Chapter 1

Zach

Come on. Couple bars, no clubs. The guys want you out.

Me

I'm gonna skip this one.

Just an hour? They're asking where you are.

I toss my phone onto the comforter. "Fuck."

Resigned to my fate and dressed in only my boxer briefs, I stand from the bed and make my way to the bathroom to grab a shower. Leaning forward, I rest my hands against the marble tiles and find some relief from the jets of warm water as they soothe my tired and aching muscles. It"s only pre-season, but my body feels like it"s halfway through the playoffs.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm dressed and make my way down the few short steps from the hotel lobby and out into the Vancouver night air. I can think of a million other places I"d rather be right now, but I can"t keep letting my teammates down, and they're counting on me as their center and captain to set an example, especially to the rookies. Team nights out are as important as practices when it comes to our form on the ice.

I"ve been to this bar before, many times, and each time I recall leaving with a different girl. Not like the media would let me forget.

Over the years when it comes to women, I"ve refined the art of narrowing down my best option. Preferably a busty brunette looking for one night, and by one night, I mean back to my hotel to fuck before she"s out the door by sunrise. I do not do sleepovers. I make it clear before they leave with me but largely, they know what they"re getting, and they only need to read the press to know what my deal is. I"ve never had a girlfriend. Hell, I don"t think I"ve slept with the same girl more than twice. After multiple bad experiences in my rookie years, I have strict rules and I stick to them. They never come back to my place and if I can help it, not to my hotel. I never give out my number, and I don't go on dates.

Pushing through the door of Hugo's, a borderline seedy bar in downtown Vancouver, I keep my head down as I nod at the barman who instantly recognizes me, and I make my way to the back booths to find Zach and the boys. We're particular about where we go in each city and have a shortlist of places we hit up on the road. Bars where the owners and patrons treat us like anyone else and don"t tag our whereabouts on social media the first chance they get. I like my privacy, and as I've gotten older, it's become even more important.Trouble is, it's hard to escape the spotlight, no matter how hard I try.

"Jon, get your ass over here, I"ve got an IPA with your name on it," Zach shouts on my approach.

Dumping myself down in the huge booth, I pull my cap off and run a hand through my hair. "Yeah, and I bet it"s room temperature now."

"Probably, you took your time getting over here," Zach counters with a low chuckle.

I roll the sleeves up on my white button-down shirt; it"s stuffy in this bar and overflowing with people.

"Two more goals tonight. What"s your secret old man?" I hear Jessie ask.

Jessie Callaghan, our latest trade from Chicago, is only twenty-three, and with one season in the NHL, he transferred to Seattle under, let"s just say, questionable circumstances. He was a first-round draft pick, so I very much doubt they wanted to trade him due to his lack of sporting prowess. Rumor is a scandal forced him out of the team. Jessie doesn"t talk about it, and we don"t ask. I get the feeling the less I know, the better. He"s an awesome winger though; I"ve never seen anything move so quickly across the ice and even more frightening, he has the stick skills to match.

I pin Jessie with a cocky grin. "Just pure talent, and drop the old man, or I"ll drop you."

"That blonde can't stop eye-fucking you." Jessie changes course and tips his head in the direction of the bar.

He's not lying, and she's hot as hell. I'm trying to break the cycle of hookups, knowing they do nothing for me, only serving to temporarily fill a void. Where maybe a relationship could be a permanent solution, but realistically, who could I trust to be in it for more than the fame and money? Plus, I've never met anyone who "knocks me on my ass," as my mom keeps telling me will happen.

"Maybe I should grab a refill on my beer," I say, looking at my half-empty glass.

"I'm sure she can help you with that." Zach shakes his head, all too aware of my routine.

"And I thought you were into brunettes," Jensen adds.

Zach Evans, my assistant captain and hard-as-nails defenseman, is my closest friend these days, having spent the last six years together playing for the Seattle Scorpions. Jensen Jones is our goalie, Canadian, and an absolute lunatic. Wild nights are plentiful when in his company but despite his crazy ass, he"s one of the best I"ve seen in the crease.

I shrug. "Hair color doesn"t matter when it's wrapped around my fist," I retort, which draws a few laughs.

But the thing is, I'm not an asshole to women. I look after them during our time together. If they don"t get off, neither do I. I was raised to respect women and while I enjoy fucking, shortly followed by alone time in bed to chill with a movie, I always make sure they leave satisfied. There"s more than one way to rock a chick"s world.

Changing the subject, I turn to Zach. "So how are things going with Amie? Gotta be six months now, right?"

Zach and Amie met at the start of spring at his thirtieth birthday party. The night started innocently enough; I"d reserved one of our favorite Italian restaurants and invited his friends and family with the promise I"d foot the bill. Things started to wrap up when Jensen, always fucking Jensen, suggested we take the party to a club, one well-known to the puck bunnies. Within minutes, Jensen starts inviting girls to get cozy.

Enter Amie, smoking-hot with legs for days, blonde, athletic, and smart too, having built up a successful business as a fitness influencer. She gets to travel and often spends time with Zach on the road. On the face of it, she"s the perfect woman. Only I don"t get that "perfect" vibe from her. In fact, I get a vibe that makes my skin crawl. That night, she moved with a little too much purpose toward Zach. She took on this cute persona, laughing at everything he said, a little try-too-hard if you ask me. Disingenuous would be a good description, but Zach, well, he thinks he's found the one, and I think Amie has found her sugar daddy. She's eight years his junior and frankly, it shows. She"s petty, bitchy, and needy as hell. Funny thing is, the eyes she gives me when she thinks no one is looking, tell me she wouldn"t abstain from other athletes given half a chance. Zach deserves better.

A fond smile traces Zach's lips. "Yeah, going well, I told her I loved her last night."

My eyes ricochet to his as I try to look pleased with his admission. He doesn"t buy it though. It's obvious Zach knows my feelings about Amie and even though we're close, we haven"t discussed my concerns out loud.

Say something, Jon.

"Oh...cool. Sounds like you"re err…making…progress buddy. Happy for you."

He shuffles in his seat, his arms folded across his chest in a protective manner. "Ha, yeah sounds like it. Cheers, man."

I want to push it and ask him why the sarcastic response, if only to drag this god-awful tension forward and have it out with him once and for all, but I"m tired and the team is here. This is a conversation for a private moment. The Zach-Amie saga will have to wait.

I need a release from the pent-up adrenaline, following the game and the frustration from tonight.

Stepping out of the booth, I inject a well-refined amount of swagger into my stride as I make my way to the bar before setting my almost-empty glass down and leaning over on my forearms.

"After another, sweetheart?" the blonde who's been eye-fucking me for the last hour asks in a faux sweet tone.

Standing up straight, I fix her eyes with mine. "A drink isn"t really what I"m after."

"Oh, no?" she replies in a coy voice, and it"s clear this is a well-practiced routine.

But I"m not after a drawn-out, soul-searching night, so I decide to cut to the chase; we"re both only interested in one thing after all."What time do you finish?"

A smile slowly pulls at her full lips. "Half hour."

Soon. Good. "How about finishing your evening with me?"

Her smile grows as she quickly scribbles on her order pad before handing me her number.

"I don"t do numbers sweetheart, but I could probably make my next beer last thirty minutes."

She smiles and gets back to re-filling my glass, serving other customers and occasionally I throw her the odd wink.

But despite my physical attraction to this girl, the thought of heading back to her place to fuck has lost its appeal. I want something more from my life besides big moments on the ice. I want someone to share my life with. That feeling has been growing within me for a long time, leaving internal chaos and at times resentment of hockey and my lifestyle in its wake.

My head screams at me to get up and walk out of this bar, not looking back, but habit keeps my feet firmly planted where they are, unable and unsure of how I'll break the cycle of meaningless hookups.