Page 13 of Punked By the Playmaker
Memories flashed before my eyes of leering men with grabby hands, of strobe lights and sexy beats, of glitter-coated skin and G-strings. My nose wrinkled, the stench of stale beer and smoke permanently burned into my brain.
No. I couldn’t go back there.
Never again.
I’d figure something else out. I had to.
Chapter 5
Levi
Hotellifewasslowlykilling me. The four walls of my room were closing in on me, making it hard to breathe.
And it sure didn’t help that my home search had come to an abrupt halt when my realtor decided to wash her hands of me. Sure, I’d been contacted by her colleague, Brad, who was eager to set up a time to show me a handful of houses I’d already seen, but I told him I was busy.
It was an excuse. The truth was, I was still hung up on Arizona.
The woman was drop-dead gorgeous. Exactly my type with legs for days, perky tits, and hair long enough to wrap around my fist.
But she’d turned me down flat.
A week later, I still couldn’t make sense of it.
Never had a woman decided to stomp on what I was putting down instead of picking it up. Usually, all it took was a flash of the pearly whites to have them throwing their panties at me.
Arizona was different. And like a puzzle I couldn’t solve, I became obsessed with figuring her out.
She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t eliminate the possibility of a boyfriend.
The thought had crossed my mind that she preferred women to men, but I quickly dismissed the notion, given that her pupils had blown out when I invaded her personal space.
My visceral attraction to her was reciprocated. I was sure of it.
So why didn’t she take me up on my offer? All I’d asked for was a date, a chance to see if the sparks caught fire, and if they didn’t, I would have happily bought a house and moved on. But she’d twisted it around to make it sound as though I viewed her as nothing more than a prostitute.
The idea was laughable. I didn’t need to pay for sex. Not when I could take home any woman I wanted.
Except her. And it chafed at me.
I needed to get out of here, needed to get some air and clear my head.
Through the window, the ocean sparkled in the morning sun, beckoning me.
Becoming one with the sea, feeling the power of it beneath my feet as I carved through the waves, would be the perfect way to turn off my brain.
“Mind if I wait here?”
Straddling my board, I turned to find a teenage boy had paddled up beside me. It had been pretty quiet until now; most people were too busy in the middle of the day to go surfing, but given my new companion, I must’ve been out here long enough that schools had let out for the day.
“Sure. What’s your name, kid?”
He slicked the dark hair away from his forehead. “Austin.”
“Levi,” I offered mine in return. “You come out here often?”
Austin shrugged. “When I can manage to bum a ride.”
I didn’t know this kid beyond his first name, but his response resonated with me. At his age—I’d guess him to be somewhere around fourteen or fifteen—my parents each worked a second job to be able to afford my hockey gear, ice time, and any additional costs associated with playing high-level hockey. Looking back, I could appreciate how much they’d sacrificed so I could make it to the pros, but when I was living in it, I hated that they were never around. And the reason wasn’t something heartwarming like I missed them; it was purely selfish. On those rare days when I didn’t have hockey practice, I wanted to join my friends on their trips to the beach or the movies or the mall. But there was no one home to drive me, and it was too far to ride on my bike. It outright sucked being left out because I didn’t have a stay-at-home mom like a lot of the other kids.
