Page 37 of The Game Plan

These are the weirdest moments, when I’m not sure how to greet her. If it was one of my teammates waiting in the chair, I’d say something casual like, “Hey, what’s up?”

With Sienna, I don’t know, nothing has felt easy with her since Nevada. She was someone else in Las Vegas. She had her hair down literally and proverbially, but the scraped-up ponytail that she wears for work here is more reflective of her severe personality. Imagine, like, Miss Trunchbull meets Hannibal.

Either that or I’m making her fucking miserable. When the bar is as low as a cheating scumbag ex, I’m offended, honestly.

“Take a seat, guys,” Coach says.

“Hi,” I say to the woman I live with and who still doesn’t actually have a ring on her finger from me. I do need to fix that.

“Okay, you two. Now, I know this arrangement is temporary until Mitch gets back on his feet and that we’ve allowed the no fraternization clause to go by the wayside in the circumstances, particularly since you’re in a loving committed relationship.”

There’s something distinctly sarcastic about his tone. I suspect it’s aimed at me and this sudden one-eighty on the way I live my life.

“But we are reaching crossroads. We’re going on the road for preseason and the players and support team will be travelling together. Yours is an unprecedented situation, one that I’m not particularly comfortable with, but here’s what I need from you two. I need an agreement that your relationship doesn’t pose any distraction to the team or each other’s working day. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” we say simultaneously.

Maybe the awkwardness of the situation or the way we’re mirroring each other despite being polar opposites makes me smirk at Sienna and when she rolls her eyes at me it makes me smirk even more. This woman loathes me.

“We’ll stay in separate rooms, Coach, and unless I have specific comms needs to interact with Jax, you won’t see us together.”

He nods, watching me. “I’ve been spoken to the GM and Cheska, who’ve persuaded me that separate rooms won’t be necessary.” Oh. Coach stops boring holes in me to look at Sienna. “In fact, I’m hoping that you might be a good influence on Jax’s timekeeping which, frankly, has been godawful in the past.”

“Wh— Wi— We’ll share the same room?” Sienna asks, aghast.

Her expression is too comical for me not to laugh. “Come on, Si, Coach doesn’t think I’m a virgin,” I tell her.

“Yeah, no shit, man whore,” she says.

Now I’m not laughing and my eyes are bulging, making her realize she’s dropped the ball. Slipped into her default venom mode around me. Which one of us is incompetent now?

She lets out the fakest belly laugh I’ve ever heard, then says, “Just kidding.” She plants a hand on my thigh and digs in sharp manicured nails that shouldn’t turn me on like they do but they’re painted like they were in Las Vegas and I remember now, distinctly, the way they dug into my forearms as I went down on her in the chapel. “But obviously I know your past and love you anyway, honey,” she says, killing those happy thoughts.

I grin. “Given you were engaged to be married forty-eight hours before we got married, sweet pea, I don’t expect Coach thinks that you’re a virgin either.”

“There’s a difference between having a couple of monogamous relationships and screwing every hot fan who looks your way, darling,” she says, grinding her teeth.

God, winding her up might be fast becoming one of my favorite past times.

Coach coughs, breaking the vicious interchange I’m having with my wife. Shit.

“Well, thanks, Coach, for your understanding,” Sienna says, coming to stand and brushing imaginary dirt from her legs. “I’ll make sure Jax’s alarm goes off nice and early every day and that he gets a very early bedtime with no distractions.”

* * *

Our first preseason game is against the Washington Senators and I’m already at the airfield, with the guys. Sienna didn’t want us to arrive together, which is ridiculous. Or so it seemed, until I realized that she would take an hour to get dressed for a flight full of people she already knows.

As I griped at her on the threshold of her en suite and she told me to stop invading her personal space and that’d she’d never be late for work, I chose not to tell her that she’s beautiful without all the creams and serums and contouring. That would be a little too nice, and nice is not the shape of our relationship.

Then I watched her draw a pink wand over her lips. Watched the way the plump flesh moved under the wand. Our eyes connected through the mirror and I could feel myself growing hard, so I hot-footed it out of there, not giving her the satisfaction of knowing that I could look past the prissy attitude. All it would take is one word from her and I’d be gone; maybe a few words, like, please, Jax, I’m begging you to make me come on this vanity unit the way you did in Las Vegas.

At least, I’m fairly sure that’s what I did in that chapel bathroom. I’ve thought about it enough times in the last couple of weeks.

Sienna arrives for the flight with Bianca – social media manager – who’ll be hounding us guys for content as we get on the team jet, get off the team jet, walk into the arena. Basically, she’ll follow us everywhere we go. Reduce any genuine kindness with fans, like tossing them a puck during warmup, to a social media reel. Not that I mind the attention; I get that NHL players are paid a fuck ton because of the showmanship, as much as the points. But it can feel invasive.

It usually takes me a few games into season before I’m back into the show pony groove, then I forget the constant scrutiny, try to drown out the fickle praise and hateful comments for our seventy or eighty odd games. At the end of the season, when we’re all feeling it, playing injured and fatigued, I get jaded with it, again. Rinse repeat the following year.

I’ll be on Long Island hopefully for my entire career, and sucking up socials is part of it. Now, though, it’s my wife who’s hanging over Bianca’s shoulder and telling her how to capture me in the best light because they know images of me tend go hard on socials with fangirls.