BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance by Eddie Cleveland (ebook reader macos .txt) 📕

“You better bring my five bills, ‘cause your boy just walked in.”

26

Rookie Mistake Blaze

I back the Escalade out of the driveway and slowly make my way up the street we all call Bunny Boulevard, heading downtown. Is Rookie and his dumbass problem on my mind? Not really. It’s Player who’s pissing me off. If you don’t count a couple beers, I barely even drink anymore. He acts like I still get black-out wasted every night. It’s not just the booze either. With the amount I’ve cut back on weed, my name should probably be revoked. I’ve kept my word to him, fighting for my last game like it was life or death on the ice, and he’s still a dick.

The vehicle is dead silent, but my thoughts make up for it. Player needs to take a step back and realize that he’s out of line. If he can’t see how much I’ve changed, he’s fucking blind. I would pretty much rather die than say Prissy has made me a better man. I’ll admit she’s inspired me to do better though.

Of course, he probably doesn’t know that. No one does. With all the sneaking around and secret dates, Player has no reason to think I’ve stopped going to bars. He just sees me coming back to Hector House late, usually smelling like beer. It might be hard to see I’m different when I keep hiding all the evidence.

I don’t need to read the big neon sign on the side of the road because I practically pull into the familiar parking lot from muscle memory. Foxies has way more cars here than the last time. Strip clubs obviously do better on Thirsty Thursdays than on hump day. The parking lot is full enough that I have to drive around it a couple times to find a spot. Last time I was here, it was pretty much the Escalade, Prissy’s dinky car, and a whole lot of open space.

I hit the button on the key, listening for the distinctive clunk of the locks before walking away. Griz is pretty good about letting us use his vehicle. The last thing I need is some drunk, sad, sweatpants man trying to steal it.

The standoff Prissy and I had in this parking lot flashes in my mind. She refused to let me drive back to Hector House. It was the right call. I had no business getting behind the wheel. After that stunt she pulled on the stage, I knew she wasn’t going to back down either. Turns out Becky Ball-Buster had the biggest balls of us all.

What pisses me off the most about Player’s judgy shit is he’s right. Is it surprising Rookie looks up to me? No. As far as heroes go, he could do a lot worse. Bringing an inexperienced freshman to a place like this to learn to pick up chicks, that was a dumb move. Now he’s got himself in shit, and it’s probably my fault.

I never realized how jaded I was before. Hook ups and sex were just a game, no different than hockey. Except, hockey gave me an endorphin rush when I scored. I was so numb, most days I felt nothing, and that’s how I liked it. When I buried Logan, my happiness went in the ground with him.

Drinking, weed, girls, they all started out as an attempt to jump start my brain. It was the only way I could forget that loss. At first, they were like a shot of dopamine. It didn’t take long for it to stop working though. There weren't enough drinks, drugs or distractions to stop the pain, so I let it overwhelm my system; I let it shut me down. If nothing made me feel good, it was good to feel nothing.

Prissy changed that.

If you dull out the entire world, you don’t just block the pain, you miss the beauty. Prissy makes me want to be present. She makes me want to feel. She makes me want to try.

The entrance has two bouncers tonight. Neither of them are the guy who gave me the boot last time, so that’s nice. It’s still not Frosh-week busy, but there’s enough guys waiting outside in the cold that they roped off a section for the line. I cut straight to the front of it.

“Hey!”

“What the fuck, man?”

I ignore the sweatpants crowd and approach the bouncer with the curly mullet and goatee.

“I’m here to get my friend. He’s in your office,” I explain.

“Follow me,” he grunts. A path clears for this guy as he leads me to the back of the strip club. He takes me down a hall to a room that looks like it might be used for Russian spy interrogations on the weekends.

“He’s here.” The bouncer announces me as I follow him inside. Then my mulleted escort leaves.

Rookie is sitting on a metal folding chair with rusty legs and the gray paint flaking off. He looks like he’s been crying.

Across the barren room, a girl with a sexy cop costume and fishnets is sprawling across the imposing desk. Behind it is the bouncer that walked our asses out of here. I recognize him, but there’s nothing in his eyes when he looks at me.

“Your friend thought the champagne room was gonna be free.” He nods at Rookie. Now that I’m closer, I can see the tear tracks down his cheeks. He has definitely been crying.

“I already paid them one-fifty.” Rookie sounds scared, like might-get-his-thumbs-broken scared.

“How much?” I ask.

“Another three-hundred,” the girl on the desk answers.

“What the fuck did you do in that room?” I stare at Rookie, wide eyed.

“It wasn’t like that. She was flirting, and I thought she liked me. The songs kept going and…” He hangs his head in shame and sniffles.

Fuck, Rookie’s mistake is such a rookie mistake. Not that it matters now. I know I helped create this problem, and now I’ve