6. On Purpose

CHAPTER 6

ON PURPOSE

BIG D

I walk around with my head in the clouds. My night with Kallie never once leaves my thoughts, plaguing me and yearning for a repeat. I plan to call her as soon as I get the final game schedule for the year, and today we got it.

Duke hands sheets out to all of us in the locker room before practice. "Start arranging your lives, men. From our first game tomorrow to the last one in the spring, and hopefully into the playoffs. Hockey needs to become your sole focus."

He knows since we all play at the semi-professional level, some of us have other jobs, some guys even have families. Duke's a good friend, having played with us first before he was promoted to head up the coaching staff. He spent some time in the pros before he came to The Puckers. The guys respect the hell out of him, and with luck, we'll make this another championship year like the last.

I scan the schedule and immediately find a pocket of a few days after we play against San Antonio in the fourth week, where I can zip on over to Austin and wet my rod inside of Kallie. My fist pumps the air, matching the excited grin on my face—assuming she's been pining away for me like I imagine her doing. But I have to play this cool. Can't let her know how much she affects me.

"Let's go. Hit the ice," Duke calls, and my teammates shuffle out of the locker room after him. I lag behind and grab my phone.

"Hey, I'll be a few. I have a call to make." I tell Saint, who questions me with a look but doesn't ask.

Once the room clears, I dial my rodeo queen, grinning from ear to ear. I just want to hear my name from her lips again. With the memory of the way she rode my huge D, cried out "Big D!" and discovered just how much Big D can spoil her, I'm confident she won't turn down my visit.

I get to the fifth ring and the voicemail picks up. Only it says, "Mailbox is full."

"Fuck. What?" Okay. Maybe she's a busy woman. It's not lunchtime yet. Perhaps she clears her messages later. I'll try calling again after practice.

Until then, I send a text to her number, simply typing in Hey. Very cool and easy. But it's returned like she's paused receiving messages.

"Shit." I blink at the phone.

Duke's roar echoes from the ice, giving the team hell for being slow today. I store my phone and rush out. My blades hit the ice, still eager as hell, still grinning wide, not deterred at all by this minor hiccup. I know who I want and I'll get her.

"Look who is light on his feet today," Saint guffaws.

"The fuck got into him?" Storm grumbles.

"The promise of a pretty pink pussy, my friends." I wink and lap them again as Duke orders the team to skate extra circles for a while.

They catch up to me. "Who might this said pussy belong to?" Storm asks.

Saint howls, leaning elbows on his knees and coasting on his skates. "And does she have any friends?"

"You assholes here to work today or what?" Duke catches up to us, turning and skating backwards so we can see his grumpy face, the one he adopted the second he switched from being our teammate to our boss.

"Sorry, coach. But can't help it. I'm planning to see a chick in Austin when we're in Texas soon," I explain.

"I knew it had to do with a woman," Storm says, and the guys all chuckle.

"Is this the one you met in Montana?" Duke asks.

"That chick I met at the rodeo. Yep." My insides twist thinking of my little rodeo queen and how good it'll be to slide into her again. It's been a long time since I've felt this about a woman.

"What a way to meet someone. At least your ass wasn't naked at first sight." Saint snorts, taking a dig at Storm, who had somehow been swindled of his clothes by some old ladies. Then he had to streak through his apartment building to get to his place, only to run into his neighbor's gorgeous granddaughter for the first time while holding a book in front of his junk.

Storm splits off, pissed, skating faster away from us, even in his heavier goalie gear and all. We're still waiting for him to share the full story about how he wound up naked in the first place. One of these days, Saint and I agreed we'll get him drunk and force it out of him.

"You think you can focus and give me two good hours on the ice today? If you guys want the cup this year, or hell, to even get noticed by the pros, you need the practice." Coach skates off, and Saint slaps my shin guards, both of them leaving me trailing behind.

I know Duke's right. Yes, I have goals to get into a pro team. I've had enough of shuffling around in the semi-pros. I'm ready to claim a spot on a starting roster and stay there.

It takes everything that I have to shut out all thoughts of Kallie and force myself into the zone, but that's what a pro does in the sporting world.

Later, after practice, I call her number again, only I get the same message saying her mailbox is full. "Son of a bitch."

With every day that passes, I try again and again. After two weeks of this, I give up, turning grumpy as all hell. I'm long past pissing off my teammates.

That cloud I've been walking on since meeting Kallie opens, and I fall through flat on my face. I know nothing about her, except she loves taking baths and lives in Austin. Not even her last name until I scour the Lewistown news online and find an old post announcing "Kallie Ann Campbell Earns Rodeo Queen Title."

Campbell. The article doesn't say much about her, other than she has family ties in the Lewistown area, and she spent a few years in college at MSU on the equestrian team.

I search online for her, but nothing comes up. No social media, nothing. I stop short at calling every Campbell I find online in Texas to ask about her. She's becoming an obsession of mine, but I need to stop.

I lament to Saint after practice one day. "This is fucked. I must have gotten her number wrong. What if she's the one for me and I messed it up?"

"Or she gave you the wrong number on purpose. " Leave it to Saint to deliver that slap in the face. I'm normally the good-time guy, the one to bring a smile and a laugh to people's faces. This situation has messed with my head real good.

My heart sinks, at first. Then I get mad. Saint's right. This entire time I let my ego get in the way, sure I gave her a night to remember, one she'd want to repeat real soon. When in reality, she probably took me to her bed and used me as her rebound guy, while I forgot to leave my heart outside of the door.

"Come on. I'll be your wing man tonight, get you good and drunk, and find you someone to fuck. You'll be a new man by morning." Playboy Saint slaps my back, thinking meaningless sex solves everything. I hate to see the day a woman gets to him like Kallie has to me.

Duke stops our progress out the door. "Wait up, you two. I just got word from Pete Tate's office about a cocktail party coming up."

Tate's the L.A. Vipers' owner, the pro team that the Puckers feeds players into when they have roster spots to fill because of injuries and such. We'd all like a shot to play for them.

"The league's owners are coming into L.A. for meetings soon. They want some players from each team to attend, rub elbows, and shit like that. Could be a good opportunity to get yourselves in front of these guys, put names to faces, promote your stats," Duke explains. "You're volunteered."

Duke signing us up for this event has good timing. At this point, I'll do anything to keep my mind off of Kallie. I don't have any business taking on a serious relationship, anyway. After years in hockey, I'm still not where I want to be professionally. I need to find that fire again, set aside any thoughts about a woman, and go for it all on the ice. As much as I try to reason with myself about my career, I know it'll be a long time before I forget Kallie.