1
MILLER
“You’re a what?!”
I wince at the level-ten volume at which he screams the words. I yank my hat down lower and glance around to ensure we haven’t drawn any unwanted attention. Luckily, we’re so far out of the way from others that I don’t think anyone heard him. This is not the kind of information I want to spread around.
“You heard me,” I tell Greer, my teammate and the starting goalie for the Carolina Comets.
“I’m not entirely sure I did, so let’s start from the beginning.” He points to himself. “I said I was going to town on some chick last night, and somehow, she reached around and stuck her finger in my ass.” He stretches his finger my way. “Then I asked if that’s ever happened to you, and you said—”
“No, I’m a virgin.”
His mouth drops open at the confirmation, and the donut he’s holding slips from between his fingers, splatting icing side first onto the table—a shame, especially since I know the Chocolate Nutty Butter is the best donut ever created. He’s staring at me like I’m crazy, like there has to be some miscommunication going on.
There isn’t.
I’m a twenty-four-year-old professional hockey player…and a virgin.
I’m a fucking anomaly.
“I… What… I can’t even comprehend this right now. How did I not know this?”
I shrug. “It’s not exactly something I advertise.”
“How?”
“Huh?”
“How?” Greer repeats.
I didn’t think I’d have to explain this to him, but… “Well, it’s simple—I’ve never stuck my dick in a woman before. I—”
“No, you idiot. That part I understand just fine. What I mean is how? How in the fuck have you not had sex yet? You’re what, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four.” I don’t bother to remind him he was at my birthday dinner just last month.
“Fuck, man.” He shakes his head. “How?”
I don’t want to get into my reasoning because I know it sounds stupid. I’ve already told him enough, so I settle for, “I don’t know, man. Just never happened.” Then I pray he lets it go.
Like, I legit close my eyes and clasp my hands together. My grandmother would be so proud if she could see me right now. She was always wanting me to become more religious. I think praying my friend and teammate doesn’t continue to question my lack of dicking down a woman counts, right?
I have no idea how long passes before he finally says, “Okay, how do we fix this?”
Slowly, I peel one eye open, then the other. “Fix what?”
“Your…” He waves his hand toward me. “Issue.”
I’m not too keen on the way he says issue. I’m a virgin—big damn deal. There’s nothing wrong with being one. I’m not embarrassed by it at all. I’m just…frustrated—and not just sexually. I’m frustrated because I’ve gotten to this point in my life and let so many things pass me by.
Prom? Never went.
Skipping school? As if I’d ever let that shit go on my record.
Girlfriends? I wasn’t about to let my GPA suffer because of someone I was dating.
I lived and breathed hockey. My days consisted of four AM practices before school and running drills afterward until well into the night. My weekends were games and tournaments. When it wasn’t hockey season, I was practicing for hockey season.
The game always came first because I had dreams, big ones. And they came true.
I’m lucky, and I know that. I get to play the best game in the world in the best league. But now that I’m here, I can’t help but think maybe I gave up just a little bit too much for these dreams.
“It’s not a big deal,” I mumble, even though it feels like one, especially when he’s staring at me like I’m King Ghidorah or some other three-headed monster.
“If you don’t care about it, why’d you tell me? I wouldn’t have known otherwise.” He lifts a challenging brow, picking up the remnants of his dropped donut and shoveling it into his mouth.
Fuck. He’s got me there.
I clasp my hand around the back of my neck, trying to squeeze out the tension that’s slowly building.
Why the fuck did I tell Greer? I could have easily lied to him. Hell, I probably should have. He’s by far the biggest asshole on the team. I mean, not that he’s really an asshole. He’s just honest, and some people don’t like that. His honesty doesn’t bother me, though. For someone who has been used most of their life, it’s refreshing to have someone be honest.
“Is it bothering you?” he guesses when I don’t answer immediately. “Messing with your game at all?”
“Most of the time, no.”
“But it does bother you?”
I sigh. “Of course it does. I turned twenty-four a month ago, and I’m ninety-nine percent positive I may be the oldest virgin in the entire history of the NHL. It’s hard not to think about it sometimes. I can score on the ice all damn day, but I can’t score off it? It’s sad.”
“It’s not sad. It’s life, and sometimes life is shit.” He says it like he’s speaking from experience, and maybe he is. We only just recently started hanging out, and I don’t know much about Greer’s life, but he’s not exactly easy to read. I always figure if he wants me to know something about him, he’ll tell me, so I don’t pry. “We can fix this. We just need to teach you to talk to women.”
“I know how to talk to women, fucker. I never said that was my problem. And besides, I don’t need your help.”
That damn brow of his rises again like he doesn’t believe me. Shit, if I were sitting across from me right now discussing losing my virginity at twenty-four, I wouldn’t believe me either.
“You’re telling me you’ve never been with a woman, and I—”
“Just because I’ve never had sex doesn’t mean I’ve never been with a woman. I’ve been with plenty.”
All right, fine, so plenty is a significant stretch. I’ve fooled around some but not much else.
“When’s the last time you were with one, then?” he challenges.
“Last night.”
“Who?”
“Your mom.”
He drops his head, shaking it. “I walked right into that, huh?” He scrubs his hand over his face. “This is going to be a lot more work than I thought.”
“Again, I don’t need your help.”
“Says the virgin.”
It’s not that I’m entirely hopeless with women. I can flirt. I can charm. I’ve had plenty of dates over the last few years.
Sure, nothing has stuck, but that doesn’t mean I need dating help. I think it just means I need to find the right person to date, and I certainly don’t need Greer’s help with that.
“What about her?” Greer lifts his chin toward someone.
I follow his line of sight to the front of the donut truck we’re sitting outside of. Inside is the truck’s owner, the woman who happens to make the best damn donuts I’ve ever had.