“Shopping?” I click myself in as we peel out of the parking garage, merging with the existing traffic.
“Yep.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightens as she throws me for a spin. “We’re going to find you the perfect dress to announce that you’re ready to get railed. Mission Alia-gets-the-D is a go!”
27
CALLUM
“Go team!”
Theo cheers, clinking his shot against mine before throwing it back and downing it. We’ve been on the road for five days and played Vegas tonight in a shutout win 2-0. This of course means that Novak dragged every willing player out to celebrate—and I quote—the hottest and fastest goalie in the league.
The man’s obsession with himself is only slightly less than women’s obsessions with him. From the moment we stepped into the club, we’ve been surrounded by eager puck bunnies who’ve made it clear they don’t care which hockey player they take back to their room tonight. I’ve been hiding in darkened corners to stave off roving hands and flirtatious winks. The only woman I want grinding against me is five hundred miles away and I won’t be seeing her for another five days.
I’ve been cursing my stupidity since I let Alia go with only a kiss. I’ve been tortured with what our date could’ve led to if I’d given in. My only consolation is that my days are busy with practice, travel, and intensely competitive games. We’ve been inching our way up the Western Conference scoreboard and fully expect to make the playoffs if we keep our heads on straight.
Tomorrow is a travel day; we fly to Canada for back-to-back games with Toronto, then New York, then Florida before finally returning home. Stretches like these take a toll on our minds and bodies so I’m not surprised that most of the team, instigated by Theo, wants to let loose. The rookies have scattered with Kubanski in tow and Mateo left after a single drink to catch up with his wife. We all know that’s code for phone sex. Rohan, anti-social as usual, refused to join us at all. He’s probably in bed already. Lucky bastard.
Theo slams back yet another shot and barks out, “Fuck, I love Vegas!”
“Slow down, man. I think you’ve had enough.” I signal the bartender for a bottle of water. Before I can force my friend to hydrate, the busty brunette who’s all but claimed Theo returns and throws her arms around him. A few whispered words and a downright pornographic tongue-filled kiss later, he slips an arm around her waist and tucks her into him, grinning like he’s won some Vegas jackpot.
“I’m heading up to your room with Hollie.”
Hollie preens at his announcement.
“Excuse me?” I gape.
“I let one of the rookies use mine.”
Idiot.
“Can’t she take you to hers?”
“Her friend is occupying it already. DuPont is with her.” He sheepishly ruffles his hair with his free hand. “Give me an hour.” When Hollie rises on her toes, muttering something in his ear again, his dopey grin widens. “Two hours,” he corrects.
“Dude!” I protest. I’m tired. I want to get the fuck out of here.
“Bro code, Finnigan. I’ll even change the sheets for you. Do this for me. Two hours, please,” he begs, patting my shoulder and slipping into the crowd before I can say anything else. Dammit. Two hours is never just two. Hockey players are known for their stamina and, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve kept Theo out for much longer. I owe him for New York last year.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, distracting me from the annoyance I’m trying to stem.
Tater Tots:
Are you busy?
Me:
Can’t hear much but I can text
At a club Novak dragged the team to
Tater Tots:
Omnia?
Me:
How’d you know?