Page 45 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

No. I think to myself,I just want to make sure she's okay because it's not like she handled her alcohol well yesterday.Any other guy would've taken full advantage of her, and I don’t want her to be taken advantage of. She’s too sweet, too innocent.

“Oh my gosh, Tyler, get a grip,”I mutter to myself as I go down the elevator. I leave the lobby, look at my phone, and realize that it's a twenty-minute walk to The Forge—or I can take a taxi. I'm about to jump in a taxi so I can get there earlier when I decide to walk. I need to cool off and get my head together. I need to think about what I actually want to happen tonight and why I'm headed out to this club.

To spy on a woman who, quite frankly, makes me crazy. I like her in a way that I haven't liked a woman in a long time. Maybe not since elementary school, when I had my first crush on Sally Jessie. Sally Jessie had given me a kiss on the cheek, and I'd felt like a million bucks. That had been innocent, pure; that had just been... fun.

And Erica is someone who is fun. She isn't after me like so many other women. She doesn't see me as Tyler Kane, millionaire hockey player. She doesn't see me as a way to get in the news or the magazines. She is just herself with me, and maybe I've missed that. Maybe I've missed meeting people who took me at face value, who don't treat me like a king because I’m not a king. I’m just a guy who is good at skating and hitting a puck and scoring.

And that isn't my life. That isn't who I want to be. I think about the fact that I ordered some painting supplies this morning—because of Erica. Because of the conversation I had with her. She is making me think and feel things that I haven't in a really long time. And I don't want to examine why that is too much. I don't want to upset the equilibrium of my life, becausemy life is pretty damn good. I enjoy hockey. I love making money. My sisters and my mom appreciate it even more.

I have a nice home and investments. I could retire tomorrow if I wanted to and not have to worry. Though knowing me, I would always worry. That is something that comes with the territory when you grew up in poverty. That worry is something that never leaves when you are nervous you won't have anything to eat the next day or that you'd be on the streets. Or when you hear your mom crying night after night after night, not knowing how she is going to get by and take care of herself and the kids.

I know in the back of my head that, even though I would never be in a position like that again, and even though my mom and my sisters would never be in a position like that again, I couldn't take it for granted.

Shaking my head of the deep thoughts, I realize I'm only a couple of blocks away from The Forge. I stop by a lamppost and just stand there, contemplating whether or not to go in. I could go in, look for her, make sure she is okay, and leave. That wouldn't be so bad. That wouldn't make me akin to someone you'd see on the news—on a show like20/20orDateline.

Or I could just go home right now. I could forget everything. I could call her, make sure she is okay, tell her to let me know when she gets home safely—or I could text her.

But I want to see her. I need to see her.

I want it to be another bad date. I don't know why, because it isn't like I care that much about the bet. I guess I’m just not ready for her to meet the love of her life without exploring something with me. Even though there is really nothing to explore with me, because I’m not looking for anything. And I can't just fuck my best friend's little sister and leave. That wouldn't end well for any of us.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm outside the door, handing my ID to the bouncer.

"Oh my God, are you fucking Tyler Kane?TheTyler Kane?"

"Yeah."

"Man, you are dope. I don't even watch hockey, but I've gone to a couple of those games and—fuck—the Lightning are killing it this year."

"Thanks."

"You don't have to pay. You can go in free."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Enjoy."

"Thanks."

I take my ID back from him and head inside. The music is loud. The bass is deep. People around me are dancing and kissing and snorting coke. I can see a couple of hand jobs going on in the corner, and I just shake my head.

Forge is the club that you come to when you want to let loose, when you want to be wild and crazy. Forge is not the place I thought Erica would be.

She is not the sort of woman that?—

I pause as my heart races. I see a woman who looks exactly like her, standing against the wall, kissing some big dude. I take a step towards them, about to say something, but I realize it's not Erica.

Thank God for that.

I don't care if she kisses another guy, but I think it's kind of weird that she was kissing me last night and then would be doing that with some weirdo tonight. I walk around the periphery of the club, not wanting to be noticed, and just wanting to see if I can find her without her noticing me. I don't see her on the dance floor, so I head towards the bar.

There are women staring at me—women that, on a different night, I would've said hello to. Maybe even fucked. A redhead comes over to me and presses her hand on my bicep.

"Are you?—"

"Not tonight," I say, pushing past her. I'm here for one reason and one reason only.

And that's when I see her. Standing next to a table. There are three guys and four women, all laughing. I can't tell if she's with them. She's just standing there. And then one of the guys—a tall dude with jet black hair and piercing green eyes—walks over to her, touches the side of her face, grabs her wrists, and pulls her into him.