It doesn’t change what I think about him in the slightest, though.
Especially when I have a mirror I can actually see my full body in.
The dark circles that were under my eyes when I woke up this morning are nowhere to be seen since I opted to sleep the day away.
Last night was the team’s private Stanley Cup party, but it’s been a damn busy week that came after an exhausting couple of months. But even though I wanted to cry at the thought of standing, I went because the Pirates... this team and these men are something else.
The second I found out I’d been traded to the Pirates, I knew the chances of going to the finals were good, but I don’t think I’d believed we’d actually win. Before I got here, and especially after I got here, so much outside shit was happening that I knew it would be tough for everyone to be on their A-game, and that’s what’s needed to win the Stanley Cup.
But the way all these men—now me included—look out for each other is something that can’t be explained, and it sure as fuck can’t be replicated. I didn’t even know this kind of camaraderie was possible in the NHL.
My eyes focus again on what the mirror is reflecting back at me, and I have to wince. The playoffs left me skinnier than I think I’ve ever been, and since we went to game seven at the finals, I almost dropped from exhaustion when the horn blared signaling our victory. Then I almost dropped while we were waiting for the ceremony to begin, when the Cup was passed around, and when I held it over my head.
I stood through it all, though.
And then through the endless press junket, through the contract meeting with Gab the day after, through the parade back in Vegas, through the party with the whole organization, and last night at Picard’s house with only the players.
I needed a day to recharge, and now that I’ve gotten it, it’s time to do what I promised I’d do back in March.
Back in May, after the second and the third round of the playoffs, we had two days off and went out to dinner, which was when I saw the discreet sign outside the resort.
It didn’t say anything but Provoke and that it had all kinds of stuff there, masks, harnesses, whips, and mostly shit that’s associated with BDSM, so that night I researched it.
A members-only gay sex club.
That’s all I could find out about it aside from the address, but it didn’t matter. The seed had been planted and today the idea would... bloom, so to speak.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
The ding of my phone alerts me that the car service I hired for tonight is five minutes away, which means I gotta get my ass down to the lobby.
No backing out, I mentally tell myself, and walk out of my bedroom.
It doesn’t matter what my clothes look like anyway, I reason with myself as I call the elevator. What matters is that I look damn good without them.
It’s that thought that gives me the confidence I need to greet the driver without stuttering and to not talk like a blabbermouth during the hour-long drive.
I even walk confidently up to the back door of the large building in what seems like the middle of nowhere, and smile at the security guy.
He looks at me funny, then brusquely asks for my ID.
That’s when the nerves kick in again. What if he tells the press? What if Gab is fine with her players being queer but not with them going to sex clubs in their own time?
But the security guard just nods and gives it back with a blank look on his face.
That has to be good, right?
I get my answer when he opens the door for me.
It’s really dark inside, with only one overhead light illuminating a high reception desk.
Behind it there’s a beautiful woman with her head in a messy bun and a baggy black sweatshirt that has the logo of the club on it.
She tilts her head when she sees me.
“I don’t know you,” she says, sounding intrigued.
“Ah, yeah.” I walk two steps closer, feeling really out of my depth now. “I want to become a member?” I say like a question instead of a statement, or a... request?