12. Losing Streak
CHAPTER 12
LOSING STREAK
JAGGER
I ’m alone in the locker room, two hours before our first game of the season.
None of my teammates will show up for at least another hour, it’s tradition. Because during this time, I’m supposed to sneak a bunny in here and get my good luck blowjob.
My phone chimes with a text message.
Jessica : Sorry, Jugs. I’m busy today. Maybe another time.
I groan.
What the fuck? It must be the tenth girl who shoots me down about this, when usually I have to fend them off to stake their claim on my pregame blowie.
I scroll through a few of the rejections I received since last night.
Madison: I would totally help, you know I have in the past. I’m busy tomorrow, sorry. Good luck with the game.
Courtney: Sorry, raincheck? Go Knights!
Ashley (the real Ashley, not Candace): I totally would and I’m honored you thought of me for the first game of the season, but I can’t. Girl Code trumps how much I like you, Jagger. Good luck tonight.
I’m about to turn off my phone, when one last text comes through.
Candace: I hope by now you understand that we’re serious about this strike. You know what you have to do to end it. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind and I’ll text you a list of restaurants to choose from for our first date. Until then, I’m afraid you’ll have to resort to DIY. Good luck tonight.
Dammit.
They’re serious about this crazy idea of a strike.
I exhale a slow, frustrated breath.
To be honest with myself, I’m kinda relieved that none of the bunnies want to blow me.
My heart isn’t in it when all I can think about is Bay.
Every time I close my eyes a flashback of that damn kiss plays in my head, making me painfully hard.
Even now.
Then the memory of our encounter last night in the kitchen makes me groan for an entirely different reason.
I was about to kiss her again, I wanted to so much and then… I chickened the fuck out and aborted mission. My lips landed on her forehead and seriously I wish someone would slap me for how lame that was. Fuck, if that wasn’t completely crazy, I would slap myself.
But what if all this sizzling attraction I feel every time I lay eyes on Bay was just one sided ?
Have I imagined the crazy chemistry between us? When we kissed it felt as if the whole world had stood still.
She didn’t pull away. She fucking kissed you back.
True. But since she moved into the Gamma house, she didn’t seek me out; every encounter between us has been totally random.
That must mean that to her that kiss was just another kiss. A hot girl like Bay must have been kissed a lot and I was just one of those million kisses. A kiss that’s burned in my mind but that she probably has already forgotten.
Her nipples were two hard little points under her tank top last night. Almost as hard as you were.
Sweet Jesus.
That’s true.
Who cares about the bunnies, who cares about any other woman on campus, when Bay Woods’s nipples were pressed against my naked chest?
Fuck, I just wish I had lifted that thin, pale pink tank top over her head so I could feel her skin against mine.
What about those teeny, tiny silk sleep shorts that bared her toned, shapely legs ?
My cock twitches in my suit pants and I swear there’s a bead of pre-cum leaking down the entire length of my shaft.
God knows why Coach insists on us turning up to the arena in a fucking suit for home games.
I have a real problem at hand.
There’s no way I’m getting a bj from one of the bunnies, so our winning streak ritual is in jeopardy.
I’m also hard as fuck and I can’t think straight right now.
Do what that text said, take care of yourself. You don’t want a bunny anyway right now. You could go into the shower and take matters into your own hands and you could think about Bay while you do it.
Now, that’s an idea.
It doesn’t do anything to guarantee our good luck ritual is fulfilled, but it takes care of my most immediate problem.
Do it, do it, do it .
What the fuck?
I shake my head, to get rid of that annoying voice in my head. It’s like that angel and devil on each shoulder type of thing, but in my case the angel is totally missing.
It’s because Bay is the angel in this situation, you dumb ass.
That’s true.
She looks like an angel too, with that golden blonde hair, those big intense blue eyes. But she has the body of a temptress and my mind is made up.
The devil on my shoulder wins. Not that there was any real struggle since the angel was MIA.
I rise from my seat on the wooden bench in front of my locker.
Usually I’d take a shower after the game, but I’ll double up on that today, so I can rub one out and think of my own, personal angel.
A pang of guilt rears its ugly head, that I’m letting the entire team down. Maybe I should have tried harder to find someone who was willing to help me with the pregame bj.
God knows that the bunnies aren’t the only girls who line up to hook up with me and my teammates.
The truth is that my heart wasn’t in it though and I doubt I would’ve even gotten hard for anyone that wasn’t Bay Woods.
So as I step under the warm spray of the shower, cock in my hand and mind going back to that hot kiss on Saturday night, all I can do is hope.
Hope that maybe I can figure out if Bay wants to kiss me again.
Hope that the pregame bj had no influence on our winning streak.
It takes me literally under one minute to come. The second I remember the feeling of Bay’s lips against mine, of her tongue exploring my mouth, a wave of heat collects at the base of my spine and my balls draw tight .
The memory of her perfect tits pressed against my chest finishes the job and the first spurt of cum shoots out of me, splattering against the shower’s wall.
She tasted so good, she was so soft, so fucking perfect .
I keep coming almost without stroking myself. My cock keeps pulsing over and over until white spots appear at the edge of my vision.
I exhale a shuddering breath, bracing myself against the shower wall with my free hand.
It takes me a couple of minutes under the warm water to finally calm down enough to leave the shower stall.
Jacking off has barely taken the edge off the tension that has been coiled in my body since last weekend, but this will have to do.
Hopefully this will be enough to bring my team the luck we need to start this season with a win.
Superstitions are just a fad, right?
I’m sure we’ll be fine against USC tonight.
And if that’s the case, no one needs to know that I bailed on my duties and alienated the bunnies’ favor.
It’s a fast paced, intense game and USC doesn’t defeat us.
They fucking destroy us.
COLE
We lose.
Not just the first game, the first two games are total disasters.
Something is wrong and we need to figure out what it is before this becomes serious and the playoffs are at risk.
I know it has just been two games, but as team captain it’s my responsibility to nip whatever’s wrong in the bud.
Especially Jagger .
I mean, it isn’t just him, the entire team has been off kilter in some strange way, but his performance has been shockingly bad. To the point that Coach just called me in his office to ask me if something happened to him at home or if there’s something going on in his personal life that could explain the dumpster fire of the past two games.
I just wish he just asked the question, but Coach Harrison has his iPad at the ready to view tape from our games against USC and the Seattle Needles.
USC
The puck drops and Ryker wins the first face off with relative ease.
For some strange reason Madden Halsey and Kelan Hook, who took Blaze and Luca’s starting spots, don’t skate forward to support him.
Madden practically trips on his own feet and Kelan seems distracted. Is he looking for someone in the audience?
Blaze Dunne was our enforcer and protected our offensive line from the opposing D-men as well as supporting our offensive action.
With him gone, it has been decided that Jagger will take over that task if needed, leaving me as the last hurdle to protect Tucker’s goal if we were to lose the puck while the rest of the team is away from our half of the ice.
But something is amiss, Jagger doesn’t skate forward to support our offensive line, which he should since practically every player but me and Tucker are headed toward USC’s crease.
“Dude,” I call out, getting his attention just in time to see one of USC D-men checking Ryker against the boards.
That fucking sucks but at least that means that Jagger doesn’t need to skate back to defend Tucker and support me at breakneck speed .
He has the potential and the stamina to do that but let’s face it, his task this year is draining.
As predicted, USC steals the puck from Ryker and is barreling toward us on a breakaway.
I square my shoulders, ready for this rendezvous, confident that Jagger has my back but… he fucking doesn’t.
As we fight USC for possession of the puck, all we can hear is our harsh breaths and the clashing of our sticks.
Jagger wins the struggle with the USC captain and passes the puck forward to Ryker, who in the meantime has gotten up and is coming closer.
What happens next is baffling.
I’ve been playing on Jagger’s same line since we were freshmen and I’ve practically never seen him overshooting.
He’s so precise in his stick handling and puck control that he’s almost surgical.
Just not today.
His pass is way too long and rather than reaching Ryker, it turns into an assist for USC.
We can only watch as one of the USC offensive linemen, who had skated here to support the breakaway, receives the puck and shoots it past Tucker with one hell of a slapshot.
It’s only downhill from that moment.
Jagger is completely out of sync with the rest of the team, putting Ryker offside more than once when he manages to make it forward to support the offensive line.
When another one of his passes gets intercepted, he reacts by chasing the USC left winger. I watch powerless as he pulls on the other guy’s jersey, shoving him against the boards to remedy the fact that he was too slow to take the puck fair and square.
He ends up doing time in the penalty box and I hate to say it, but we almost do better without his sloppy performance. Almost being the keyword here.
Being down one man doesn’t do us any favors and USC scores again. We’re barely at the end of the first period and we’re already down two goals.
The rest of the game doesn’t go any better. To be fair, Jagger isn’t the only player who offered an embarrassing performance, if you think that we’re the defending champions.
I’m as ineffective as a Bandaid on a cut that would require several stitches. Ryker is a world away from the most promising NHL rookie of next season. He slayed it at training camp, impressing the Heroes coaching team, but the man who stepped on the ice is uncoordinated and always offside.
To the point that Coach changes lines often, giving Corey some ice time and even Topher. But no matter who steps on the ice, our team seems cursed. Even when we make decent plays, our shots are too long or get intercepted by USC almost out of nowhere.
By the second half of the third period, we’re going through the motions wishing for the time to run out and put us out of our misery.
“That was the most embarrassing performance I’ve ever seen from any hockey team worthy of this name. My daughter’s peewee hockey team would have wiped the ice with you. Do we need to watch the second game?”
I hang my head. “No, sir. I’ve been watching both tapes non stop and I don’t understand what’s wrong with us. You know I’m not looking for excuses when I say that we look like a different team during training. I just don’t know what happens the second we step on official ice.”
Coach Harrison nods after a beat of silence. “You’re right. That’s exactly what doesn’t make sense. If I saw you guys slacking or not giving one hundred percent during training, I would make sure to whip you right back into shape. But that’s not the case. So I don’t think bag skating or speed drills or any other form of… punishment would be appropriate. I just have no clue what changes from training to game night and I need your help to figure it out. One thing is certain, if we continue on this path, we’ll be the joke of the entire league.”
Coach is right and as I drive back to the Gamma house, my mind is reeling about what’s causing this shocking performance. I mean, we’ve lost three key players when Luca, Blaze and Cash left us to go play pro hockey with the Bridgeport Warriors. But that fact alone doesn’t explain how badly we’ve been playing. Corey and the other non starters were much greener last year and they held their own when Coach changed lines to give us a little breather here and there.
I’ve already alerted our team’s group chat that there’s a mandatory team meeting in one hour.
We need to get to the bottom of this situation and like Coach Harrison loves to say, we win as a team and we lose as a team.
JAGGER
My phone beeps with an alert from the team’s group chat. I groan when I see that there’s a team meeting in one hour.
Between two practices a day, classes and some extra conditioning on my own time, every spare moment is precious to study.
I sigh as I close my laptop, well aware that I’m the biggest hypocrite on campus.
To the innocent bystander, I look like the epitome of the studious college student, with my laptop open and several text books open in my tablet.
In reality, I’ve been staring at the same screen for the best part of the afternoon, my mind otherwise occupied.
Just in case anyone was wondering what’s been haunting my thoughts, it isn’t hard to guess .
My mind has been replaying every encounter, every brush in—no matter how insignificant—with Bay.
Living in the same house doesn’t help matters and I find myself wishing that the Zeta house hadn’t been condemned for the hundredth time since Bay moved in.
It isn’t just that fucking kiss that’s playing in my head on repeat. It’s every smile, every time she plays with the ends of her blonde ponytail almost absentmindedly. The way she moves, laughs and eats.
This morning I bumped into her in the kitchen after practice. She was sitting at the kitchen table eating a plate of scrambled eggs.
Don’t start me off on how hard I got staring at the way that fork traveled from the plate to her luscious mouth. The way she chewed and swallowed her food was sexy, downright sinful.
No one should have any fucking business looking like a wet dream while eating breakfast.
That’s without even mentioning those tiny pink sleep shorts. I’ve been jacking off to the memory of the way they hugged her hips and rode up a little between her inner thighs the night we bumped into each other in the kitchen.
Thank fuck for lube and lotion or both my dick and hands would be as chafed as hell.
Even now, I’ve been thinking about Bay Woods for the best part of an hour and it’s almost time for that team meeting.
If she hadn’t ended up living here because there’s no free accommodation on campus and in town, I’d consider moving. I don’t even recognize myself these days. I’ve always liked women but that’s the keyword here, women . Fucking plural. This sudden, crazy obsession with just one specimen of the female species is unlike me and so concerning that maybe I should go to therapy.
And for those who know me, my family are old fashioned, snobby WASPS and the Connellys don’t go to therapy. We just shove our issues under the rug and drink our way to a very dignified numbness.
I step into the living room like an inmate walking to the gallows. I feel responsible for the shit show of our last two games. But it’s imperative that I keep my mouth shut about my part in the bad juju that seems to have caused our two crippling defeats.
As Cole addresses the team and plays the videos of the most cringeworthy mistakes of the first two games of the season, my mind inevitably drifts away.
There’s no need to fess up on the object of my thoughts, but anything is better than watching how pathetic our performance has been.
After we sit through the torture of the highlights of both games, my teammates discuss at length everything that went wrong on the ice, which was… everything.
My name is mentioned more than I’m comfortable with, but I know I’ve never played this badly ever since I laced up my first pair of skates.
“Jagger isn’t the only one who made mistakes,” Cole defends me. “We were off our game, all of us.”
I’m surprised when Ryker agrees with him. “Cole is right. I, for one, admit that I was out of sync. I’ve never been offside more often than since I arrived here. And the funny thing is that the more I pay attention, and make an effort to play the way I should, the worse it gets. Yesterday I felt like I had two fucking left feet.”
His assessment of his own performance is brutal but honest. I’ve always known that Ryker was fair, but he has definitely matured since we played together in high school.
Someone who definitely hasn’t matured or learned that he shouldn’t air every thought that comes to his mind is our frat president.
“You’re right, Moore,” Topher snorts. “Hopefully your poor performance will open Coach’s eyes and he’ll realize what a huge mistake he made when he asked you to come here. Maybe he’ll remember who played flawlessly last season until some of the players who left to go pro managed to turn him against me.”
Fuck.
This guy is either a sociopath or he has no dignity. He makes it sound like he didn’t decide on that ridiculous dare and blackmailed all of us into letting him continue with his hazing and bullying.
Ryker however has never backed down from a fight on or off the ice and today is no exception. “Shut the fuck up, Mumford. You could talk if you had played decently when Coach put you on the ice. But you were just as bad as all of us. Or did I dream the few times you completely missed the puck? You also lost every single face-off you were involved in. So do us all a favor and get off your high horse.”
There are murmurs of agreement around the room, but in typical Topher fashion, he won’t admit defeat and he goes on the offensive.
“That might be the case, but does anyone care to explain what the fuck is wrong with us? We look like a different team during practice. It’s on game night that we turn into a low tier division three team.”
I hate it when he’s right, but Topher has nailed the situation.
“That’s exactly how Coach and I feel,” Cole agrees. “We’re at a loss as of what’s the matter with us. This is why I wanted to discuss it with all of you. If you have any clue, please share your opinion. No idea is a bad idea at this point, if we want to rescue our season.”
Several hypotheses are put forward.
Equipment is discussed but nothing has changed since last year; not our suppliers, not the staff who take care of our equipment .
The same goes for our medical team and our nutrition specialists.
“What about our good luck charms?” Corey suggests. “Tucker, you didn’t wash your lucky underwear by any chance?”
Tucker barks out a laugh. “No fucking way. Why would I do that?”
Corey shrugs. “We all ribbed you a lot the other day about how much they stink, I thought maybe that made you self-conscious, I don’t know.”
Tucker shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t care what you assholes think. It’s not like your briefs smell like roses, am I right?”
We all laugh at the way Tucker wiggles his eyebrows but Topher interrupts the widespread hilarity with the hypothesis I was dreading. “Glad you didn’t wash your lucky boxers, but Corey has a point. Did anyone fuck up on our good luck routines?”
He goes around the room, asking each man if they’re doing their part. Everyone confirms that nothing is different, until Topher’s eyes land on me.
“What about you, Connelly? We’ve never heard who got the honor to blow you so far this season. Usually you share all the details with us.”
Usually I do.
I don’t even feel bad about the amount of lewd details I discuss in the locker room, because the bunnies actually expect and love to be talked about.
That’s how they gain popularity with the team. It makes us sound like a bunch of douche bags, but I don’t make the rules.
I open my mouth, but the lie I prepared doesn’t roll off my tongue as easily as I hoped.
I stutter a garbled, nonsensical jumble of words and that’s all it takes for everyone’s attention to land on me .
“Jugs,” Topher glares, using the nickname I can’t stand. “What the fuck is going on?”
Busted.
I have no choice but to fess up to the whole fuck up that got us where we are.
There’s a beat of silence around the room.
“I mean,” I say to no one in particular. “I doubt this is why we suck. We do this shit as a team bonding thing, but it’s just superstitions, right? Someone not washing his pants or using a certain stick has no influence on the outcome of our games or on our performance.”
“The fuck it doesn’t!” Tucker yells. “We’ve been talking about every single thing that could be making a difference and everything is the same. Except you getting blown before each game.”
We all know he’s right, but I argue just for the sake of it. “There’s no way to prove that it’s the case,” I bite out. “Besides, what am I supposed to do? Give in and take Candace on a date?”
More silence.
No words are needed to figure out how everyone feels though, as every single one of my teammates is glaring at me as if I was single-handedly responsible for everything that’s wrong with the world.
“Well fuck,” Topher breaks the silence. “Here we go. We finally know what, or shall I say who, has been messing with our winning streak.”
The accusation hangs heavily in the air and I squirm under everyone’s scrutiny.
“Oh come on, guys. Do you seriously believe?—”
“We do.” Tucker scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I have to wear stinky underwear for the sake of the team, I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to take one for the team and find someone to blow you.”
Ryker agrees with him. “Is this Candace so bad? Regardless, if you’re anything like in high school, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to find someone to blow you outside the bunny circles.”
He’s right. The problem is that I don’t want to. I can’t say that though, so I opt for a noncommittal “It’s not that simple.”
That doesn’t go down well with my teammates.
“I’d say it is that simple,” Topher argues. “Find a chick who’s willing to come to the locker room and let you stick your dick in her mouth until you jizz down her throat. It doesn’t matter if she’s good at sucking cock or not, at this point we’re desperate.”
There’s a chorus of approval. They decided this is all my fault.
The only one who looks slightly concerned about me is Cole. “You ok, bro?” He claps me on the shoulder, lowering his voice.
“It’s… I don’t know. I haven’t been feeling right. This whole thing is?—”
Topher overhears even with everyone else talking around us.
“What is it?” he snarls. “Please don’t tell me that all of a sudden you feel guilty about using the bunnies. They like to serve and service us. That’s the entire reason why they hang around the team. Do you need me to clean up your mess and talk to Candace?”
To be honest, I don’t care. Even if the bunnies hadn’t been on strike, I wouldn’t want to go through with it. There’s only one set of lips that’s taken up residence in my head, but I can’t say that. Topher is the last person I could tell how I really feel.
I nod sheepishly.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Frat president to the rescue as always. And the Coach thought I wasn’t captain material. I don’t see anyone else trying to fix this mess. I’ll let you know what Candace says, Jugs. We’ll make sure you get your blowie by our next game and we’ll be back to winning in no time.”
Everyone starts chanting “Knights, Knights, Knights!”
I play along, but in reality I couldn’t care less if Candace calls off the strike or not.
All I want is to play hockey one last year, whether we win or lose. I want one last season before life’s responsibilities come crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.
And Bay’s lips against mine again.
It isn’t much to ask, right?