Page 51 of Wanting the Winger

Preseason, actually.The routine is the same, though.We’re all a little hungover from the team dinner last night, so it’s quiet this morning.

Our new defender, Anson Hunt, is sitting in my usual seat.I stop in the aisle and shift, then sigh deeply.

“What?”he asks.

“I usually sit there.”

“I’m not moving.”

I pretend not to care.It’s killing my vibe, though.I’ve been on a high since last night when I made a fool of myself in front of hundreds of people and it paid off.

But on game days, my routine is everything.I get on the plane, I sit in the same seat every time, and I eat ten cashews and drink half a bottle of water before we take off.

Always the same seat.Always ten cashews.Salted.If they were unsalted, that would ruin my vibe, too.I’m not neurotic about much, but I’m super fucking neurotic about my game-day routine.

“Whatever, guess we’ll just lose,” I mutter as I keep walking.

Another part of my routine is my playlists.Once I’m sitting in the wrong seat, I count out my cashews and start eating them while I pull up my travel playlist.

“That’s What I Like” by Bruno Mars starts playing.I lean back and close my eyes, eating my first cashew while I start my visualizing process.

Our team owner, Hudson McClain, has a sports psychologist work with us on mindset from time to time.You could be in top shape physically, but if your head’s not in the right place, you’re fucked.

After dropping our first preseason game, we’re all in a mood.I can shake off losses when I’m not with my teammates, but practices and travel are different when we’re not winning.They’re quieter.Partially because Coach works us until we’re all about to collapse at practice.

He took it easier on us yesterday afternoon because he wanted us to be ready to play today.We did light drills and yoga.I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thrilled about any of us drinking alcohol at the team dinner last night.Or that we went out afterward.

Too fucking bad.I needed to put myself out there for Lainey, just like she did for me.She did it at just seventeen years old, which is badass.I wanted to up the stakes, so I put my feelings out there in public, with my teammates watching.

I was prepared for her to be confused.Adults don’t usually invite each other to prom.But I hoped she’d see my sincerity and trust that I knew what I was doing.

When we got home last night, she told me she was completely exhausted and needed to go to bed, but she asked me if I was serious about the prom thing.I told her I was completely serious and it was in nine days.

I wanted to kiss her again.Wanted a hell of a lot more than that, actually.But I’m waiting until after our first date.So I kissed the back of her hand and went to bed with a hard-on, as usual.

I finish my cashews, then imagine myself skating onto the ice tonight.I’m tougher than those Denver fucks.I want this win more.My focus is entirely on the puck.Its position and my position.Scoring tonight is everything.I picture myself slapshotting the puck into the net.Sliding it around from the back.Edging it in.Making an open net shot.Scoring in a shoot-off.

The sports psychologist taught us a mental exercise.It’s new age and kind of fucked up, but I like the frame of mind it puts me in, so I do it.

I score goals all the time.I find openings where others can’t.Nothing affects my mindset during a game.All I care about when the clock is running is putting the puck in the net.

I envision celebrating with my team tonight in Denver’s brand-new arena.Our sticks are up and everyone’s smiling.It’s a blowout.We’re winners.

Though I’d prefer to be thinking about Lainey, I can’t today.My mind has to be entirely on the game.I get paid a lot to perform at the highest level.All that offseason training won’t mean shit if I let myself slip mentally.

My seat’s beside a window, so I use a blanket as a pillow and zone out, hoping to sleep.

Tomorrow, I can let my mind wander wherever it wants.Today is about winning.

My teammateslike to stand in a circle and kick a soccer ball around during the afternoon lag between napping and getting dressed for a game.

But me, I like to spend this part of the day in a mental fortress.I’m keeping all my energy in reserve.With my headphones on and my pregame pump list playing, I walk.

It’s a leisurely walk; I hardly even break a sweat.I have a course charted in every area, but I’m still familiarizing myself with the new Denver one.My walks are in the lowest-trafficked places I can find.I don’t want to stop and talk, but sometimes I’m forced to when we’re on the road.

At home, everyone who works at the arena knows I’m down to wave or nod, but I don’t want to stop.This is part of my process.

I’m listening to “Enter Sandman” by Metallica.Walking helps keep me loose while conserving energy.The tunnel we’ll all be in later is empty now, and I’m about to turn a corner when a ding in my headphones tells me I just got a text.

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