Page 3 of Dirty Puck

On my way home, a call came in from my mom. I never ignored a call from her. We were tight. The call connected to my truck.

“Hey, Ma, what’s up?”

“Oh, I was missing my boy today.”

“Everything okay? You sound off.”

“It’s been one of those weeks. You know how it goes.”

“I can fly up on Sunday, but we’ve got games Friday and Saturday.”

“Well, we get Friday and Monday off for mid-semester break. I was hoping to see you play Saturday night, but I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“What the fuck kind of nonsense is that? ‘Cramp my style’? You want Friday, Saturday, or both? I’ll have the tickets waiting. Thursday night good? Come after work.”

“Thank you, Baker. That sounds wonderful.”

We talked a little more about how she’d been doing. I wanted her to know I always had her back since she’d started going through her health things a few years ago. We thought she’d kicked the cancer, but it’d since come backtwice. I hated her getting sick. I hated that she didn’t get decades more to enjoy her life. Our time together was limited and whether we talked about it or not, we both knew it. Growing up, she’d been all I had, but I’d never wanted for anything. That woman made it possible for me to follow my dreams. I owed her everything.

With the way she sounded, I no longer felt like going home. Once we hung up, I clicked my blinker to turn around, and headed for a hole-in-the-wall dump that I knew well.

The paps never hung out around there.

“Reece,” the bartender, Mike, tonight wearing a Copperheads T-shirt, called out to me as he pulled a draft for a customer, tipping his chin up. “Been a minute.”

I swore the man only owned two shirts. One for the Copperheads and one from this bar called The Road Rash from somewhere up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

“Some of the team were hounding me about hanging out. They preferred to go clubbing.”

The man scrunched his face in thathe’d eaten a handful of Sour Patch Kidsway.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was as bad as you imagine, especially when some of them started acting like real assholes. We got chewed out by Coach today. The only media coverage we’re allowed has to be game-related.”

He shrugged his head. “Then you’ll be safe here. What can I get you?”

“Whiskey.”

“A whiskey kind of night? Must have been one hell of an ass chewing.”

“We’re not allowed to pick up women because one-nighters talk.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied as he slid the whiskey in front of me and I shot it back, coughing out, “Another.”

He poured me another. “Got any friends? Women in your life you trust?”

“No, why? To find me low-key hookups?”

“I was thinking more friends with benefits. Me and my old lady started out that way. Best sex of my life led to the best decision of my life.”

“Not looking for an old lady.”

“But you still need to fuck. Way I see it, that’s your best bet. I couldn’t keep us just friends. You know what you want, or in this case, don’t want, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Huh… Something to think about at the very least. But did I know any women I’d want to take to my bed who wouldn’t want more from me? The only women I talked to anymore belonged to men on my team and people could say a lot of shit about me with most of it being true, but I’d never,nevergo after a friend or teammate’s woman.

I stayed around for one more round before calling it a night. Mike’s point held merit. If I could find a woman who wanted a no-strings-attached kind of arrangement like me, I’d be set.

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