Page 3 of Unrivaled Love
His word, not mine.
Today is a special day and I wasn’t taking any chances. The Universe wouldn’t put Jo Hamilton and I in the same stadium for no reason.
She has to know my team is here. She'll at least wave to me if she sees me. Right?
Sure, I haven’t seen Jo Hamilton, in real life, for seven years, but you don’t just forget the person you grew up with. And, furthermore, you never stop being in love with your first love. At least a little bit. Right?
When her name was confirmed on the roster for tonight's game, I bought a suite. Then when our team got pulled into the halftime showby the PR powers that be, who have filled our calendars with appearances almost every day since we brought home The Cup, I gave the suite to our families, hers and mine, because we've been friends and neighbors our entire lives.
I linger towards the back of the line as our team gets escorted off the field.
Am I hoping she comes out of the tunnel early for her re-warm up?
Yep.
Do I know for a fact she is always the last one out of the tunnel?
Affirmative.
Does that fact play into my decision to try and linger on the field as long as possible?
Also, yes.
I'm falling into the hopeless simp category here but as far as I can tell she has completely forgotten I exist.
And I have done anything but.
For seven years I've followed her career from afar. At first, I texted and called her trying to get back onside. I even sent a fucking postcard from Boston, my first NHL city, after I got called up in college but, nothing.
Radio silence.
Crickets.
Wooshing void noise.
I see her family at the holidays when I'm able to sneak home between games. And there’s always the time at the vacation house in the summer but Jo is mid-season then. Her parents came out to D.C. to celebrate the Stanley Cup win with mine for crying out loud.
We used to be inseparable. Wherever Bry Guy went, Josie Posie would follow. And vice versa.
And yet, this is the closest I’ve been to her, physically, in years.
It’s still way too far.
I try to shake off my disappointment of this missed connection as the boys and I settle into the suite which is a few over from the one I reserved. I skip the buffet, pining for a long lost love kills the appetite apparently, and sit in the front row of seats so I can get a good view of the second half.
Jo starts at left forward. Same as me. And it's the position she's played since she first entered the club leagues as a pre-teen. I was skating on the travel hockey teams too but when we were both home we were honing our skills together.
She'd take shot after shot at the goal in the park behind our houses. I'd take shot after shot against the tennis court fence. The thwacks of the ball and rattles of rubber meeting iron were the soundtrack of our friendship.
"So you follow the team pretty closely?" Duncan Paisley, my teammate and first line defensemen, asks as he sits down next to me. "Any reason?"
"I, ugh, know one of the players." I haven't told the guys about Jo because, what's to tell? She was my childhood best friend and then… well… nothing. One incredible, life changing, experience followed by a terrible one since she bailed on me that same night and hasn’t spoken to me since.
"Yeah? That's awesome. Which one?"
"Jo Hamilton."
"Seriously? She's hot, man! How well do you know her?" I try not to visibly bristle at Duncan calling Josie hot. Don’t get me wrong, she is. She’s a knockout. Fuck, I would do beautiful, filthy things to her if I got the chance. Again. But the idea of another man experiencing the lusty shade of green in her eyes as she climaxes makes my blood simmer.
