Page 81 of Ice Block

She’s tied to the team. I’m a player.

She probably also thinks I am aplayer…as in the manwhore sense of the word.

If she’s ever seen a tabloid, she probably thinks I’m out on the town with a new girl every night. No one knows most of those girls are my family and it’s all for show. The himbo image is the farthest thing from the truth. I trip over my feet, thinking back to how this all started, the series of events that changed everything.

I’m honestlyextremelypicky. I’m not a virgin, but…I can count on one hand the number of women I’ve been with. And when I say one hand I mean one finger. It’s not that I don’t like sex. I like it very much, in fact. I just…I want it to be more than just a hookup. I’m in it for the feelings more than the physical side of things.

Sure, being in the NHL affords me a lot of women throwing themselves at me. But no one, especially not since the day I first saw Kennedy, has had my interest. When I saw her walking out of the cockpit as I was getting off the team plane, I was fucking done for.Talk about Hotty McPilot. Her long, wavy blonde hair flowed down past her shoulders. Her uniform hugged her in all the right places with that damn sexy blue scarf tied around her neck. The glimmer off her pilot wings pinned to her chest was glowing like she descended from heaven.Dammit, that’s a sexy-as-hell uniform.What I would give to have her in my bed with only that scarf around her neck. The things I could be doing to her. Even more so, the things she could be doing to me.

But she’s out of my reach.

Right now, there’s nothing I can do but love her from afar. How do you love a woman who doesn’t know you exist? How do you tell her you like her?I could pull a Larsy and just marry her…I drag my hand down my face.That’s ridiculous, Jordan. She doesn’t even acknowledge you exist. Come on, man, be smarter.I already send her gifts, including a poem I wrote with every one. Yeah dammit, I’m sensitive. I’m creative. Hockey isn’t my only talent.

Finally arriving at my room, I head inside and flop on the bed like a fish to get a nap in before dinner. I close my eyes, trying to count sheep, in English, in French, anything to help me fall asleep. Just as I almost hit a good REM cycle, my phone buzzes next to me.

Dammit, I should have turned it on do not disturb.

It’s an unknown number calling me.

No thanks, telemarketer.Decline.

I lay back down and the phone buzzes again. Noooo.Decline.

The number pops up on my screen,again, but this time it’s a text. My eyes go wide. My heart races like a fucking freight train in my chest before dropping into the pit of my stomach as I read it.There’s no way.I’ve been so careful to keep this hidden.Holy shit.

Stay the fuck away from Kennedy Kramer.