3. Fin

three

Hockey tryouts are such a bore. A bunch of wannabe hockey players, all trying to outskate each other in hopes of getting picked for the team, with the same goal in mind: to be drafted in the first round of the NHL draft.

Sure, making them run the suicide drill after we've already decided on who the two new players on our team are going to be is a dick move, but they need to know it's not all fun and games. We're here to win a championship. Puck bunny pussy is a great reward, but you have to earn it.

My thoughts drift back to the sassy girl in the white dress from last night. She was hot as fuck. If she had been any other girl, I would have had her upstairs naked in my bed before the night was over, with her moaning my name around my huge cock. But she isn't just any random girl to hook up with for one night. She's different.

No other girl has ever turned me down. Hell, I'm not even sure I've ever been denied anything I've ever wanted, and I definitely want her. The memory of her voice as she told me she wasn't wearing any panties has my dick getting hard. I may have to have one of my usual puck bunnies take care of it for me until I find my girl from last night.

My cock instantly deflates at the thought of having sex with any girl besides her.

"Well, this is new," I mutter under my breath, looking down at the still-impressive bulge in my gray joggers, except instead of being hard as a rock like it was only a second ago, it's just lying there like a dead fish.

I am so fucked if I don't find my dream girl soon.

"What did you say?" Coulter eyes me warily.

"Nothing," I mumble, focusing my attention on the guys doing the suicide drills on the ice and then up to the scoreboard where the timer is. They're about two and a half minutes into the five-minute drill, and as expected, they start dropping like flies.

At the four-minute mark, the only one left doing the drill is number thirteen, who looks barely winded. The timer hits five minutes, and instead of the coach blowing the whistle to stop the drill, he lets number thirteen continue with the drill.

His speed and endurance are something we don't see much of with new players. It usually takes a good couple of months, if not longer, to condition your body to do the full five minutes of the suicide drill. Number thirteen is something special. There is no way we can lose the championship with him on our team.

I shift my gaze to Royal and Coulter, trying to gauge their reaction. They're both leaning forward in their seats, watching number thirteen power through the drill.

Finally, at the eight-minute mark, Coach Johnson blows his whistle, stopping the drill. "Alright, everyone, take a ten-minute break, then report back here for the tryout results."

I watch as number thirteen skates across the ice to where his puck bunnies are waiting for him, not showing any signs of fatigue from the suicide drill he just crushed. He lifts his mirrored visor to take a drink from the water bottle one of the girls hands him. I try to make out his face, but the girls are all circled around him, making it impossible to see his face.

He's definitely going to give me a run for my money with the puck bunnies. I wait for the euphoric feeling I get when I think about bedding a different woman every night, but it never comes. What does come is a vision of the girl in the white dress from last night.

Well, shit. I might be passing my title of King of the Puck Bunnies to number thirteen. He certainly looks to have the stamina to keep up with the endless revolving door of puck bunnies that frequent our team.

All that's left to do now is announce our two new team picks, and then I can go in search of the hot girl from last night. Just the thought of her tight, sexy body in that short, white dress has my cock standing at attention.

"Good boy." My eyes land on my lap and the growing bulge that's finally waking up.