I’m staying right here,” she insists, but her voice wavers, betraying her vulnerability.
“Just fucking go back to your hotel to sleep,” I say, my tone softening as I look into her eyes, hoping she’ll see reason.
“You aren’t the boss of me!” Ziggy snaps, tearing out of my grip and darting away like a madwoman. I curse under my breath and take off after her, weaving through the crowd of drunks and partiers. She is fast for someone so drunk, but her unsteady gait gives her away. I watch as she stumbles on the sidewalk, her ankle twisting awkwardly. I catch up to her in a few long strides, grabbing her arm just before she hits the ground.
“Ziggy, stop!” I hiss, out of breath and irritated. She struggles against me, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “I’m not letting you wander around this city all alone,” I tell her, my grip firm but gentle. “Let me help you get home.”
As Ziggy stops struggling, her defiant glare softens into something else. She slumps against me, her hands resting on my chest as she looks up with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“You know, St. Germain,” she slurs, her voice dripping with drunken flirtation, “you’re kind of cute when you’re all serious and bossy. Almost makes up for your crappy performance on the ice tonight.” I stiffen, caught off guard by the sudden shift. She traces a finger down my chest, giggling.
“Maybe you’re not so bad after all, for a guy with a terrible mustache and an even bigger ego,” she murmurs, leaning in closer. My irritation melts away, replaced by a bewildered amusement. She giggles, clutching my arm.
“You know, for a goalie, I figured you would try a little harder at trying to catch me,” she teases, stumbling a little. “I bet you’d be a really terrible time. You do have good legs, at least. That would make it better.”
I shake my head. Unbelievable; even as I try to be nice, she still tries to roast me. We walk a few blocks forward before stopping again. Ziggy really was leaning hard into me, her mischievous glint now replaced with something far more inappropriate than anything that would ever happen here. She runs a hand down my chest, her eyes narrowing playfully.
“Maybe if you weren’t so busy being an ass, you’d actually be kind of hot. Pity you’re so terrible at everything else,” she purrs, her breath warm against my neck.
I roll my eyes, half annoyed, half turned on. “Get moving. Let’s just get you inside before you hurt yourself or someone else. Ziggy, just tell me where your hotel is, and I'll get you there.”
“I don’t need your help, Elliot. I can find it… I just need a minute…” she mutters defiantly, her words trailing off as she looks around.
I let out another frustrated breath. “We’ve circled the same block twice. Just get over yourself and let me help you.”
Trying to put on a brave front, she smirks at me. “I’m fine. Just…fine.”
“No, you’re not," I shoot back, more firmly this time. "You’re about to trip over your own feet. Just tell me, because I’m not going to leave you here on the street corner.”
She squints at me, clearly trying to focus. “Fine…It’s…like two blocks from the convention center. Room 564, I think?”
I roll my eyes. “Unbelievable. Alright, let’s go,” I say, propelling her forward. She might be a pain in the ass, but there is no way I'm leaving her to wander around alone tonight.
I try to keep Ziggy moving, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. But I’m not that lucky. Suddenly, she stops dead in her tracks, her face paling. Before I can react, she leans forward and throws up all over me. I stand there, momentarily stunned, feeling the warmth and disgust of the situation seep deep into my bones. Great, just great. Ziggy, now looking even more miserable, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and mumbles what I’m going to choose to believe is an apology instead of another insult. Her eyes fill with a vacant sort of embarrassment. I sigh, trying to suppress my frustration.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up,” I say, gently guiding her toward the hotel entrance, the smell of vomit making the already long night feel endless.
Ziggy refuses to take another step, her legs wobbling and her stubbornness kicking in. I have no choice. With a resigned sigh, I scoop her up and swing her over my shoulder despite her protests and feeble attempts to resist. She pounds on my back and mumbles slurred insults, but I keep walking, determined to get her back to her hotel safely. As we reach the lobby, the front desk staff eyes us warily, clearly suspicious.
“Is everything alright here?” one of them asks, stepping forward.
“Just getting my friend back to her room,” I reply, trying to sound as calm and reassuring as possible while holding a squirming, slightly hysterical Ziggy. “She’s had a bit too much to drink.”
The staff exchange suspicious glances but reluctantly nod, allowing us to continue. I carry her to the elevator, feeling every eye in the lobby on us. Hopefully, this night will end soon. Not only did this girl ruin my game, she insulted me. She threw up all over my favorite party shirt. Yet, she still somehow inadvertently has me looking and acting like a crazy stalker. Un-fucking-believable.
I finally make it to Ziggy’s hotel room door, panting slightly from the effort of carrying her up. I gently put her down, propping her up against the wall as I fish around in her purse for the key card. She is still mumbling incoherently, alternating between insults and strange, flirtatious remarks that make the whole situation even more uncomfortable. She can’t possibly think I am into her after any of our interactions..
“Barnacle, I swear, if you don’t stop moving...” I mutter, trying to keep my frustration in check. My fingers finally close around the key card, and I pull it out triumphantly. Ziggy chooses that moment to lunge at me, trying to grab the card out of my hand.
“Give it back, you...you seaweed!” she slurs, her movements uncoordinated but insistent. “I already told you. DON’T. CALL. ME. THAT.”
I hold the card out of her reach and manage to swipe it through the door lock. The light turns green with a satisfying click, and I open the door. Ziggy, not one to give up easily, continues to resist as I try to guide her inside. She swats at my hands and tries to shove me away.
“No way you’re coming in, you...shark with a mustache!” she yells, her voice echoing down the hallway.
“Ziggy, I’m just trying to help you get to bed. You’re drunk,” I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible.
She stumbles forward, trying to close the door on me, but I block it with my foot. She lets out a frustrated scream and lunges again, this time aiming for my face. Like she has slipped into madness, she yells, “I’m not sleeping with you!”
I catch her wrists and hold her steady, trying to avoid making too much noise and attracting more attention. “Calm down; that is the last thing that will ever happen. And shut up, Anatife. You’re going to wake up everyone on this floor,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Her resistance falters slightly, and I take the opportunity to maneuver her inside the room. She flails and kicks, but I manage to get her to the bed, where she collapses in a huff. I stand there for a moment, catching my breath and wondering how the hell things had escalated to this point.
“You...you think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Ziggy mutters, her voice muffled by the pillow she is face down in. “Just because you’re a hotshot goalie...”
I chuckle at it all, specifically her. “Yeah, well, at least I didn’t throw up on anyone tonight.”
She groans and rolls over to glare at me. “Get out, St. Germain. You’re the last person I want to see right now.”
I raise my hands in surrender and back out toward the door. “Fine, you aren’t going to die or something in here unsupervised, are you?”
Ziggy’s voice erupts, shrill and furious, behind me as I turn, “Get out, Elliot! Just get the hell out!”
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” I mutter, stepping up to the doorway. Just as I reach for the doorknob, a heavy knock resounds through the door. I open the door quickly to see a police officer standing there, his expression stern and inquisitive.
“Is everything alright here?” the officer asks, peering past me into the room where Ziggy is still yelling incoherently.
I raise my hands defensively, trying to defuse the situation. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I know her from work. She just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all. I was just making sure she got to her room safely.”
Ziggy’s shrieks of protest continue, and the officer’s brow furrows. “Ma’am, are you okay?” he calls into the room.
“He’s a nuisance!” she screams back. “Get him out of here!”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Look, officer, I promise I’m leaving. I don’t want to be here any longer than I already have. No harm done, just a rough night.”
The officer glances at me, still skeptical. “You sure everything’s alright? Can I see some ID?”
With a resigned smile, I pull out my wallet and hand over my license. “Sure thing. And, uh, if it helps smooth things over, I can sign an autograph for you,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.
The officer’s stern expression doesn’t waver, but he nods, taking my ID and glancing at it before handing it back. “Just make sure she stays safe, and don’t cause any more trouble,” he warns.
“Will do,” I assure him, backing away. “Have a good night, officer.”
As I finally make my way down the hall and out of the hotel, Ziggy’s voice still echoes in my ears. How the hell did I end up in this mess? Tonight was an absolute disaster; I am covered in the she-devil’s vomit, but at least she’s safe. And I’m not in jail. A silver lining, I guess. Dealing with Ziggy is like handling a gremlin that someone fed after midnight. Hopefully, an experience I will never have to endure again.