Page 4 of The Casanova Complex

Who am I to stop people from assuming?

“Okay? And? I’m drinking, chilling. Having a good time,” I retort, taking another sip of my beer to prove my point.

Zach shoots out of the chair across from me and moves to the couch, flopping down beside me. His expression is somber, surprisingly serious. His palm curves over the top of my shoulder. “Look, I know you’re stressing about this season, I get it. We lost the first couple of games—it fucking sucks. And this shit with Gauthreaux is causing tension, I get it.”

I nod along, and he lifts a shoulder, shrugging. “But it’s just a couple of games. We’ll get our shit together and still make playoffs. We’ve got a whole season ahead of us still, man. And everything with Gauthreaux will work itself out. But you know what I am worried about? Way more worried about than losing a few games at the beginning of our season and your little issue with Gauthreaux?” When I lift a brow, he leans in closer, his voice dropping low. “You pulling your head out of your ass and living fucking life, man.”

A wide grin pulls at his lips, and he slaps me on the shoulder. “It’s senior year. The last year we’ve got before we’re both playing for the league, going to clubs and drinking thousand-dollar bottles of bourbon, spending our salaries on the finer things in life.”

I scoff, a sudden, sharp twist of anxiety flaring to life inside me. “Yeah, well, we keep playing like this, I can kiss my chance at any of that goodbye. Coach is going to bench me and put in fuckface if I don’t prove to him that I deserve to be in the net more than Gauthreaux ever will. That’s why I’m so fucking stressed.”

Plus, it’s easy for Zach to say when he got drafted by Chicago over the summer.

He wanted to stay and finish at OU and get his degree first, so while Chicago cares how the team does this season, they care more about the player they’ve got rights behind.

All he’s got to worry about is not doing something stupid like fighting, or fucking off, or getting injured this season. He’s already got a team ready to sign him when the year’s over.

He’s one of the best defensemen I’ve ever played with, and we both know that they’re going to sign him next year.

They’d be stupid not to. Any team in the league should want him on the roster.

Me, on the other hand…

Yeah, I’m not as hopeful.

I went undrafted, becoming a free agent. And I’ve had interest. Several scouts have shown up asking my coaches about me, talking to the trainers about my recovery. A few have shown up more than once last season to watch.

But I can’t sign with anyone, even if I do have someone calling, until the season’s over and I play my last game. Which means I have to show a team that I’m worth investing in.

So this year is the most important year of my college career, and we’re already off to a shitty fucking start.

Starting with the fact that Blake Gauthreaux transferred to OU from the University of Lafayette over the summer to play his senior year with us.

Which I generally wouldn’t give two fucks about.

But Gauthreaux is a goalie.

The biggest asshole I’ve ever met. But as much as it truly pains me, physically, to admit, he’s fucking incredible in the net.

When we lost Browning last season after he graduated, Coach Taylor brought in Gauthreaux.

That was a real fucking fun conversation to have before we left for camp.

You see, those scouts that had been watching… their number one feedback was that I’m fire in the net, but they’re worried I haven’t faced enough “adversity.”

I’ve never had to fight for the net.

And Taylor thinks this is the perfect way to show them I can handle the pressure when there’s a proverbial blade at my throat.

So Gauthreaux and I are splitting starts.

We’re in tandem this year, and I fucking hate it.

I hate him.

Not only because he’s a threat to my position on the team, but because he’s a piece of shit who runs his mouth and doesn’t give a fuck about being a team. He’s out for himself only.

And it’s only made things worse that I’ve been playing like shit since he’s arrived. I’m in a rut, and I need to snap out of it fast.