Page 108 of Good Touch, Bad Touch Collection
The image of her standing there wide-eyed as he called her a whore has rage bubbling in my belly.
I’ve been angry at the world since birth. My fuse is microscopic and if I’m not careful, it’s going to be the thing that not onlyhelped me get to where I’m at in my hockey career, but also the thing that ends it.
The first glimpse of her in that dress will live rent-free in my mind for the rest of my life. I’m getting stiff thinking of her tits and hips and that mane of fire that brushed over the creamy skin of her shoulders.
“I don’t give a shit,”Coach roars. “For the next week, youlaylow. Stay off the radar of any media unless you are helping a little old lady cross the street or saving a goddamn kitten from a tree. You go to therapy, you work out, jerk off, and that’s fucking it!”
“What the fuck is an empath any-fucking way?” I throw up my hands, wanting this whole shit show to be over so I can get back to that bar and put some screws to whoever is necessary to get the information I need. “And emotional IQ? Who the fuck madethatup? I need to be cuddled about as much as I need afucking babysitter.”
Victor pokes the side of my head over my newly sewn together scalp as I cock back and take a swing, but he darts out of range. The only upside of this anger management protocol or whatever the fuck it’s called, is that Dr. Hoffman sent me over to the Sutherland Suites building in case this cuddler person had time for me tonight.
Luckily, that didn’t happen, so I stomped down the street to Don’s to have a drink. Then, there she was.
Coach looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. “That’s fucking it! I’m done with this conversation. You get to that therapist in the morning. You do whatever the fuck it is a professional cuddler tells you to do, and you get your ass back in play. Or, you’re not going to like our next conversation.”
I don’t like this one.
He turns on his heel and stomps out the back doors of the training room, kicking a stainless-steel table over as he goes, but all I can think of is her.
I hate what happened. Down into the marrow of my bones. She deserves to be someone’s queen, not some shit stain’s side piece.
The only upside about it is I don’t have to go deliver the bad news to a boyfriend that she’s no longer available, explaining in whatever way necessary that I’m replacing him. Starting right fucking now.
“Come on, dipshit.” Victor straight arms though the door to the back hall that leads toward the team parking lot, jerking his head for me to follow. “I’m ready for a sleepover with pillow fights and scrolling Insta.” He says in a high-pitched voice, tossing his imaginary hair back with a flick of his hand.
“Fuck off,” I answer, punching at my phone screen then raising it to my ear as I follow him down the hall and through the back door. The early spring evening air does nothing to cool my fury.
“Don’s On Main,” a cheerful female voice answers.
“Yeah, I was there earlier. This is King Hertzof.” I don’t like to name-drop for favors, but in this case, I’d offer up my left nut to get the information I need.
There’s a soft gasp, then, “Yes, Mr. Hertzof. We are so sorry about what happened here earlier. What can I do for you? The manager said he already offered you—”
“Yeah, I need information on the woman that was involved.”
“The police report has the other parties involved on record. The man and his wife—”
I interrupt her again. “No, I don’t care about them. It was thegirl, the one that left. Wearing a red dress and black boots.”
My dick throbs as I describe her. I never get a hard-on during the season. I’ve trained myself not to. I also never touch pussy from the first practice of the season until we play our last game. I play better frustrated, and right now I could win the fucking championship single-handed.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I wasn’t here, I just heard what happened, but I can ask if anyone knows her.”
“Yeah, do that. I’ll be there in a half hour. I want to know everything,” I snap as we walk through the parking lot in the chilled mid-April night.
“No, he won’t!” Victor yells into the dark sky, squeezing the key fob to his Ford F250 Raptor.
“Yes, I will,” I confirm with the hostess, flipping him off, then finish, “Tell the manager I’m on my way. I want to see the security footage, too.”
I click off, walking toward Victor’s truck as my temples and my cock throb in unison.
“Don’t even start.” I glare at Victor. “We are picking up my truck at the bar.”
My tone leaves no room for discussion. He frowns with a disappointed scowl, then swings open his driver’s side door as I climb into the passenger seat. As I settle in, my mouth is dry and there’s a hollow, knocking feeling in my chest. I should go straight home but seems it’s my other head that’s running the show right now.
And that never ends well.
***
