Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
After getting back to the locker room, I strip off my hockey gear and head straight for the showers, my aching muscles desperate to soak under the hot water. Within five minutes, I’m dressed and ready for whatever the boys decide our night is going to involve.
Half of them are standing around, barely covering their junk as they discuss where we’re going, and the second Micky’s is suggested, the approval is unanimous. Apparently, heading to Micky’s after a home game win is some kind of tradition. One the boys aren’t willing to break anytime soon.
After grabbing my shit out of my locker, I head out to the designated athletes’ parking lot with Shorty and Aaron when my phone comes to life in my pocket. I dig it out and quickly glance over the text.
Mom - Great game, love. Your father and I are heading home.
Thank fuck. That’s one awkward conversation I get to avoid tonight.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and we throw our shit into the back of my truck. Shorty climbs in the front passenger seat and raves about my truck as he directs me to Micky’s. To be honest, I’m not really listening. This truck isn’t exactly something I take pride in. It’s just one of the million things my parents gave me to buy my compliance with hockey.
It only takes a few minutes before I’m pulling to a stop outside the bar, and the second the boys bail out of my truck, it’s fucking on. They holler with excitement as we meet up with the others and step through the door of Micky’s, the crowd of eager fans treating us as though we’re local celebrities.
Shorty looks over at me with a knowing grin as he leads us to a table in the back. “What did I tell you, man?” he shouts over the noise. “We’re the fucking Kings of Denver.”
His excitement is infectious, and it has a grin spreading across my face as drinks and girls are thrust in our direction. For a change, most of the guys are more interested in discussing how good the game was. They don’t need to cater to these girls. All they need to do is pick one as they leave and she will follow without question. Sounds bad, but that’s just the way it is.
Some guys from last year, Miller and Tank, have shown up with their girlfriends, Dani and Sophie. Miller and Tank were the Dream Team last season and made it into the NHL with flying colors. Their names are known right across the league, and it’s great to finally meet the guys who led this team to victory.
Jaxon shows up with Bobby ten minutes later, accompanied by the two chicks from the grandstand. There’s no denying it, Jaxon looks pissed. Bobby, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready to get fucked up.
I’ve only been here a few weeks, and it’s already clear that these guys are more than just a team. They’re family. They have each other’s backs and are constantly pushing each other to be better. As the newbie to the group, I feel like I haven’t really broken through that wall yet. Don’t get me wrong, the guys are awesome, and they’ve been extremely welcoming. I feel like they’re waiting for me to push through and join them, but there’s a disconnect. Almost as though they can tell something is holding me back.
They know something is up with me, that something is keeping me from truly being part of their family, but they have no proof to pull me up on it. I’ve attended every training session and am always giving my all. Hell, most of the time, I’m the first one there.
All I know is that I’m feeling more at home at Rebels Advocate than I ever have in an ice rink. Maybe the guys can sense that I don’t share the same love for the game that they do.
Putting it to the back of my mind, I try to enjoy myself and join in with the celebrations when Sophie asks the bar staff for a bottle of tequila and a bunch of shot glasses. An hour later, after an extremely revealing game of Never Have I Ever, the whole table is wasted, and the girls are all but stripping on the dance floor.
I try to signal to the waiter for another drink, but the place is packed. I get up and head to the bar before realizing Shorty and Aaron are right there beside me. The bar is packed with bodies, and we cram our way between them until we get to the front.
“Ooh, fresh meat,” Aaron mutters as he looks at some chick behind the bar, appreciation in his eyes as she bends over to grab a schooner glass from under the bench.