Page 22 of Game Misconduct

Nick scoffs. “So am I just a piece of meat to you? A walking dildo?”

“Please.” The word is quiet, pained. I’m just happy my voice isn’t shaking.

“Please what?” He rolls his eyes.

Stalking toward him, I stand at the edge of the bed and glare down at him.

Guys like him don’t go for women like me. I’ve seen it time and time again with my brother and his friends and teammates. Strong, successful athletes in the prime of their career want skinny, beautiful women who look great on their arms and do whatever they want in bed.

They don’t have interest in someone who looks like me, someone who has physical issues with sex and even more difficulty with emotional attachment, and who has a career that will eclipse their own.

Because I will. He may play hockey and be on billboards, he may earn millions of dollars for skating on ice and slapping a puck, but I am making real, actual contributions to medical science. I am making a difference in the world.

Is he?

“Look, I’m not a puck bunny. I’ve been in and out of the arena since I was a kid, and it’s not the life for me. I’m going to go back to Boston, finish my fucking PhD, and get on with my life.”

His face twists. “Nice. Real nice, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe.” I scoff. “Do you even know my name?”

Nick reaches down and grabs his briefs off the floor. “See you around, Bex.”

I shake my head. “No, you won’t.”