Fifty-Three
Coach ran a tight fucking practice. The whole time, I kept thinking that I loved someone more than the game that I was playing and the ice I was skating on. I love her more than hockey. I’d risk every play, every game, and every win for her. No contest, no hesitation.
I’d take any bet if it meant that she was safe. So that’s what I’m gonna do tomorrow. No regrets. Not when it comes to Ed.
I texted her as soon as I got outta the locker room shower, to let her know not to leave without me and that I was picking her up at the library. If I hadn’t texted her, this fucking menace would’ve, in fact, left without me.
On my way outta the tunnel, I asked my boy Lou, the head of Arena Security, if I could get back in for a private tour after he locked up. I had an idea.
“I’ll tell ya what, kid, I’m gonna go to my office, eat the dinner that my wife packed me, and then I’m gonna take a nap on my couch since all of you should be at that event tonight.
That should buy you two, maybe three hours,” he told me.
We shook on it as he added, “And be fucking respectful to your ladyfriend. I don’t want any trouble, Three, or it’s your ass.
” I gave him my word with my hand over my heart, and I fucking meant it when I pounded my chest over her black cat.
He told me he’d keep the east door unlocked and that our conversation never happened, before I started running as fast as I fucking could to Ed. I wasn’t about to miss a fucking moment of this.
Even if it’s the one and only fucking time, I want to have a moment with my girl in my favorite place. If shit goes bad and I never play again, it’ll be the best memory that I have of my time as a HU Devil, even if it’s just me sitting in the stands next to her.
Tonight’s the Athletic Department’s Annual Dine with a Devil event.
Anyone who would be in the arena will be at that fundraiser—my team included.
Coach offered to waive volunteer hours for the month if the boys headed over to fill seats, participate in the show, rub elbows with alumni, and dance with old ladies. No fucking thank you.
The women’s team, skating teams, and all the coaches and staff are expected to be at the event too.
I’m not social enough to give a fuck, so there’s no fucking way that I’d go to that shit.
Lou is food-coma-napping, and because everyone at the event is a fucking suckers, I now have the whole fucking place to myself to enjoy with my girl.
If I’m gonna bring her to the arena, these are the ideal conditions; it’ll be quiet, calm, and we’ll be allllll alone. It’ll be our first date. My first fucking date ever, and I want it to be fucking great for her.
She was still tutoring when I got to the library, and I interrupted her session with some tennis player by kissing the top of her hat-covered head. She swatted her hands at me, cussed in Spanish, and turned bright fucking red. So I did it again.
Then I ordered a large cheese pizza, Parmesan garlic bread, and two cheesecake slices from the cafe app, and scheduled a pickup for our walk back.
I also added mozzarella sticks because it’s fucking Ed, and I figure I’ll just make this meal as cheesy as I fucking can.
This is our first date, I’m pulling out all the stops for my girl.
It took another twenty minutes, but I finally got her to the arena. My arm was being weighed down by a fucking takeout bag full of cheese, a pizza box, and a nervous Ed.
I promised her that no one would bother us, that she was safe and sound, and that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. And I won’t. Legit, after eating all this shit, all I’d have to do is fucking fart and it would have any motherfucker that tried to get near her die on the spot. No lie.
She barely fought me, which was a fucking miracle in and of itself, but I think that’s because I fed her before her hanger kicked in.
She was gnawing on the rounded end of the garlic loaf as I led her over to my two seats.
I’m well aware that she only cooperated because of the cheesy bread and not because she woke up and chose kindness today.
My girl chooses violence daily, and I expect nothing less.
It made my fucking dick hard, seeing her sweet ass in the family section of the stands, sitting in her motherfucking WAG seat.
I had to adjust my fat cock underneath the fucking pizza box that I had on my lap.
It also made me fucking emotional seeing her sit there, eating her mozzarella sticks, drinking her Cherry Coke, and not freaking the fuck out.
I want her up here while I’m out on the ice. I want to look up and see her wearing my number, with my name on her back, my chain around her neck, and cheering me on when I score her a goal. Or in tomorrow’s case, when I settle her long-awaited score.