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A biting remark sits on my tongue, but I hold it in. I clawed my way to a life I’m proud of, but he won’t accept it. My big girl panties are giving me a wedgie, but I force myself to send the link that will change everything.
“You thought I was a stripper, and congratulations, you were right. Click the link and call me in a week if you want. I won’t answer before that, so don’t blow up my phone. We’ll talk then.” I hang up and throw my phone across the room, where it’s out of reach.
A week?!? A fucking week. I’ve set myself up for a week of torture. Fuck my life.
Chapter 5
Maverick Maher
“Have you been avoiding me?” Rhys Brant asks quietly, sitting on the locker room bench. Our teammates are celebrating tonight’s win by dancing to blaring hip-hop music. The smell of hockey sweat invades my nose, but in a calming way. The bass thumps in my chest, picking up speed with Brant’s question.
It’s Friday. The day Sky said I could call, and it’s been an agonizing week.
Not looking at him, I try to lie. “No. Not really. Not specifically you,” I admit.
“Is it because of our pact and then seeing the dance teacher, who shall remain nameless because if anyone asks, you turn bright red and run away?” He leans in closer so we’re shoulder to shoulder. “I haven’t told anyone.”
Air whooshes out of my lungs. “Thank you. It’s complicated.”
“Huh, I never would’ve guessed.” His shoulder shoves into me, trying to knock me off-balance.
This secret has me ready to combust, and Brant’s a vault with confidential info. “The thing is…him leaving…was my fault. Fixing it would require a time machine and balls I didn’t have back then.” The words burn my throat and have prevented me from calling Skylar.
“Didn’t he ghost you?”
“He had reasons for leaving the way he did, which were my fault, and if I’d thought logically for more than two seconds, I could’ve found him years ago.” I drop my head in my hands. What’s worse was acting like a brute at the party. Picking him up, demanding answers, and calling him a stripper. I could teach a class on how not to get a second chance with your first love. I made every possible mistake.
“That’s rough.” Brant claps my shoulder and leaves his hand there. “I’m the last person who should give advice, but if I were you, I’d decide on the best-case scenario and go for it.”
That seems impossible.
“Don’t hurt your brain thinking so hard. There aren’t that many choices. Don’t weigh the odds; that complicates it. You either take responsibility or you don’t. You either want him in your life or you don’t.” He shrugs and removes his hand.
“That easy?” My smile sits unnaturally on my face.
“Not easy, but where’s the fun in that? Come celebrate with us and figure things out tomorrow.” Brant stands and offers his hand to help me up. The ringtone catches me off guard.
“It’s my mom,” I say, and he nods and walks away. “Hi, Mom.” I put the phone to my ear instead of on speaker, which is ridiculous since she can’t see the naked men around me.
“Great game! You played fantastic.”
I pull the phone away to glance at the screen to double-check the caller ID. “Have you been kidnapped? Say ‘Enforcers win’ if you need help.” My playing could not be called fantastic, and I had a terrible game. My mom never makes excuses and always tells me to face my flaws.
“Don’t be silly.” She laughs. “It wasn’t horrendous, but there’s room for improvement,” she tacks on, and I roll my neck to release tension. “Anyway, Dad and I are planning to visit you. It’s been too long.”
“I saw you at Christmas last month, but I’m always happy to see you.” It’s not unusual for us to go a few months without a visit.
“We’ll keep you posted about a date. Are there any games that you promised your tickets to anyone else?”
“Who would I give them to?” I scoff.
“You never know,” Mom says cryptically. “I’ll tell you which game we choose. Love you.” She hangs up, and I stay motionless, unsettled by her strange request and comments. She’s never checked on my tickets before. Not in college or the AHL or since my NHL season started.
I skip the team dinner and go home. Last week I hated the quiet of living alone, but this week I’m thankful for the privacy. If Skylar gets a report on who visits his site, I’ll have to own up to my newest obsession.
Shame should have me in a chokehold, but it doesn’t. As soon as I got beyond the paywall and saw him, I was addicted. He dances and takes his clothes off for money. Almost naked, and he provides private sessions that might go further.
The anger that other men and women have seen him scantily clothed for years never comes. It’s the opposite. I’ve jerked off more this week than in the last year. The idea of other people watching but unable to touch him gives me a raging hard-on.
