By midnight I’m completely and totally drunk. This is only the second time in my life that I’ve let this happen and I’m not proud of myself. In fact, just as it did the first time, it makes me feel even worse than the reasons that drove me to drink did in the first place.
Hockey for Hope was a success. We raised a little over ten thousand dollars for Hope House. I was thrilled with that. And, on a personal level, I came off as the mature, professional hockey player I knew I really was. It was perfect. Except, on the inside, I felt like a lonely jerk. I wanted nothing more than to share this with Rose. She was a big part of how well this event went. There’s no way I could have done this without all her planning and help and sure, I thanked her, but I couldn’t do it with as much heart as I wanted to. Seeing her the last few days and not being able to touch her or share my bed with her… it caused me actual physical pain. I ached for her—and not in my pants like I had in the past. In my chest.
Paul was pleased. Maurice was pleased. Life was good and I was miserable. With everything over, reporters, Vipers management and my agent on planes, I’d texted Rose and begged her to come over. She’d texted back saying she was working and reminded me that some of my teammates were still in town. Like a pouty child I’d texted back that she should skip her shift and I would just bail on my teammates. She didn’t respond.
I know she is still hurt by that awkward conversation we had in front of Maurice. I couldn’t have handled it worse if I tried. And why did I have to say she was going to Europe indefinitely? I didn’t want her to do that and she hadn’t brought it up in a while so why the hell did I say that? I know I could have handled it better and that’s what is eating at me. And I can’t even see her to make this right.
All the stress and frustration of the summer finally got to me and when my teammates Dan and Brent had shown up at my place for one last night together before they headed back to their hometowns, I’d gratefully had a beer with them. And then another and another and then a few shots from the Fireball whiskey Brent had brought over. And then I’d called Adam to join us and bring another case of beer. I knew this wouldn’t fix my problems. I knew it but I was being an idiot. At least if I was drunk when I fell asleep I wouldn’t dream of her. I wouldn’t dream of anything. And then morning would come and the boys would leave and I would be able to be with her again.
I’m sitting in a chair on my back deck next to Jessie and Jordan, who are debating wedding dates. I watch Adam and Tasha bob up and down in the lake, attached only by their lips and tongues. He’d come over and brought the beer, Tasha, and three of her friends: that Bri girl I met at the beginning of the summer and two blonds whose names I don’t remember but they rhyme, like Terry and Sherry or something. Brent and Dan thought they’d hit the jackpot. Both are single and “ready to experience the local delicacies,” Brent had said slyly to me as soon as they arrived.
“August is too muggy,” Jessie is saying now. “How about mid-July?”
“Whenever you want.” Jordan smiles at her.
“I want it to be special,” Jessie tells him with a smile of her own. “And speaking of special, Tori was telling me that when her sister got married she and her fiancé stopped having sex for six months before the wedding so that their wedding night would be special.”
Both Jordan and I turn and give her horrified stares. “Don’t even joke, Jessie Caplan. We are not abstaining.”
“I think it could be romantic,” she counters.
Jordan glances over at me. “Tell her it’s not romantic. Tell her it sounds like a nightmare.”
“That sounds like the worst idea ever, Jessie,” I say and Jessie sticks her tongue out at me.
“I bet you Rose would agree with me,” Jessie replies.
“Mon Dieu, I hope not,” I mutter back and groan. She laughs at me.
Fuck, how I wish Fleur was here.
I yawn and my eyelids feel heavy. Adam had already asked if he and Tasha could crash in one of my spare bedrooms, because they’re too drunk to drive. I think they’ll probably just spend the night having sex in the lake, since it looks like they’re about to do that, but I told them they could use the room. Brent and Dan have already claimed the other one, the one with the twin beds. Judging by the way things were going for them, they’d be having sex in front of each other later, but whatever. Probably wouldn’t be the first time.
Cole and Leah are in the last bedroom already, too tipsy to drive home as well, so I offer Jessie and Jordan the couch, which has a decent pullout mattress, but they decline. Jordan lifts his giant frame out of the lounge chair beside me, placing Jessie, who had been curled up in his lap, on the deck in front of me. I pull myself up and follow them as they head back into the house.
We pass through the den where Brent is sitting on the couch, a girl plastered to each hip like holsters. Bri is whispering something in his ear and one of the ones with the rhyming name—Terry or Sherry—is kissing his neck. He grins up at me. “Silver Bay is a nice place, Richard. Thanks for inviting me.”
I smile and keep walking to the front hall. Jordan is shoving his feet into his shoes, as he takes Jessie’s hand in his and opens the door. Jessie reaches up and kisses my cheek. “Congrats again, Luc. It’s been a great couple of days.”
“Thanks.” I smile and lean against the doorframe. I can hear the slur in my words. I am officially very drunk. “Please tell your sister I miss her desperately and she should get her ass over here ASAP.”
“I’ll let Callie know.” Jessie winks at me as she and Jordan start their long walk home.
I close the front door and lean on it, closing my eyes. I want Rose. I want to snuggle up to her and pass out on her and wake up with her and have hungover morning sex with her.
“Luc.”
My eyes flutter open. Brianna is standing in front of me. She looks innocent and harmless, but she’s not wearing anything but a bra and panties. Both are white lace and incredibly close to see-through. How the fuck did that happen?
“Where is your dress?” I ask drunkenly.
“We’re going swimming,” she answers. “Want to come?”
Is she fucking serious? “No thanks.”
She says nothing—just stares at me a few more minutes. “Are you still taking a break from women?”
“No. I’m involved with someone.” God, it feels so fucking great to say that. I know I shouldn’t say it but… “And it’s serious.”
There’s a long, incredibly awkward pause broken only by a hiccup that escapes Bri’s mouth. She runs her hands through her short, bouncy hair.
“Are you happy?” she asks suddenly.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come swimming?” she asks again, her bottom lip jutting out like a pouty child’s. Although in her bra and panties it’s more of a sex kitten move, I suppose. It does absolutely nothing for me.
“No. Thanks.”
She turns and heads back toward the living room and I watch her wiggle her almost bare ass out the French doors to the patio. What the fuck was that about?
I decide I don’t even care what that was about. I just want to sleep this off, get sober and get to Rosie and make sure we’re okay. I know I can trust Adam, even drunk, to lock everything up when they head inside so I decide to stumble up to my bedroom.
When I get there, I halfheartedly kick the door closed and pull my shirt over my head. I undo my belt and pull my phone out of my pocket. I dial Rosie. I don’t care how late it is. I have to hear her voice. I miss her. I need her. Her voicemail picks up after four rings. I’m still groaning my unhappiness when the beep ends.
“Fleur, why didn’t you pick up?” I sigh and start to kick off my pants but end up tripping and toppling onto the bed. The phone is bumped free of my hand and bounces on the mattress beside my head. I grab it back. “I’m drunk and I hate myself right now and if you were here, everything would be better. It’s always better with you.”
I yawn and burp at the same time. “Did you know Jessie is joking around about not having sex with Jordan until their wedding night?” I mumble. “When I get married I’m having sex right up until the wedding. May even have a quickie between the ceremony and reception. You’ll be all beautiful and sexy and I’ll die if I can’t have sex with you. Nobody needs to become a widow on their wedding day, Rosie. Nobody.”
I sigh, suddenly overcome by alcohol and exhaustion. I don’t even remember disconnecting the call before I’m out cold.