Page 10 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Handing me the paper, Tom says, “Have a read through. I trust this is fine?”

I read over the paper, which now includes the names of my two closest friends. “Perfect,” I say, signing the NDA without any more interruptions. When I’m finally done, I’m so fucking ready to get out of here.

“Good. I’ll email a copy to Mickey and Soren. Don’t tell them anything until I let you know it’s okay.” Tom’s tone is stern, like I thought he was kidding.

“Sure thing.”

“Enjoy your last few days of freedom,” Maggie says, walking toward the door to the meeting room. “But not too much.” The last part is called over her shoulder as she leaves. The way she sways her hips has to be for Tom’s benefit because she knows better than to do it for me.

Fuck me. This is going to be one long ass season.

“Go home, Sawyer,” Tom says, not unkindly. “Take the rest of the day and tomorrow. I’ll let the coach know you’ll be back on Saturday.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

He shrugs. “As you wish. But make sure your head is straight.”

With nothing else to do or say, I make my way down to the locker rooms and wait for my teammates to enter when their training is over. I spend the time looking around the room, taking in details I’ve never noticed before. Like, how the hampers for dirty towels are always in the same place, and seemingly always empty. There’s no smudge on any of the mirrors or fingerprints on the shiny taps.

As I walk around, I run my finger across the top locker, mildly surprised the pad comes off clean. Damn, Tom really keeps this place top notch. I can’t say I’m surprised because that’s the kind of person he is. He demands one-hundred and ten percent from everyone around him while never giving less than a thousand himself.

If I’m being completely honest with myself, I feel ashamed that my shit has gotten so out of control. I know Tom looks at every single player like part of his family, and it gnaws at me to know I’ve let him down. Maybe what he’s proposing—demanding—isn’t the worst thing. It might do me good to put some distance between myself and the puck bunnies.

I snort to myself and sit down on the bench. Fuck, me and my right hand are going to be glued together for the next six months and… however many days left until the season ends in April. Guess it’s time to consider buying lube in bulk or something.

While I’m mentally preparing myself for months of jacking off, like when I was a teenager, my team files into the locker room. Their gruff voices and friendly banter pull me from my thoughts.

“Sawyer, man.” Soren, our starting goalie, comes over and slaps me on the back. “Where the fuck have you been? You missed one helluva practice,” he says.

I appreciate that he isn’t mentioning that we all know I’ve been in jail. Then again, since I got out last night, I suppose it’s a valid question. “Dealing with the lawyers,” I say. While the guys begin removing their gear, I contemplate how much I should say while we’re still here. “And making a deal with Tom.” Our GM isn’t the only one who considers the team his family. It’s how we all feel. These men are my brothers, and we don’t keep secrets from each other. Well, at least I can share with Soren and Mickey.

“How bad was it?” Mickey asks with a grimace.

I shrug. “Bad enough that I need to get out of here.”

Soren stops moving and turns back to me. “Just tell me this, man. Are you willingly walking out of the doors? Or is this your way of…” He trails off, but I don’t need him to complete the sentence. This is what they all want to know, and hell, if I were in their shoes, I don’t think I could stop myself from asking.

“Don’t worry,” I say, forcing a grin. “You’ll still have my ass to look at when I skate away from your ugly faces.”

Now that’s out of the way, the guys ease up and want to make plans for what we’re doing tonight. Normally, I’m pretty strict with myself during the hockey season, but fuck it. Talking about all of this in the gym or rink isn’t enough. I need a fucking beer.

“Let’s go out for a steak or something,” I suggest. The last thing I want is to go back to my apartment and be alone with my thoughts. Besides, Tom said these were my last few days of freedom… or maybe it was Maggie who said it. Fuck, it doesn’t matter who spoke the words, they were both there, and no one contradicted the statement.

“Why the fuck not?” Soren says, before getting naked and sauntering over to the shower.

The other three, Henry, Danny, and Peter, quickly excuse themselves. Luckily for me, they already have plans with their girlfriends—or in Henry’s case, wife. Fuck, this is what my life is going to be, isn’t it? Saying no to stuff with the guys because I have to spend my free time parading a woman around. And if we’re not out, I’ll have to stay home, pretend we have a quiet, romantic night in.

For fuck’s sake.

As soon as Soren and Mickey are ready, we take off, leaving mine and Soren’s cars at the arena instead of driving three different vehicles.

“Wanna tell me why I have an NDA from Tom in my inbox?” Soren asks, turning to look at me in the back seat.

“Because he needs you to keep that big mouth of yours shut,” I reply, forcing a grin, making Mickey chuckle. “There’s one for you as well.”

“Of course there is,” he retorts, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I guess it’s about whatever deal you two made?”

I look away and shrug. “Could be.”

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