Page 17 of My One & Goalie

But let’s be real here. Most of my pissed-offness stems from bobbling the Rachel situation.

I held a sexy-as-fuck woman in my arms this morning and then let her walk away.

Have I taken one too many hits to the brain out on the ice?Because for fuck’s sake, who does that? Who meets someone as beautiful and sweet as Rachel, kisses her—twice—and then agrees to the dumb plan of just being friends or some shit like that?

Me, that’s who.

I’m clearly a colossal dumbass.

I can’t stop thinking about her. All morning long, she’s there, weaving her way into my thoughts as I jog on the tread, crank out reps, cycle through my plyometric exercises.

She’s still there in the afternoon as I sit in the sauna, wishing she was sitting beside me sans towel. She’s there when I refuel with a smoothie, take a shower, flick on the television and watch hockey highlights.

I’ve had a semi-stiffy all day long and it’s starting to get uncomfortable.

Finally, I break down and text Jackson.

Xander: Do you have Rachel’s number?

Jackson: Yes

Of course he responds yes. He’s the head coach, so I figure he has all the personal info on the athletes and their families. I kinda hoped I wouldn’t have to come out and ask for it, but I guess he’s not picking up on the hint.

Fuck it.

Xander: Can I please have it?

I have no chill. Text bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear. I hope he just shoots me her digits. I’ll see her tomorrow, but that seems too far off, forever from now.

Jackson: I’m sending the number to you under official coaching capacity. Normally, I wouldn’t share

Jackson: Word of warning. She’s been through a lot. If you’re looking for a casual fling, a way to pass the time while you’re in town, she’s not it. Don’t go there

Damn. Jackson definitely doesn’t trust me. But I guess I can’t blame him. My reputation’s not the best at the moment.

Xander: I won’t screw her over, if that’s what you mean

Jackson: Don’t screw her, period. She’s not another puck bunny. She’s a single mom, with real responsibilities

I frown at the cell. I get it. Rachel’s got a kid, don’t fuck around with her. But does that mean she’s going to be celibate the rest of her days?

Not if I have anything to say about it.

More text bubbles and then Rachel’s contact info appears, filling up the screen. My lower body tenses as I save the info to my phone. Heart pounding, I tap out a text.

Xander: Hey, Rachel. This is Xander Kovac

I hit ‘send’ and wait impatiently, my palms sweaty. This is worse than hockey practice. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous texting a woman.

I’m Xander Fucking Kovac, star goalie. Why am I panicking?

Probably because she already turned you down once today.

My cell vibrates in my hand.

Rachel: How’d you get my number?

Xander: The hockey roster