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I wake to the sound of our blaring goal horn. But the approving roar of the crowd doesn't accompany it – and I know it's not game time, it's 6 AM.
It's the sound of my cell phone alarm clock, sampled from the real goal horn in our arena, and it's loud as hell. It always gets me jumping right out of bed in the morning – partly because it scares the shit out of me.
But I sit up in a hurry and don't recognize my surroundings. Then I see the naked body next to me, and remember – oh yeah. Jason.
He covers his ears with his palms, pressing them tight against his head. I turn my alarm off and he rolls over with a groan. We're both tired. We've only gotten a couple hours of sleep after ... um, after last night. My eyes dart to the pile of torn-open condom packages littering Jason's night stand.
Yeah, it was a good night, alright.
“Dude, Brad. That is like. The single worst alarm I've ever heard. The hell is that ringtone?”
I chuckle. I almost forgot that I was 'Brad' last night. If he had asked me my name again this morning? I might've given him another fake one.
“Just something that gets me up and goin' in the morning, guaranteed.”
“I believe it.”
I turn on my side and appreciate the view. He's lying on his stomach, his hands balled up under his chin. I grab a handful of his ass and squeeze.
His eyebrows raise curiously. “So you said you're in the entertainment industry.”
I chuckle and nod, breaking eye contact. “Yeah.”
“And you're not a stripper.” He taps his chin in thought. Then he rubs his hands over my bare chest. “But you're fucking ripped. You're not an actor, are you?”
“No,” I roll my eyes with a laugh. But then I look upward, contemplatively. “Actually, aren't we all? We all play roles of some sort.”
He gives a condescending snort. “Deep.”
“Yeah yeah, fuck you,” I kid him back.
“So you're really not gonna tell me what it is you do?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Does it matter?”
“I dunno ... we just slept together ... feels like I should know something about you.” With a devilish smirk, his hand reaches over and slides down my abs. “Besides the fact that you've got a huge cock. One that loves to pop off.”
My cock tingles and stirs in his palm. He strokes it slow, and with a loose grip, letting my girth grow in his palm.
“Jason,” I gasp, digging deep to find my will power. “I ... I really can't. I got a flight to catch.”
“Oh, Brad,” he flirts. “If I learned anything about you at all from last night ... it's that this will only take a minute. You'll still make your flight.”
“Ugh,” I whimper meekly. He's right. And he knows what buttons to push. My cock firms, and he squeezes my shaft tighter and jerks it harder.
But then his eyes narrow, and he gets a certain look in his eye – and it's one I don't like too much.
“... Of course, if you wanna cum, you'll have to tell me what it is you do. Otherwise, I'll just sto—”
I grab his hand and take it off my junk. “You can stop now, then. I really gotta go, dude.”
“Really? Why are you so antsy? Who are you?”
“Why do you care so much?” I try to laugh it off, but I know I sound a little ruffled. “I don't know what you do, either, but you don't see me making a stink about it. I don't care.”
“I work in real estate.”
“Well, okay. I didn't ask though.”
He looks miffed. I know it's time to make my getaway before this turns sour.
“Listen, Jason. I had fun last night.”
“Me too.”
“But I really gotta go.”
“How often are you in town?”
I shrug as I sit up on the edge of the bed and step into my boxers. “Every couple months, I guess.”
“Will I see you again?”
“Uh.” I look at him. “Not really my style.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows raise and he snorts a little. I can tell he's judging me. “Gotcha.”
“Look, I had fun. Just not looking for anything serious.”
“Nobody said anything about being serious.”
“Even still.”
“'Kay.” Jason gives a bitchy little shrug – you know the one. The one that people do when they're mentally writing you off forever and want you to know it.
He thinks I'm scum. But whatever. He's definitely not the first person to think that. And besides, it's not my problem. I'll never have to see him again.
I finish dressing and tie my shoes. “Later dude.” I give his ass a big slap, and that makes him shoot me an annoyed look. I chuckle to myself – good thing I'm leaving, 'cause now I know he wants me outta his place. Heh heh.
***
I RUSH OUTTA JASON's apartment and hit the downtown Chicago streets. It's a chilly morning, and I'm a bit under-dressed for it. But I'm lucky today, 'cause a cab comes right up the street like it was destined to save my ass. I hail it and off we go, zipping across the city to my hotel.
Technically, I broke team rules. Every night we're on the road, we've got a curfew – and every player has to be back at the hotel by midnight. Anyone caught breaking curfew will be suspended for the next game. And even though the rules are strict – it's pretty hard to get caught breaking 'em. I mean, it's not like the coach wants to go door-to-door at midnight, making sure all his players are tightly tucked in and snuggly in their beds.
In other words, it's up to us, the players on the team, to enforce the curfew on each other. That means someone has to snitch for us to get in trouble. If my roommate was Burky – then yeah, I'd be fucked, because Lord knows he'd run crying to the coach if I was even a minute late.
Thankfully, my roommate is Cody Smith. And despite the fact that he's always telling me I need to be more careful, he at least turns a blind eye when I'm out late. He says he won't narc on me, but he also says if the coach gets suspicious and asks, he won't lie for me either.
Which is all I'm asking for, really. I don't wanna put any of my teammates in a bad spot. I just wanna have a little freedom to get away from the team and be myself every once in a while. It's hard enough as it is.
So, yeah, despite the curfew, you can stay out late if you're smart. Keep a low profile, basically, and no one has to know. And as a closeted athlete playing in the pros ... that's one skill I've got mastered.
Today I'm cutting it close, though. I check my watch nervously as the taxi nears the hotel. When I pull out my wallet to pay, I'm shocked to see my $100 bills are gone. I have to pay with my card instead.
“Jason,” I mumble under my breath. Yup, don't stick your dick in crazy ...
I hurry back to my room and sneak in. Thankfully, no one sees me.
Cody is standing in front of the mirror. He's buttoning his shirt up and I see he's already got his suitcase packed. I'll have to be quick to get my shit together in time.
“Fuck, there you are!” He gasps when I enter. “I've been trying to call you all night!”
“Yeah? Sorry. Ringer was off. What's up?”
“Where the hell were you, Jonesy? Actually – I don't wanna know.”
My ears perk up. What's he mean by that? As far as I know he's never suspected anything about my night life ...
Cody makes eye contact at me through the mirror and shakes his head. “You're fucked, man. Fucked.”
“What's up, Codes?” I ask, swallowing down a nervous lump.
“Truth is, I don't know. But the GM came looking for you late last night. I mean real late. Like 2 AM. Woke my ass up, pounding on the door.”
“The fuck?” I scoff. “Why the hell?”
“I dunno. But he didn't look happy. And he looked even less happy when he demanded to see you, and I told him you weren't back yet.”
“Shit,” I hiss.
“I told you to be more careful, man. You can't be out that late all the time and not have it catch up with you ... damn it, Jonesy! You always put me in this spot, man. He was asking me how often you pull this disappearing routine. Now he doesn't even trust me, man.”
“Sorry, Codes,” I sigh. “Alright. Well shit. Guess that means I'm busted, eh.”
I'll have to sit out the next game. That sucks balls. For a hockey player, watching your team play without you is one fucked up form of torture. It's like watching your ex-boyfriend fool around with someone else right in front of you. Driven mad with jealousy, you can't look away. But the sight of it turns your stomach. Your chest gets all tight and constricted and then you can't breathe, and your heart is pounding in your throat ...
That should be me out there, you say to yourself over and over.
“You better go talk with the GM, pronto, Jonesy.”
I suck my cheeks in. “Yeh. You're right. Alright. I'll catch up with ya later.”
“Good luck.”
I grab my bags and head out. I go to the GM's hotel room and knock, but he's not there.
“The hell,” I mutter. Where could he be?
I sit in the lobby. The bus is out front waiting for us, and guys start to trickle out from their rooms and board it. The boys stop and chat with me as they go. Well, everyone except Burky – when he walks by, he stares right through me, pretending like he can't even see me.
What crawled up his ass and died? I wonder. Still pissed about the IcyHot, I'm sure. Guy can't take a joke. But that's his problem.
When I still haven't seen the GM, I give up waiting on him and head out to the bus. But the second I take my seat, I see the GM come walking out of the hotel in a hurry.
“Shit,” I mumble.
He boards the bus and calls me out by name. He sounds pissed.
I stand up. “Sir.”
He gestures with his head back to the hotel. “Off the bus.”
I let out a disappointed huff. The guys murmur, whispering to me as I walk to the front of the bus.
“What's this about?” “The hell happened, Jonesy?” “What'd you do this time CJ ...”
“I tried to find you earlier,” I say to the GM as I reach the front. He walks me off the bus and back into the hotel.
“Yeah, well, I was looking all over for you last night.” He shakes his head. “Listen. We gotta have a talk.”
Here we go, I sigh to myself.