Page 8 of The One Timer

“The bus leaves in forty-five minutes.”

“I didn’t take the team bus, remember?” Along with half the team, I decided to drive to Boston with the promise I’d arrive an hour earlier than the bus for the privilege. Portsmouth is only an hour from Boston. It’s so close that our captain, Rafe Lemaire, who used to play for the Boston Brawlers, still lives in the Boston suburbs and commutes up to Portsmouth.

Coach Spence scowls at me. It’s his signature look.

“Don’t worry, Coach,” Sabien says. “I’ll take good care of him.”

His eyebrow arches. “Who’s watching you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, “except to see my grandma, who lives in Beacon Hill. In fact, I can walk to her house from here.”

“What the fuck?” Sabien says.

Assistant Coach Nash Lewis laughs. “Have a ball.” He elbows Coach Spence, suggesting they move on to harass a couple of rookies who are stuck taking the bus with them. Technically, I’m a rookie, too. I came up from the Whalers’ American Hockey League farm team for a couple of games last year, but this is my first year starting the season in the NHL—with a big NHL contract. Not that I need the money exactly, but I do need to prove to certain family members that I don’t need to work in the family business.

The Whalers are more than fair with their comp packages. Word is, it’s the influence of Coach Spence. He has a small ownership stake in the team, but the respect everyone has for him goes further than his notorious deal as part owner. He’s known as the sky-is-the-limit coach because not only did he negotiate a pie-in-the-sky clause in his one-year contract—but he then managed to pull off the miracle of taking last year’s team to the finals in the playoffs to activate the clause.

Dressed and ready to go, I pick up my bag and head to the show part of the locker room, where they let the press in. Sabien grabs my arm, stopping me.

He lowers his voice. “I thought you were meeting the mystery girl. Didn’t you send the stick boy to escort her down here? I bet she’s waiting outside now.” He grins, and I know that look. It’s a challenge that tells me if I don’t meet up with her, he will.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll meet her, find out who she is. Then I’ll⁠—”

“Take her to the nearest hotel and celebrate properly,” he finishes for me, substituting his M.O. for mine.

I laugh. “This is me. I’m not into one-night stands.”

“Sure. Normally. But this isn’t a normal night, dude. You just scored your first NHL hat trick. Live it up. What are you saving it for?” He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “When was the last time you were even with a woman?”

I give him a light shove, shaking my head. Unfortunately, his words resonate with my forlorn cock because it’s been quite a while. On the order of weeks rather than days. Not that I’m telling him that.

“I’m in training.” My excuse sounds weak once I say it.

He laughs. “Try again. It’s a helluva long season, and I doubt there’s even one of us who took the vows of a monk as part of the training deal.”

I shrug. “You have a point. We’ll see what the mystery girl is like. Unlike you, I’m interested in more than one night with a girl, casual relationships, maybe, but not casual hookups. Maybe I want to see whether she’s into me. Or whether I’m into her.”

He slaps my back. “That’s more like it.”

“Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I had a one-night stand.”

“No worries, man. I have one-timers all the time. Nothing to it.”

We make our way through the inner locker room, where guys high-five me. Link, aka Lincoln Milano, a big, brawny defenseman traded from New York, grins at me and nods. “You staying in Boston to celebrate?”

“Not sure.”

“You ought to cash in on the glow while it’s hot. Nothing like a hat trick to attract chicks.” He grins. Link enjoys being a chick magnet and takes the role almost as seriously as defending against pucks.

I nod and move on, hoping my mystery lady is outside the locker room waiting for me. Whatever happens tonight will depend on her because I’m not interested in becoming a chick magnet and the one-night hookup scene that goes with it.

There’s no guarantee that Danny convinced the one woman I’m interested in tonight to come down to the dingy corridor near the visitor locker room. When I walk out into the front area of the locker room where the media are allowed, I don’t see any reporters, but Coach Spence motions to me.

Looking around for Danny, I go over to Coach.

“The press is outside in the hallway, and they want to talk to you. Coach Nash is out there with them running things. You ready?”

I nod. “No problem.”