28. “Glycerine”
Chapter 28
“Glycerine”
Taz - Age 24, 1994
S ascha strode into the room with her usual air of confidence, her fitted blazer and pants accentuating her curves. The woman is beautiful—she always has been, although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her goth look from high school. Those black stockings and combat boots got me every time. I wonder if she still owns that stuff?
Sascha Bell has always known how to fill a space with her presence. It’s a constant reminder of why I could never deny my attraction to her, and believe me, I’ve tried. She’s assertive and a bit bossy, and the truth is, I find it undeniably sexy.
She hurt me, but that was a long time ago, and if we’re being honest, I hurt her first. We’ve both grown up. Something tells me things would be different now. Seeing her at Sarah’s wedding sparked something in me. I can’t stop thinking about her.
As usual, she seemed irritated with me today before I even said a word. Trust issues have been a constant theme in our relationship. Some of those are my fault, but Sash also likes to carry a grudge. She doesn’t just carry it—she straps it to her chest and nurtures it like a newborn baby. Our views on our past relationship may differ, but one thing is for sure—Sascha would never let a professional opportunity slip away.
With dwindling endorsements and competition from other sports like football and basketball, hockey needs someone like Sascha—persuasive and knowledgeable, to pull in new and younger fans. That’s what I told Jerry, and that’s why she’s here. Of course, he asked me if I was sleeping with her because that would’ve been a problem.
I didn’t lie unless you get technical. I told him I was not having sex with Sascha. That part is genuine. He didn’t ask me if I made her come in the bathroom of the Merrimack Country Club at a wedding reception recently. Then I would have said, “Yes, with pleasure.”
I wonder if Jerry saw through my lie of omission when I entered the room and the energy shifted. I can’t help but ogle her, wanting to devour her like the world’s best cupcake, savoring every last bite and licking my fingers clean afterward. If he did notice, he chose to ignore it.
We settle around the mahogany table, sinking into plush leather chairs, Jerry and I on one side and Sascha on the other. Jerry clears his throat and regards Sascha with a warm smile. “Taz has mentioned that you two have known each other since childhood.”
Sascha’s lips press together, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. Tension radiates off her as she answers through gritted teeth: “Yes, we have.”
Jerry leans in, his eyes full of curiosity. “And I understand that you took Taz in during high school when things were tough for him at home.”
A softness enters Sascha’s gaze as she looks at me for clarification. I give her a reassuring nod that it’s okay to elaborate. “That’s correct,” she says. “My mom and dad are foster parents and have always opened their home to children who need it.”
“Her family helped me through a difficult time during my senior year of high school,” I offer. “Sascha herself has been there for me several times over the years to kick my ass when I needed it.”
Jerry nods approvingly. “That’s truly selfless. It’s like you and Taz are already family.”
Sascha has just taken a sip of water from the glass before her when the word reaches her ears, causing her to choke and cough. She recovers quickly and apologizes. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“Just that you and Taz must be quite close,” he reiterates.
Sascha nods politely, but I know the frustration is simmering beneath the surface.
Jerry continues. “I’m going to be honest with you. Your agency is rather small and we hadn’t considered you until Taz brought you up. However, I’m willing to give you a chance at this opportunity,” he says with a hint of skepticism.
Sascha nods again, her professional demeanor never faltering. “Thank you for your honesty, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Please, call me Jerry,” he says with a charming smile that lasts a bit longer than it should, causing a twinge of jealousy to tighten my chest. Is he flirting with her? How did I not see this coming? Every horny asshole in the vicinity is going to notice her. How many people am I going to have to threaten and possibly fight? Fuck. The list is endless. Sascha’s not mine, but she certainly isn’t going to be screwing around with anyone else within this organization. Not if I have anything to say about it.
“Jerry, may I ask what you are looking for?” she asks, retrieving a notepad from her bag to jot down notes.
“We are interested in working with a major clothing company to merchandise some of our gear, specifically jerseys, sweatshirts, and hats,” Jerry explains. “They’ve been reluctant to invest in hockey when they have the market cornered in football and basketball.”
“I see,” Sascha replies, scribbling down more notes. The wheels churn in her mind as she probes further. “When do you need a proposal?”
“As soon as possible,” Jerry responds. “You’re joining us a bit late in the game. We would like to have something ready to present by Friday.”
Sascha’s eyes widen in surprise as she glances at the calendar. “But it’s already Tuesday—“
Jerry’s face lights up with realization, and he offers a solution: “No worries. There’s no time for you to fly back tonight. We can set you up at a hotel nearby, and you can work with our art department here. We’ll need your best work, and we’ll need it fast.”
Knowing Sash as I do, she’s internally panicking. She likes order. She craves control. This situation has been thrown at her without much of either. But she also loves a challenge, and the gears are likely already turning behind those beautiful emerald eyes.
Sascha has always had this endearing tick when she’s stressed about something. She reaches up and rubs her ear lobe back and forth between her thumb and forefinger as she thinks. My hands itch to grab her hands and hold them behind her back while biting and sucking on that lobe.
She lists the things she will need to begin working, her confident nature always at the forefront. I glance up at the clock and realize it’s getting close to the time I need to head to the locker room. I don’t want to leave, but I’m forced to tear myself away to prepare for our game.
“Sash, will you have time to watch the game?” I ask, rising from my chair.
“I don’t think so,” she replies, biting her lip and staring at a whiteboard, lost in thought.
“You should catch some of the game, Sascha,” Jerry adds. “It will give you a feel for our team and what we are looking for.”
Her shoulders drop as she exhales, likely irritated that she’s being asked to take away from her precious time. “Sure. I can watch the game,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach those green eyes.
I approach her and lean in, planting another kiss on her cheek and squeezing her hip with one hand. She freezes at the contact but manages to keep her face neutral. “I’ll make sure to score a goal for you,” I tell her with a wink before leaving her standing in the center of the conference room, looking beautiful, flustered, and annoyed.
Confidence courses through my veins as I stroll into the locker room before the game. Only a few of my teammates are here, ready to prepare for the battle against Philadelphia. Those guys are cocky fuckers, and we all need to bring our “A” game.
“What’s up, Taz,” Jonesy greets me with a casual jut of his chin.
“Nothing much, man,” I reply casually, unbuttoning my dress shirt in front of my locker.
“What’s with the shit-eating grin on your face?” he teases, noticing my smug expression.
“What grin?” I respond innocently, even though a goofy smile is spreading across my face at that very moment.
“You look like the cat that ate the canary.”
I shrug sheepishly. “Just happy to see an old friend.”
“Well, make sure that friend doesn’t distract you during tonight’s game.”
I give him a confident nod. “Not a chance,” I declare. My hockey skills have been on fire lately—the best they’ve ever been—and having Sascha here will only make me play harder and better. She’s not the only one with a chip on her shoulder.
My pre-game ritual has been honed and perfected since college, designed to put me in the optimal competitive mindset. I prioritize sleep the night before a game, getting at least eight hours of rest. No distractions from women, no late nights out. My energy is solely reserved for the ice.
In the morning, I start with a cup of coffee to give me a caffeine jolt, then switch to hydrating water. To warm my body up and be ready to perform, I take a short jog, just a mile or so, before diving into an hour-long stretching session at home.
Fueling up for the game’s physical demands, I eat a lunch heavy in carbohydrates early on in the day. I complete off-ice stick-handling and shooting drills in my garage. And finally, it’s time to head to the arena, mentally and physically prepared.
I’m usually one of the first people in the locker room. Sometimes, I get a massage from one of the trainers. I do some more stretching in the locker room. I like to stretch in nothing but my jock strap or completely naked, much to everyone’s amusement and discomfort. Whatever it takes to let off a little steam. Plus, I’m proud of my ass. It’s a good ass.
Eventually, I hit the ice and go through my agility and speed drills warm-up routine.
Today has been different as I detoured through the administrative offices to see Sascha. Our brief exchange sent a jolt of electricity through my body, igniting every nerve and filling me with excitement and anticipation before I went anywhere near the locker room. I can’t remember when I was this amped up for a game.
As I step onto the ice for warm-ups, the crowd’s cheers fill the arena, even though it’s not yet at total capacity. The bright lights above reflect off the pristine surface of the ice, creating a display that feels almost surreal.
I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere, reminding myself how far I’ve come. Less than five percent of all athletes reach this level, but here I am, living out my dream. It’s remarkable, considering my upbringing.
It still amazes me how both of my parents were complete failures at raising their two sons. As a result, they’re both gone to who knows where, and the last I heard, my older brother was serving a twenty-four-month prison sentence for breaking and entering. I’m sure drugs were involved as well. I don’t talk to my brother. That’s a hard boundary for me. My therapist would be so proud.
All these years later my grandmother remains the most important person in my life. She’s nearly ninety years old, and ironically, now that I can change her life and move her close to me with around-the-clock care, she declines to leave. She feels the altitude here will be too difficult on her, and she tells me she’s adamant that she’s happy at Rose Meadows. She has friends and visitors, including Sascha’s parents and Sash. Sascha is unaware I know about that.
I visit every chance I get, and I’ve been known to bribe the staff to take extra special care of her. It’s not what I envisioned, but she’s happy, and that’s all that matters.
Now, as I glide gracefully across the ice, I’m grateful for all the challenges that have led me here. Sascha may not want to admit or even realize it, but she has played a monumental role in shaping my journey and bringing me to where I am today.
She’s stoic in her disposition and humble about the various people she and her parents have helped over the years, but that doesn’t make what they’ve done any less impactful. Donald, Frances, and Sascha Bell are partly responsible for saving me from getting stuck in our small town, working a dead-end job all day and drinking in the local tavern every night.
Since I entered the league as a rookie, I’ve wanted her to watch me play in person. And now, with her presence here tonight and the possibility of working together for the organization, my body is amped with adrenaline. I will put on one hell of a show tonight for Sascha Bell.