Puck Buddies

by Tara Brown

  “Shit!” I shout.

  Brady opens the door. “She hates you. And you handled that piss poor, bro. She was testing you when she asked if you wanted to date. My brother’s girl did that to him. It was a test. You failed.”

  “Do you know who that is?”

  “Sami?”

  “She’s not just Sami. She’s Sami-fucking-Ford. She’s American royalty. She’s a blue blood, the real kind. Her family is like my mom’s family but worse.”

  “So?” He closes the door and strolls over to the elevator. “It’s not quite The Prince and The Pauper. You’re not exactly hurting for cash.”

  “No. I know that. It’s just—” I pause, thinking about what exactly it is. “I have to be really sure I want to ride this train publically before I get on. There’s no going back. Everyone in the world will care I’m dating her. We will be stalked, constantly. People probably followed her here tonight. I don’t know how much I want that.”

  “Oh, bro.” He laughs, slapping me on the arm hard. “You don’t have to worry about that, not now. That girl is never going to date you. Ever. I hope you had extra fun the last time, like played the back nine and everything, because you are never getting on that train again. Never,” he says as we step off.

  I am the biggest jerk. I wish I’d said the right thing but I never do. I look at my phone but decide I should wait and text, I likely won’t get that right either.

  When we get in the car out front every single bit of me wants to tell Charles to go to her house but I don’t. I do the wrong thing.

  Maybe it’s my pride. Maybe it’s my way of making an easy decision that cleans up the whole mess of what to do. Maybe I’m a just a coward and I have no idea how to be with a girl.

  When Brady and I get to the party, the house explodes with excitement to see him. He’s like a little brother to us all.

  Coach gives me a swat on the arm and nods. It’s equivalent to a hug. “Merry Christmas, Brimley. Go somewhere exotic for your days off?”

  “No, sir. Stayed here and slept a lot.”

  “Your face looks like you might need a bit more sleep.” He lifts his drink and moseys off to socialize, if you can call it that.

  His wife hugs me and offers me drinks and food quickly before scurrying off after another person to ensure they’re comfortable and being taken care of.

  “Opposites attract, eh?” Laramie grins wide.

  “She’s like some kind of saint, I suspect.” That’s about as far as I’ll ever go into bad-mouthing the coach.

  “Gold standard for hockey wives, across the board.” He settles in next to me at the large bar in the kitchen and grins. “Did you solve that Sami Ford problem?”

  “There’s no problem.” I don’t want to discuss it with him. She is who I thought, and he has no idea who that is.

  “I saw the photo on TMZ and assumed you must have released your inner demons on her, but then I got the text.” He takes a swig of beer from the bottle, typical Canadian. “I sort of hoped you got it out of your system.”

  “Like I said, there’s no problem.” I change the subject, “What’d you do for Christmas?”

  “Went home to the Prairies and froze my balls off. I actually left them back at the farm, no hope in getting them back till the thaw.”

  “I like how you Canadians say the thaw, like it’s some great event. You never say spring.”

  “Spring can be a relative term in Canada. We always have snow in the spring so it doesn’t feel like winter has ended.”

  “Because it’s the Arctic.”

  “Whatever. So did you happen to see Tandy again over the holiday?” Laramie chuckles. “She’ll be at the afterparty, and I sort of thought she had a bit of a thing for you.”

  “I don’t think I’m in for the afterparty. I’m still kinda tired.” I avoid the Tandy talk completely. I understand that guys enjoy bragging about their conquests but I don’t.

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re a rookie. That’s not a choice, my friend. Afterparty is at your house.”

  “What?” I laugh but he doesn’t.

  “Dude, it’s tradition. It’s always at the rookie’s house.”

  “I’m not the only rookie.” My stomach tightens.

  “You’re the only rich one who can house this shitshow.” He turns and looks at the crowd. “Brimstone’s in boys! His house afterwards.”

  Coach winces but lifts his glass at me as everyone else cheers.

  Brady laughs at me from the corner.

  All the humor falls away as I send a fast text to Benson, preparing him for the onslaught. It’s something my parents do regularly so the house is always prepared.

  I had planned on begging Sami to come over or going there and begging her to forgive me for sending the text to the wrong person, and for freezing when it came time to introduce her. And for being me. Whatever we were doing it involved begging and possible sex or chess or something.

  And instead I’m stuck with a night of shenanigans.

  I tilt the drink in my hand back and decide I need to loosen up if we’re going back to my place. There’s not much I can do to solve the Sami thing right now anyway.

  Many drinks later I change my mind on that. After multiple texts I probably shouldn’t have sent to Sami have gone through and Coach is tired of us, we load up into cars and get driven back to my place. Coach stays with his wife. Both are grateful to see us all going.

  I suspect it’ll be the same look on Benson’s face when we’re done at my place.

  The elevators don’t hold us all so it’s a few trips up until we’re all in. The place is set up for a night of fun. Drinks and snacks, and not the caviar or the usual fixings, are laid out with proper serving ware, red solo cups and paper plates.

  “Did you buy those today?” I nod at the dishes.

  “I did. I figured your friends would feel more at home. If you need anything I’ll be retiring to the study. I’ve taken the liberty to lock the doors we don’t want open.” He turns and leaves.

  He remembers how it was when I was a teenager.

  Brady is dropping his pants and headed for my hot tub, naked with a couple girls in his arms. He’s not alone. The group with loose morals and no love life, to speak of, head outside to the huge deck.

  It’s become a full-fledged PF party out there.

  The wives have been dropped off and the side dishes have come out to play.

  The guys who don’t partake in the lifestyle are in the living room with the big screen going and the fireplace lit. What happens at the party, will stay here. No one shares or shits on their fellow teammates.

  The boys on the couches are laughing and talking, eating chips and ignoring the half-naked girls squealing. There are two very different camps in hockey.

  For every guy who loves his wife or girlfriend, there’s one or two players who don’t mind a little something-something from a girl who has no interest in being with you after her ten minutes are up.

  I head in the direction of the fire and chips, taking a seat with a beer.

  The fire’s warm, my beer is cold, and my team is laughing and loving life. It’s a pretty awesome night.

  Laramie grabs us both another beer and sits down next to me. He stretches out on the large sofa and nods. “So your parents have a lot of money, don’t they?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh.

  “No, bro. I mean like a scary amount that you couldn’t spend in a lifetime.”

  “Welllllllll.” I grimace. “My mom might be able to, but my dad wouldn’t ever let her. She’s bad.”

  “This is fucked. I had no idea. I mean, I knew you were rich but not like rich rich. This is some next-level rich.”

  “I’m not rich rich. I’m normal rich.” I don’t know how to say that. “My dad is the billionaire. I’m not.” I chuckle. “I won’t ever be.”

  “Your family is disgustingly rich. You’ll always be this.”

  “No, my brother is the shining star of the family. He’ll inherit e
verything and take over from Dad. I’ll be the one who has to scrape by, barely making ends meet on the interest from my trust fund.” I wink at one of the guys across from me who’s laughing at Laramie.

  “Fuck off.” He shoves me as the group of us laugh.

  “Who wants shots?” a familiar voice asks from behind us. My spine straightens as I turn slightly, cringing at the sight of Tandy in my house. She’s smiling wide with her long hair in pigtails and a dress so short I’m pretty sure I just saw some ass cheek when she spun.

  She’s dressed as a waitress from the fifties in a short dress and she’s on rubber roller skates. She sails in, spinning and dazzling all the guys. Everyone laughs with her, nudging each other and making faces.

  Her long tanned legs flex as she stops with the tray, not even spilling a drop. She is a smooth operator.

  “Time to double stuff the cookie, dude.” Laramie nudges me, muttering as he ogles her in the tiny white dress that came with a nametag and everything. Something tells me she’s like a mascot and everyone in the room has had a little Tandy on them once or twice.

  “I don’t like crossing swords, brother,” I turn him down politely and offer a viable solution in case that’s just his thing. “But Blow J—Brady out in the hot tub will certainly. He’s got zero standards.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy.” He slaps me on the back and reaches for our shots. No one refuses her shot. We all get one.

  “To you, boys!” She lifts her shot in the air with us. I can’t guess her age, but if I did I’d have to say early to mid-thirties. Not because of looks but because of confidence and craziness. She doesn’t have that twenties look to her. She’s been doing this a long time. It shows in the way she is with the team.

  We drink and she skates off, winking at me before she goes.

  Shots and drinks and laughs are had. Tandy plays bartender waitress, but like the slutty Barbie-doll version. She gets snacks and refills and switches up the music.

  She leaves us alone in the living room for the most part and ends up catering to the guys in the hot tub.

  But that doesn’t mean we don’t see our share of random shots.

  The room spins as I jolt awake, not even realizing I fell asleep. I wipe the drool off my mouth, feeling stuck and hot and sweaty.

  The TV is fuzzy and apparently I’ve slept on the couch for a couple of hours.

  The captain is leaning on me, sleeping like a baby. I don’t know how long I’ve been breathing his snores in but the air around me is too warm.

  Shuddering, I get up, seeing that not many people have left. They’re mostly still here, passed out on the sofas and the floor. I need my bed and maybe to throw up a little. I don’t know which first.

  When I stagger to the stairs I shudder again, sure I’m going to puke just as a voice whispers from the kitchen, “Brimstone.”

  I turn, not sure if I heard it or imagined it or if the place is haunted.

  “Brimstone. Come here.” They call again, still not raising their voice enough for me to guess who it is. It sounds like a chick.

  When I round the corner I stop, scared of what I see, not because it’s bad but because it’s good. Very, very good.

  Tandy, still in her roller skates, is standing in my kitchen, leaning against the bar with her dress unbuttoned and her huge tits bursting through the gap.

  She slides a finger between them, tit-fucking herself. “Come here.”

  I don’t move, I sway back and forth trying to shake my head but end up moving my entire body. Fortunately, I’m so drunk my feet actually refuse to move. My cock ignores all of that as she lifts her white dress up and flashes her bare pussy. She slides back on the counter, spreading her legs and dipping a finger into herself.

  It takes all of the strength I have in me to take a step back, lifting a hand like I’m signaling traffic to stop. “I gotta go. Sorry.”

  As I turn away, I hear the roller skates coming after me. “No you don’t. Stay.” She skates to me as I make it to the stairs and am almost fleeing in a drunken way.

  She grabs the back of my shirt, wrapping her arms around me and shoving her hand down the front of my pants. “Let me make you feel good.”

  “No.” I slip and fall, catching myself on all fours and lifting her off the ground. She’s on my back, clinging to me but still undoing my pants like a crazy monkey. “Seriously. No. We can’t,” I mutter, trying to be quiet so the others won’t wake up. My hands are on the stairs just above my knees and she’s got me out of my pants before I can really resist. I manage to climb several stairs to the floor above where everyone is sleeping with her piggybacking and jerking me off.

  “I’m gonna fuck that meat stick, big boy,” she whispers in my ear, but I ignore her and try not to get sick. The floor is coming at me fast and then backing off with a jerk. I feel a bit sick and shudder again. Three shudders. I’m going to throw up.

  She swings to the side of me, still stroking my cock. She slides underneath me, sweet-talking me. “You’ll like this, my pussy feels so good.”

  “No. I’m seeing someone. I can’t.”

  “Come on, big boy.” She bucks me forward and I slide right into her wet pussy. I pull back, she pulls forward. I shudder and burp, shaking my head. She drags me in, bouncing my cock into her many times while I fight the urge to lose my stomach.

  Shivers cover my body, all of it in an instant, as a cold sweat comes over me. I burp again but throw up. I try to hold it in but a little bit comes out. It lands smack on her face. She gags and I gag and I leap up, running for the bathroom with my pants falling down.

  I barely make the toilet before I unleash all the nasty shots she fed us, mixed with beer and chips and whatever the fuck else I’ve eaten in the last few days. I puke so much my broke nose hurts again.

  I puke until there’s nothing left, and even then my body still tries to find something. Eventually, everything goes dark and I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Not quite the right Brimley

  Sami

  The seat in the Garden is cold. Way colder than I thought.

  I’ve never seen a hockey game live before, and I should be in a box but when I got up to the one my dad has, I couldn’t see shit. There’s a huge TV screen and I did sort of have a bird’s-eye view over the ice, but at the end of the day, it’s no different than sitting in my living room, forcing Nadia to watch it with me.

  She glances at me from her seat, offering a weak smile. Her eyes don’t have any of the joy her lips are faking.

  “Don’t judge me.”

  “I wasn’t.” Nadia laughs. “I was actually just thinking how brave this is of you. I mean, you’re out in public. With these people.” She turns and offers the stands above us a horrified grimace. “And you’re dressed like you’re homeless. This is different for you.”

  “Do you want to attract attention? Don’t glare at them.” I swat her and take the plastic cup of soda from her.

  “It’s not diet,” she warns. “The diet looked funny, thicker. The lady in front of me got it.”

  “Oh, whatever. I’ll drink regular. At this point I’ve thrown all caution to the wind anyway. If he sees me here he’s going to think I missed him and then he’ll think I’m the weaker one and then I’ll lose.”

  “Lose what?”

  “Whatever the fuck we’re doing with each other.” I sigh and give her my attempt at an annoyed face. “I mean, he was a twat on Boxing Day. We were supposed to hang and then he changes his mind and goes with Brady because he doesn’t want anyone to know about us. I don’t even know why I still like him.”

  “Because that’s all speculation and there’s a good chance he just forgot about that guy, like he said. And he didn’t want to make it awkward with his friend.” She scowls as if the answer should have been obvious to me.

  “I guess. And he did text all night long with weird messages about missing me but being scared to talk to me because he would say the wrong thing.�
� I stare out at the ice, plastic straw in my mouth and all.

  The game takes forever to start.

  There’s an ice show with some crap from the past Rangers games. Everyone in the stands goes crazy over that. They bring up the years the Rangers won the cup, which all seem like a billion years ago, and flash fancy images and movies on the ice. I suck back the entire drink before that’s even over. Nadia huffs about leaving to get me another one, not quite under duress but clearly she’s digging the whole preshow more than I am.

  Finally, the teams come flying out onto the ice, banging sticks and skating around like they coordinated where they were all going. Some guy shouts over the speaker, introducing them and getting everyone else fired up. They don’t need firing up. They’re already going insane. At home I can fast-forward all this crap to the moment the puck drops.

  When Nadia gets back, the guy adding the extra bit of soul to the national anthem is just finishing up, praise all that is holy.

  Stats and names are flashing, lights are flickering, music is pumping. It’s some shit song I’ve never heard before about a crazy train. I want for death.

  The people in the stands are not my people.

  The people watching quietly in their houses, fast-forwarding, are my people.

  “I got you a hot dog.” Nadia hands me a paper wrapper with a disgusting-looking thing in the middle of it. I had one once when I was at Nat’s. I remember not liking it.

  “Thanks?” I question the whole choice she made but force myself to agree that it’s the thought that counts, as Nat would say.

  “I got one for me too.” She sits and positions it like she might give it a blow job, and then puts it in her mouth. It’s by far the most seductive thing she’s ever done in front of me.

  She squishes her lips down, pressing them into the bun. She takes the bite after a second of processing or foreplay, I don’t even know. She moves the food around, but I don’t know if she’s chewing or just assessing.