by Penny Reid
The game is full of action. At one point the opposition scores, briefly tying it up. Chicago takes the lead again at the end of the second period with another incredible goal. This time, Alex manages to stay out of the time-out box and Chicago takes the win.
I’m an absolute mess of nerves as we make our way out of the arena to the car. It takes forever to get to the bar, thanks to celebrating fans. By the time we arrive, my bladder is on the verge of exploding. I hightail it to the bathroom and get stuck in the unfortunate line of women who need to use the facilities as well.
Three underdressed puck bunnies primp in front of the mirrors, chatting away while I unleash Niagara Falls. How do I know they’re puck bunnies? They’re talking about the players and who they’d do. One of them mentions Alex. I tense, halting the pee stream.
I hear the term hat trick again. Maybe they determine who they want to score based on the team members’ stats. The hand dryer cuts off the puck bunny conversation. As soon as I’m done, I button my pants and I burst out of the stall so I can eavesdrop again.
“Well, I’d rather be first in line than third. Who wouldn’t want to be first?” the fake blonde asks. There’s a skunk stripe of brown at her roots. She fluffs it out and pouts at her reflection.
The brunette beside her shimmies her head from side to side. “Whatever. First, second, third—if I got to handle Alex Waters’ stick, I wouldn’t care where I was in line.” Her eyes slide my way and stay fixed on my face.
“Oh my God! I recognize you. Aren’t you the one who was, like, making out with Alex Waters, like, three weeks ago?” she screeches.
I never expected anyone to recognize me from those pictures. I assumed the focus was on my tongue in his mouth. Horrified by what I’ve overheard, I go with denial. “I must be that girl’s doppelganger ’cause you’re not the first person to ask.” I lower my voice. “I read somewhere she said he was a shitty kisser.”
If I’m going to lie, I might as well make it a good one.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“And he’s got a small—” I point to my crotch.
“No!” Her jaw drops, her expression one of dismay.
“That’s the rumor.”
I wipe my hand on my pants in lieu of waiting for the hand dryer and leave the bunnies to their gossiping. What I’ve done is shamefully childish and vindictive, but I’m okay with it.
On my way to the bar I run into one of Alex’s teammates. I don’t remember him even if he remembers me.
“Hey, aren’t you Butterson’s sister?”
“Stepsister, but yeah.” I scan the crowd, searching for Sidney or Buck. They should be easy to spot, both being well over six feet.
“I’m Kirk. I play defense with your brother. You’re named after a flower or something, right?” The way he looks at me is discomfiting.
“It’s Violet.”
“Right. You gonna come hang with us?”
“I need to make a quick call first.” I hold up my phone as an excuse to get away from this guy. He’s got to be a good ten years older than me, and he’s smarmy.
“I’ll save you a seat. Maybe we can get to know each other better.”
“Uh, maybe.” I roll my eyes as he saunters away. I can’t believe women fall for such crap, but then again, look at what happened with Alex. After overhearing the bathroom gossip, all I want is to go home.
I wait until Kirk the Jerk disappears into the crowd before I put my phone away and resume my search for Buck. A bouncer puts a hand up to stop me, controlling the flow of traffic into the section the team occupies.
“She’s with me.” Alex’s palm comes to rest on the small of my back as we move forward. His voice is low, burning like DEET over my skin. “I want to talk to you.”
All my witty retorts stick in my throat. There’s no escape; he’s right behind me, allowing no space.
In full bullshit-gentleman style, he leads me to the table, pulls out a chair, and takes the seat to my right.
My new buddy Kirk is on the opposite side of the table, his arm hanging casually across an open seat. “Hey, stepsister. I saved you a chair.”
Alex shoots him a look. “She’s good where she is.”
A leer distorts Kirk’s smile. I can see a space where a tooth should be. “Does Butterson know you’re—” A waitress with excessive cleavage stops to take his order, distracting him.
Alex seems relieved. I say nothing. Buck’s at the other end of the table, too busy chatting up a puck bunny to notice my arrival. The way these women throw themselves at these guys is embarrassing. What’s worse is knowing I, too, have fallen prey to the charms of a hockey player more than once.
Alex orders me a drink from the boobalicious waitress. I let him because I’ll need the booze if I have to sit next to him. He tries to engage me in conversation, but it’s loud and I’m too distracted for small talk.
Eventually I can’t contain myself any longer. I want him to refute what I heard in the women’s restroom. “So what’s with all the talk about you being magical?”
His damn grin appears. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Some girls in the bathroom were making reference to a hat trick.”
Alex blanches. The guy beside him, who’s been relatively quiet up until now, chokes on his beer, and Kirk laughs. Alex swallows thickly, eyes on the table. A couple of the guys closest to us appear amused. The quiet one beside him shakes his head.
“It didn’t sound like they were talking hockey scores. So I’m curious, what does that mean, exactly?”
He doesn’t respond right away, giving Kirk the opportunity to cut in. “It’s when Waters fucks three different bunnies in one night.”
The words are slow to filter. I turn to Alex to ascertain whether this can possibly be true. His silence is a foghorn blast of confirmation.
I plaster on a smile. “Oh. Aren’t you special.”
I don’t need Ipecac syrup to save me from the horror show this evening has become. My stomach rolls at this information. I’ve had sex with a super-whore. I push away from the table. I think I might actually be sick.
Chapter 8
I AM THE STUPIDEST MAN ALIVE (AND I HATE KIRK)
Alex
Violet, who’s pale to begin with—unless we’re having sex, then she’s a crazy, sexy shade of red—is so white she looks like a ghost. She wobbles and grips the back of the chair.
Following her lead, I stand, and grasp her elbow. “Why don’t you let me help you?”
“Don’t touch me!” She smacks my hand away. “I don’t want your help.”
Butterson puts his conversation with the bottle-blonde on hold. He takes in the scene, assessing it the same way he would a play. His eyes home in on my hand hovering near her arm. “Vi? Are you okay?”
I don’t care if he’s suspicious. This is the first time I’ve seen Violet since I stopped by her house last week. Butterson fucked it up for me then like Kirk is doing now. I need to talk to her without an audience. There’s never been a Waters Hat Trick. It’s a farce—an unsubstantiated, overblown rumor—much like the majority of what the media says about me. None of what she’s seen and heard is accurate. Not really. If I don’t clear things up, it’s going to blow my chances with her—if it hasn’t already.
Violet clears her throat and speaks carefully. “I don’t feel well. I may have contracted an airborne venereal disease being this close to Waters.”
Some of the guys at the table laugh. Butterson’s going to kick my ass if he finds out what happened. That’s cool. I’ll take the beating. I did sleep with his stepsister. If I can set the record straight with Violet, it’ll be totally worth it.
“If you’ll excuse me—” Violet shoves her way past me.
Taking opportunity where I can get it, I follow, hoping to explain. Violet is much smaller, and fast, so she slips between people in a way I can’t without bowling them over.
Butterson grabs my arm. “What the hell did you do?”
“I di
dn’t do anything. Kirk was running his mouth, and all of a sudden Violet said she didn’t feel good.”
“I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re so damn interested in my sister, but you need to leave her the fuck alone.” Butterson goes after her.
Violet’s halfway across the bar, heading for the door. If I’d pulled her aside earlier we could have avoided this whole thing.
Darren hands me my jacket. “I’ll catch a ride with you.”
I’m sure he’s figured it out what happened with Violet, even without me telling him.
We head for the exit. “Do you think he knows?”
“What are you mumbling about?”
It’s too loud in the bar; Darren can’t hear me doing the whisper-out-of-the-side-of-my-mouth thing. Outside the bar, Butterson is on the sidewalk with his phone to his ear. “Don’t puke in the cab. Call me when you get home.”
“Is everything okay?” Darren saves me from asking incriminating questions.
“Fuck no. Everything’s not okay. What was Kirk saying to her, anyway?”
“Spouting his usual crap. Nothing out of the ordinary,” Darren replies.
“She puked on the sidewalk.” He motions to a puddle close to the bushes. “I had to pay the cab triple to take her home.”
“One of us would’ve given her a lift.” I’m annoyed he sent her in a cab, alone.
Butterson’s lip twitches. “I don’t trust you for shit. Don’t think I didn’t see you talking to her again tonight. You show up at her place last week and now this. Something is going on. Vi and I are tight, she talks to me. Don’t think I won’t find out what.”
Hopefully they’re not that tight. “Don’t be such an asshole, Butterson. She’s not well, and you sent her home in a cab when you had other options. She’s puking. It’s not like either one of us is going to hit on her.”
To avoid exacerbating the issue, I walk to my car on the other side of the lot. Darren climbs in the passenger seat and buckles up.
“That was a shitshow.” I start the car.
“I’ll say.”
“Do you think I was too obvious?”
“Do you need to ask? She’s been out with us twice and you’re all over her. Yeah, man, it’s pretty damn obvious. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I’m so screwed.”
“You did it to yourself when you got in her pants.” I turn right instead of left, in the opposite direction of my house. “Where are we going?”
“I want to make sure Violet gets home okay.”
“What are you, her stalker?”
“I’m only going to drive by, not peek in her windows. Look, she won’t talk to me. I’ve never done this.”
“Done what? Stalk a girl you’ve had sex with?”
“I’m not stalking her,” I say under my breath. Any parallels to stalking exist only because I want to explain and she’s not giving me the chance. “I need your help. She won’t listen if I tell her the stories she’s heard are bullshit.”
“How very astute of you.”
I’ve never admitted to having sex with three different girls in one night. My agent taught me omission works to my advantage. Leave out the details, and people will infer whatever they want. What happened and what people think happened are two very separate things.
The night in question took place a number of years ago. I threw a party after I moved into my house. It was wild, as hockey parties can be. I already had a rep for being a player, most of it unfounded. This event dropped me firmly into playboy status. At the time I welcomed it; not so much anymore.
I could’ve easily debunked the myth, but early on in my career I faced a few challenges. My agent, Dick, thought it wouldn’t hurt to let people believe what they wanted. The playboy reputation, however unwarranted, stuck, and those kind of things are hard to erase.
I park across the street from Violet’s house, careful to avoid street lamps. The only vehicle in the driveway is an old SUV. Exterior lights illuminate the path from the main house to the gated yard. The pool house is further back, beyond a cover of trees and bushes.
“Don’t even think about getting out of the car, Waters.” Darren presses the button on the center console, locking the doors. “The last person she wants to see right now is you.”
I give him a dirty look for being right. “She might—”
“Punch you in the face?”
I throw the car into gear, revving the engine as I pull away from the curb. I hate not getting what I want when I want it.
All I want is to talk to Violet. I also maybe want to see her boobs again and have sex with her. Considering how things are going these days, that’s unlikely to happen.
Darren lives in a gated neighborhood close to my house, so I drop him off.
“Don’t do another drive-by tonight.” He shuts the door, gives me the hairy eyeball, and walks up his driveway.
I ignore his suggestion. The main house is dark and the sports car is still missing, so I pull up close and cut the lights. A dim glow comes from inside the pool house. I pick up my phone, scan an email from Dick about a minor endorsement campaign—nothing as promising as Sports Pro—and scroll through my contacts to her number.
She doesn’t answer. I debate hanging up until her voice mail clicks over.
“Hi. Hey. It’s Alex. You must not think very highly of me right now. If you give me a chance to explain I promise. . . I’m sorry, Violet. If you could call me when you’re not puking anymore, that’d be great.” It’s a lame message. I’ve already pressed end, so it’s sent.
Violet doesn’t return my call. It’s not a surprise. She can ignore emails, texts, and voice mails, but there is one location I can catch her where she’ll have to hear me out: her work. She won’t be able to yell at me or slam a door in my face there without drawing a lot of attention. We’re leaving for a series of away games on Wednesday, and I want to see her before I go so I can fix things.
Monday morning I get up early so I can catch her first thing. The girl at the information desk is incredibly helpful. Taking the elevator to the sixth floor, I follow the directions to Violet’s cubicle. It’s nice and public. It’s also empty.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to find a scrawny guy wearing a loud yellow paisley tie standing behind me.
“I’m looking for Violet.”
He blinks a few times, gaping. “Alex Waters.”
“That would be me.”
His hand shoots out, so I take it. “Jimmy Fredricks. You’re my idol.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. Now about Violet?”
He shakes his head. “Of course, Mr. Waters. She’s down the hall in the conference room.”
“Is she in a meeting?”
“Yes. No. She will be. It doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. I’ll take you there, immediately. Is she expecting you?”
“It’s more of a surprise.”
“Oh. Right. Of course. Follow me.”
Jimmy leads me down the hall to the conference room. Before he can announce my arrival, I slip past him, winking as I soundlessly close the door. Violet is facing the table, so she hasn’t noticed me yet, which is precisely the point to my silent entrance. I take a moment to appreciate her attire. She’s wearing dark gray dress pants and a creamy top. The material has a slight sheen to it. Her auburn hair is loose and resting in waves on her shoulders. Her shoes are red with little heels. It’s sexy, yet professional.
I flip the lock, trapping Violet in the room with me. I take a moment to come to terms with my stalkerish behavior, rationalizing it with my need to defend my shit reputation.
My dick gets excited about being alone in a private room with her. There’s only a sliver of opaque window to the right of the door, leaving most of the room obscured from view. Violet doesn’t want to make out with me, although my dick seems unaware. I’m also allowing myself to indulge in the conference table sex fantasy a little. Or a lot.
First, I have to get h
er to talk to me again—and possibly go out on a date prior to such events. Violet turns as I adjust myself. She lets out a gasping shriek.
Her hand flutters delicately to her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to explain—”
She stalks over and shoves her finger into my chest. “Explain what exactly?” She uses one of those angry whispers despite the door being closed.
“The Hat Trick. The story isn’t true.” She’s still digging her nail into my chest. The contact is nice even if it’s aggressive. Although there’s a chance it may be a precursor to some real violence.
“I saw the interview you did. It’s on YouTube.”
“Which one?”
She glowers. “Which one do you think?”
I try not to react. I know the interview she’s talking about. It’s atrocious. In fact, it shot a number of endorsement opportunities—unless I wanted the genital herpes campaigns. The trashy gossip spotlight did nothing good for my career. “I never admit to having sex with three women in one night.” I didn’t contest the assumption, which is as good as confirming it in most people’s eyes.
“Like hell you didn’t.” Violet stomps to the laptop.
It takes her three seconds to pull up the interview and another twenty to find the Hat Trick part. She must have watched it more than once. I can’t decide if this is a good or a bad thing. It means she’s been thinking about me, but probably not in the way I’ve been thinking about her.
This interview went live a few weeks after the incident took place. I’d grown accustomed to omitting details, especially where my sex life was concerned. At first, the way the media misconstrued everything was funny. After a while, I became resigned to the annoyance. Now I wish I’d handled things differently.
“Right here.” She jabs at the screen.
“You should listen again.” I know exactly what I said, since it’s bitten me in the ass so many times.
Violet sneers. It’s sexy-scary. “All righty, then.”
Interviewer: “There’s been a lot of talk regarding your sexual exploits recently. I’m wondering if you’d like to elaborate on the Waters Hat Trick for us.”