Tuesday, September 20, 2011

chapter twenty-one

“So, you coming out tonight?”

Seabrook’s voice is all tentative and he makes a big show of stuffing things in his locker as he asks.  Last time I went out with him and Duncs, it was almost the last time I ever saw Kristen.  He’s been tiptoeing around since.

“Yeah, sure,” I decide it’s time cut him some slack.

“What, your girlfriend let you out for good behavior?” Duncan asks, no problems at all with leaving me out to die.

“One, I want to go out, just not always with you assholes.  And two, she’s not my girlfriend.  Yet.”

They don’t bother to look at each other, they just laugh.

“Right.  She’s got you more whipped than Tazer and that’s just because gay marriage isn’t allowed here yet.”

I land a sock right between his eyes, then finish pulling on my sweatshirt.  An early cold snap has sucked the summer right out of Chicago, making it feel like hockey season.  And it almost is.

It’s been two weeks since the press conference, since Kristen gave me a second chance that I didn’t deserve.  I’m doing a pretty good job of making up for it though, if I do say so myself.  Turns out there are a lot of fun things to do around here that don’t require condoms or blocked phone numbers.  I actually am having fun.  What I’m not having is any sex.  At all.  We make out like teenagers and then Kristen sends me home so horny I need a binder to cover my lap.  It’s become like a drill at practice that I have to master - mind over matter.  If there were a prize for celibacy, I’d win it again.  Wait till you see what the fucking trophy looks like.

Before, I literally chased Kristen more than once.  I find the figurative chase much more enticing.  Every night I think might be the night - and I’m salivating at the thought of it.  Every morning I wake up gasping from a wet dream hoping today is the day.  I want her more than any girl I’ve ever wanted, and it’s not just physical.  Well, it will be the first two hundred times she lets me get in there.  But once I’m finally drained of frustration and come, I fully expect to realize I’m in love with her.

So yeah, I’m pretty whipped.  Hit me again.

“She’s way more fun than Tazer,” I tell them with a smile.

“So bring her,” Duncan suggests.  

“Maybe I will.”  Maybe it’s time.

September is hard to ignore.

Hockey season is right around the corner - training camp has started and it’s all over the news, the TV, the internet.  The Blackhawks PR machine is in full swing and everywhere I turn I see Patrick’s face, his name, that huge 88 staring back at me.

Thank God we met in summer.  There’s no way I could withstand this onslaught.

Oddly, it seems to weigh differently on Patrick too.  I always thought of him as the swagger type, rolling in the pre-season praise because it’s all free - there’s nothing to deliver for weeks yet. Just adoration and promise to bask in.  But Patrick slips out from under it whenever he can - and he comes to me.

We stay in a lot, at his place or mine, eating and watching movies and hanging out.  He’s wary of throwing any fuel on the fire before the season starts.  Maybe too wary - I don’t want him scared.  I just want him smart.

It’s not easy, of course.  Sometimes he must think I am a nun for the way I refuse him - if he knew how many pairs of underwear I’ve thrown away in the last two weeks, he’d buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.  Staying in means staying closer to beds, couches, hell even floors and tables.  

Last night as dinner arrived, I followed him into the kitchen to get utensils.  Hunger lowered my defenses and I turned my back on him.  A second later I was pressed against it, Patrick’s mouth on my neck and his hips grinding mine against the counter.  He held onto the edge, trapping me, and worked against my ass like he was going to tear my pants off and fuck me standing up.  I think I gouged finger marks into the marble.

“Kristen,” he finally growled, taunting, in a low voice.  “How about today?”

Surely I was the one in danger of being sawed in half over the kitchen counter.  So I tossed my hips back into his lap, making him grunt.

“Not yet.”


I knew he’d only ask once.  He always asked only once.  Then he’d go right on groping and kissing me as long as I let him.  He wasn’t asking for sex - well not exclusively.  He was asking me to be his girlfriend.  Once a day, every day, for two weeks.

Patrick eventually gave up with a sigh.  I let him believe it was easy for me to deny him while I tried not to have an orgasm every time he picked up a fork.

Now I’m halfway through a status report when my cell phone rings.  Without even looking, I answer.  “Kristen’s House of Whores and Pancakes.”

He just laughs for thirty seconds.  “I will make the pancakes if you let me stay over.”

I say the same thing I say every day.  “Maybe.”

Then he says something he never says.  “Let’s go out tonight.”

“Okay,” I answer too quickly.  It’s been too long since I’ve been out, and I’m pacing the cage.  Of course there’s an actual tiger in the cage with me and he’s very horny.  It would do us good to get out.

“I want you to meet the guys.”

Ah, the moment of truth.  Patrick talks about his teammates non-stop, and of course I feel like I know them all just from living in Chicago.  What I’m betting they don’t know if how New Patrick is spending his free time not fucking his non-girlfriend.  They’d never believe it.

What the hell.   You don’t get involved with Patrick Kane to be bored.

“You’re on.”

Tell her?  Or don’t tell her?
I’m driving to Kristen’s house, wondering how much to warn her about my teammates.  They are my best friends.  They want to see me do well.  They are also over-privileged cavemen who will never believe for a second I’m not all up in this hot girl I see every day.  They know I fucked up royally and that she took me back.  They know I’m crazy about her.  So they obviously think she is my girlfriend.

Of course, I want her to be.  Maybe today’s the day.

I made the boys choose somewhere swanky so they couldn’t behave too badly.  And I made Jon agree to join us.  Kristen is no fool but I don’t need them rubbing her face in the way they party.  The way I used to behave.

I won’t warn her.  She knows.  She’ll do fine... gulp.

“Hey! You look great,” she says as she opens the door.

How I look is dumbstruck, with my mouth open and my tongue rolled out like a cartoon red carpet.  She’s wearing a scarf.  Well, I suppose it’s a dress in that it comes to mid-thigh and has holes for her arms.  But it’s one not-overly-large square of patterned silk tossed over her body like a bed sheet she’s barely wrapped in.  It shows nothing and yet it hints at everything.  Literally everything.  When she steps toward me I see that it is indeed quite short - a solid span of creamy thigh flashes as she moves.

It’s going to be a long night.

“You... you...,” I stutter.  She laughs.  “Let’s stay in.”

Kristen shakes her head.  “Nope.  Let’s go meet these friends of yours.”

Oh Jesus.

The silk makes a faint, watery rustling noise as she slides into the front seat of my car.  Her dress is orange with white, her shoes high thin heels in an almost nude color.  Endless legs, endless.

“You look incredible,” I finally find the words.  She leans over the console and kisses me, sliding her tongue across mine like she’s some kind of medieval torturer.  Then she settles back into her seat, crosses her legs at the thigh and laughs when I groan out loud.

As we walk into the bar, every head in the place turns and for once they are not looking at me.  We climb two steps into the VIP section and I nearly crash into Seabrook’s massive chest on his way to see her.

“Hi, you must be Kristen, I’m Brent, it’s nice to meet you,” he says all at once, like a puppy tripping over his own ears.

“Back off, Seabrook,” I joke lamely, not kidding at all.  Kristen gives me a shut-up-Patrick look and shakes his hand.  He drags her toward the Duncan and the bar.

“Shit, Kaner.  You shoulda left her for me.”  Jon appears behind me, in that one gray suit he always wears.  I order a drink from a passing waitress.  Kristen’s between Keith and Seabrook at the bar, they’re so tall-short-tall they look like a bar graph.

“She is your type,” I admit.

“By that you mean she’s too good for you?”

I nod.  That’s exactly what I mean.  Jon gives me a punch in the shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to give her my extra house key,” he says.  “‘Cause if you fuck up again she can come right over.”

I take slow sip of my vodka soda and pretend to listen to what Brent is saying.  I started watching his mouth to understand him over the loud music.  Then I got distracted by his lips and forgot to pay attention.  Duncan laughs, so I laugh too.  They’re so tall.

I shift my weight from one high heel to the other - good thing I wore them or I’d be like a child around here.  But the movement just serves to remind me I’m wearing next to nothing under a dress that’s little more than an oversized t-shirt.

Every slut Patrick ever picked up probably wore less than this, something with a high hem and a low cut.  I didn’t want to be that obvious.  But I also want his teammates to know that I am not some chick you keep at home while you run wild on the road.  I may not be a stripper but I can hang with the big kids too.  So I went for the sexiest thing I own, paired it with some skyscraper heels and underwear barely fit to carry the name.

Patrick’s hand slides up my arm.  Even as I follow his tug, I’m looking at Brent’s mouth over my shoulder.  He stops and I bump into his shoulder.

“Kristen, this is Jon,” Patrick says sarcastically.

“Ah, the best friend.”  I don’t know where the words come from but I doubt they cover my gawking stare.  Captain Seriously Fucking Hot, thank you very much.

“Pleasure,” Jon says, and it sounds like a promise.  Patrick makes a snotty face and clears his throat.  I drape my arm over Patrick’s shoulders and bet that every girl he ever brought around smiled at Jon the same way I am.

“You two going to behave if I go to the bathroom?”  Patrick doesn’t wait for an answer.  We both watch him till he’s out of earshot.

“So you’re the girl who’s going to make Kaner give up the wild life, eh?” Jon says it playfully, but those big brown eyes roll over my body just the same.  He’s very tall and looks sturdier than I would have guessed.  Patrick wasn’t the only one making good use of the off-season.

I try to focus the image of Patrick in my mind.  “That’s up to him.  You going to keep an eye on him on the road?”

Jon smirks like he’s learned a few things from Patrick over the years.  Like there’s nothing in it for him if Patrick keeps it in line, because then Patrick keeps me.  Who would have thought - Toews looking at me like I’m going cheap in the sales while Patrick Kane worships the ground I walk on.  These guys are full of surprises.  And shit.

“On second thought, don’t,” I tell Jonathan.  “I trust you guys about as far as I trust that slut with the cameraphone.”

His smirk becomes a genuine smile and I know that he, like Patrick, is not used to being called out on his shit.  These guys really do get away with murder.

“There’s one difference between us,” he says, leaning in like it’s a secret.  “I always finish what I start.”

I laugh.  It’s a nervous, gut reaction but I burst out laughing at his sexual innuendo.  It doesn’t match his public personality or the little boy face, but it definitely goes with the look in his dark eyes.  Either Jonathan Toews is an undercover manwhore or he’s the smartest guy ever. Patrick saunters back up with a suspicious look on his face, wondering why we’re both cracking up.  I wish I knew.  Toews either just asked to sleep with me or he gave me a gift.  Well maybe both would be gifts.  But his argument is invincible - and it’s aimed at Patrick.  

Treat her right, or I’m taking her for myself.

The best friend, indeed.


  1. I love Jon. And I love the mention of that damned gray suit! He wears it often, but he wears it WELL.

  2. Ohhhh, Jonny. :) Ha. Please update soon. I absolutely love this story. :) Well, every story you've ever written, actually. So keep it up. :)

  3. Brilliant - always love a bit of Toews :)