Delayed Offsides Read online

  “Doubt he will. He’s just looking for a dry room.” Mase acted like it wouldn’t be a problem but I wasn’t so convinced. Ryan had an ornery side especially since half his head had been shaved by Mase two weeks ago. He hadn’t even fixed it yet either. Just left it like it was some kind of fashion statement or a reminder of his hatred toward Mase these days. And now look at Mase and his hairless junk.

  Remy was on the bed watching game highlights when we got in the room. Mase tossed his bag on Remy’s chest. “Hey, roomie.”

  “You’re not sleeping with me.” Remy sprawled out on the bed kicking his legs to the very edge of each side, sort of like he was about to start making a fucking snow angel. He left himself wide open for attack when I tossed the remote on the nightstand between his legs.

  He moaned curling into himself. “You motherfucker.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I tossed myself on my bed and propped my hands up under my head. “He’s sleeping with me.” I gave Mase a wink.

  He started laughing but then turned to Remy who was still moaning about his balls hurting. “Were you with Ryan?”

  Remy rolled over, his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah, but he left with some chick.” And then Remy laughed. “Hey Mase, heard about your incident in the shower.”

  “Fuck you.” Mase grunted sitting on the end of my bed. Running his hands through his hair, he dropped them and then scratched his balls again. “So he went out with a chick?”

  Remy grinned, his focus on the television again. “Yep.”

  Mase hung his head eyeing his phone. “When was that?”

  “’Bout an hour ago.”

  I looked at my phone on the night stand with the cracked screen. I couldn’t see much on it but the text message light wasn’t on. It pissed me off. What the fuck was wrong with her? Was all that she said to me on Christmas bullshit?

  I debated with myself to cave and use the hotel room phone to call her. Maybe she’d pick up if she didn’t see my name on the screen. Maybe. But then I was aware of the fact that the boys were in here. Last thing I wanted was for them to hear my conversation with her.

  It was some time after midnight when we heard the door slam next door. Mase looked over at me and then his brow furrowed. “Is it weird we’re lying in bed together?”

  “No way. Remy and I have before.” His brow scrunched again, this time seeming more confused, or worried. “We were fully clothed.”

  Mase put his hands behind his head. “Why haven’t they said anything?” His right hand reached to scratch his junk under the blanket.

  “Dude, it’s weird that you’re scratching your balls. Us in bed isn’t but you keep your fuckin’ hands above the covers—”

  And then we heard Ryan.

  “What the fuck?! Who the hell let you in here? Who? Dude… why are you wearin’ my robe?”

  Mase smiled, his hands returning behind his head. “Ah, victory.”

  Game 40 – Anaheim Ducks – Sunday, January 2, 2011

  BB & T Center – Sunrise

  Ryan smiled, forced, almost appearing formal, as he entered the locker room but it was a smile like watch your fuckin’ back boys because you’re next. “Nicely done, boys.”

  Given what went down, Mase was feelin’ proud but like I said, you’re never up for long in situations like this.

  To say Ryan was pissed about Rosco being in his room was an understatement. But he didn’t know it was me and Mase together.

  So naturally I had to spin it like I knew nothing about it.

  “Did he say why he was in there?” When I needed to be, I was really good at the poker face. You’d never know I was in on this. But if you really want to get technical about it, I wasn’t in on this. I was simply there witnessing it.

  “Fuckin’ dude said Mase let him in and said he could sleep in there. He was wearin’ my goddamn robe and sleepin’ in my bed, rented like three movies and ordered room service like he was at a Chinese fuckin’ buffet and put it all on my credit card.” Ryan grumbled taping his stick. “I swear to God he was like fucking Goldilocks and my room was the three bears’ house!”

  Mase walked by wearing nothing but his underwear, his cocky stare meeting ours. “How’s Rosco?”

  Ryan raised the stick in his hand and smacked Mase in the ass. “How’s your hair growing back?”

  “How’s yours?” Mase countered.

  “Fuck you.”

  Coach walked in, clipboard in hand, straight faced and looking for a win. “Alright boys…”

  Mase and Ryan glared at one another until O’Brien told them to knock it off. Like I said, sometimes we take these pranks too far. We weren’t there just yet but it had the makings to go that way or half the team was going to either be bald smelling like a garbage dump from rooming with bums.

  “How’d you get him out?” I stood and pulled my jersey on while coach was distracted with players and the roster for tonight.

  “Offered him fifty bucks and told him to keep the robe.” Ryan said, rolling his eyes.

  “Orting!” Coach yelled in my direction. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Nodding, I had to turn around and face the other way or I would start laughing that Ryan actually paid that guy to leave his room.

  Turned out though, Ryan was so pissed about that damn guy in his room that he never played better. He was an animal out there.

  “We need to get Rosco’s number.” I told Mase when Ryan was in the penalty box for the third time tonight.

  Mase nodded but didn’t say much, he was having his own ornery night with a defenseman for the Ducks who kept roughing him up and slammed him into the boards one too many times.

  Mase has explosive moves when he gets into tight corners and is pushed against the boards. He’s our man when you need to get the puck out of there. Me? I’ve got stick skills and good puck control. I’m not afraid to be creative with the puck and shove it in their face.

  You want fancy, I could do that too. I could show you skill and style all night long.

  As shift after shift changed and the game wound down, sloppy plays and fast and aggressive, one thing was for sure, it was a good thing I had this and didn’t have to obsess over Callie tonight.

  Game 42 – Dallas Stars – Wednesday, January 5, 2011

  United Center – Chicago

  When we returned to Chicago we had an early morning practice and a game that night. I was groggy as I entered my bathroom, my mind on Callie and whether I had enough time to swing by her apartment and demand answers. And then I thought, if I really wanted her attention, why not send her a picture. One she couldn’t ignore.

  It’d been three days and nothing. So I sent another text to her that morning before I headed to the United Center.

  Maybe I wasn’t fully awake but I took a Sharpie into the bathroom with me when I went to shower. Callie loved dirty text messages so I thought, what better way to get her attention than to send one?

  So I did.

  Holding the cap to the Sharpie in my mouth, I took the marker in my left hand and held my morning wood with the right and wrote, “Suck me Callie” along the shaft.

  After putting the lid back on the Sharpie, I held my phone up and snapped a picture.

  Since my screen was cracked, I couldn’t exactly see what it looked like but the angle was a good one. Made me look bigger.

  Squinting my eyes to see her name on my contacts, I sent her the picture.

  “See if she ignores that.” I said to myself setting the phone down and reaching over to turn the water on in my shower.

  When the water was hot enough, I stepped in, got the Sharpie off my dick and then continued washing. I was hard the entire time but ignored it. For once. I’m the type of guy who’s gotten regular pussy for the last three years. Anytime I want it, it’s there. So now imagine my dick’s surprise when I’ve all of a sudden stopped that and focused on one girl.

  He wasn’t pleased with me. But I was in control. I might have turned into a high school chick obsessing over
the opposite sex but I was still the one in charge, damn it.

  As I turned off the water, I heard my phone dinging with messages but I had no idea what they were, just that there were messages. I tried to see who they were from but no such luck. Wondering if they were from Callie, I tried calling her again from my phone in the kitchen.

  Again, no answer.

  I didn’t have time to stop by her apartment and with it being a Monday, she was more than likely already at work anyway.

  So I headed for the United Center with Mase who was waiting in the lobby for me. Immediately he was smiling at me. “You really need to get that screen fixed so you can see who you’re texting.” He said handing me a coffee he got for me from the lobby cafe.

  I looked at him strangely and then it dawned on me. The picture I sent to Callie apparently went out to more than her.

  “Well… I…” My voice faded.

  “You sent that to everyone in your contacts.”

  Why was this so funny to him? Like this hasn’t happened to Remy before.

  I shrugged like I didn’t care. Because I didn’t. “Whoops.”

  Mase laughed as we walked to my car. “Even Granny B got it. She sent out a mass reply.”

  That made me laugh. I sipped my coffee and gave myself a few feet of distance before I replied to him knowing he’d probably take a swing at me. “She probably went crazy over that.”

  “Don’t be nasty.” When we got to the elevators, he glared at me, blue eyes annoyed but seeming relaxed. Fucker probably was. He had regular pussy in his bed every night when he was home.

  Not me. I had a goddamn Sharpie and a cracked cell phone and look where that got me.

  “I’m not being nasty.” I leaned against the wall in the elevator watching the numbers as we got to the parking garage. “Bagging her would be.”

  He shoved me into the door when we stepped out.

  And then I had to laugh knowing who else saw that message. “Ami saw my dick too.” It wasn’t a question and he knew that. My eyes were bright with amusement.

  Evan laughed unable to look at me. “Yeah, she asked me why you would send her a picture of a clam.”

  “A clam?” You could easily read the confusion on my face. Like a clam in a shell? Is she blind?

  “Yeah, like a razor clam.”

  I had no idea what a razor clam looked like but I needed to know right then. Knowing I couldn’t look on mine, Mase handed me his phone and I Googled razor clams.

  I was not amused with what was revealed to me. It was in the shell sure, but the neck of it, which I assumed was “my dick” to her was fairly long and black on the end. My dick had no fucking black on it. Well, aside from the Sharpie but still, what the fuck was she thinking?

  “Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me? My dick don’t look like that!” I pointed to the screen. “It’s fuckin’ black on the end!”

  Mase was laughing so hard he couldn’t start the car, his head resting against his steering wheel. I wanted to reach over, lift his head up and then slam it back down into the wheel for laughing at a time like this. Selfish motherfucker.

  I had to set the record straight with Ami. So I dialed her number.

  She answered thinking it was Mase. “Why the fuck would you say my dick looked like a razor clam?” I wasn’t wasting any time with hellos.

  “Leo?”

  “Yeah, answer the question.” I was rude. But fuck, you get told your dick looks like a razor clam and see how rude you become.

  Ami started giggling. “It did at first glance.”

  “Fuck you, it did not.”

  Mase punched my shoulder. “Don’t talk to her like that, asshole.”

  I held the phone away from my ear and stared him down. “She called my dick a clam. I think this warrants me being an asshole. How would you have liked it if she said that to you?”

  “She wouldn’t have because mine doesn’t look like a clam. Yours does.”

  “The fuck it does.” I hung up on Ami and unzipped my pants. Before he could put his car in gear, I fuckin’ laid my dick on his center console. “Does that look like a goddamn clam, asshole?”

  He wouldn’t even look, refused to. “You’re going to put your dick back in your pants and pay to have my car detailed or I will punch you in the fuckin’ dick right now.”

  Putting my dick away, in fear for its safety, I did what he asked because Mase has punched me in the dick before and it hurt. Bad. He doesn’t threaten without results. I knew this very well.

  We didn’t speak to each other the rest of the way to the United Center, refused to actually, but when we got inside, Remy was there laughing. “Looks like you sent that to your mom too.”

  Looking down at my phone I noticed a partial text message through the slivers of broken screen. I could barely make out the reply she sent but it was my full name.

  Leo Nathaniel Orting! That’s gross. I hope this Callie chick punches you for that.

  The thing was, she wouldn’t. She would have laughed at that text but apparently she wasn’t talking to me. Even sending a picture of my dick didn’t get her attention! I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do about this situation. I didn’t know if she was pissed at me, avoiding me, bagging someone else to rid herself of the memory of us together, or she simply wanted nothing more to do with me. I was seriously freaking the fuck out over the thought of Callie not being in my life…hell, in my bed…ever again. Shut up, vagina, just shut the fuck up.

  I seriously didn’t know what to do to fix this situation. Callie and I had never had a relationship like this. We were both so easy going, carefree even about what we had together. Avoidance was never part of our arrangement and I was scared that I pushed her too soon and lost her for good.

  Maybe she thought I sent her a picture of a razor clam?

  No. She knows what my dick looks like.

  Game 43 – Ottawa Senators – Friday, January 7, 2011

  United Center - Chicago

  So my time in Florida didn’t go well. We’d basically hired Rosco to fuck with the guys on the team. We even paid for his plane ticket to Chicago. And then I sent that text message and did damage control all week because someone posted it on Instagram and Twitter. Motherfuckers…but it wasn’t the first time my dick was on social media. Probably wouldn’t be the last.

  My agent made me get a new phone on Wednesday though.

  It was a little disastrous sending her that message, yes, but the point was I was breaking out all the fucking stops here and still nothing from her.

  Fucking nothing.

  As you could gather, I wasn’t sure what was going on or what to expect when we got back to town Sunday night and with the game on Monday, which she didn’t go to. Surprised the hell out of me because Callie has been to every Blackhawks home game since I’ve played for them for the last three years.

  She didn’t come over and she didn’t call. As the days went on, I kind of got into that fuck you mode. Who the fuck did she think she was to just up and ignore her friends like this? Even Ami hadn’t heard from her. Or at least she said she hadn’t.

  Could be lying to me. I no longer trusted her after she said my dick looked like a clam. She clearly didn’t know anything at all about the perfection that is the male anatomy but, then again, look who her muse is.

  What surprised the hell out of me was that she was at that game against the Senators on Friday night. She was sitting with Ami, and Evan’s parents along with Caitlin.

  Trying to play along, like I didn’t see her or care, I nudged Remy. “There’s Caitlin.”

  Remy smiled. “Hey, bud,” he smacked Mase’s feet in front of him with his stick, “she’s sixteen still?”

  Mase turned and glared. “Stop talking to my sister, asshole.”

  Remy ignored him and tapped his stick to the glass when he skated past her.

  “Knock that shit off.” Mase wasn’t having that and boarded him, both of them grunting at the force. “I fuckin’ mean it.”


  They got a rise out of the crowd watching, all laughing knowing that was nothing serious. He didn’t even knock Remy down.

  Leaning against the boards—trying to appear nonchalant—I could see Callie in the crowd, a much better view from here only then I saw someone next to her.

  A guy.

  Sitting next to her.

  Talking to her.

  Drinking beers with her.

  Possibly copping a feel of her.

  Fucker.

  She brought a guy to the game. Another guy and was sitting next to him. Callie has season tickets and I know for a fact that was one of her seats. She had to have invited him to get that seat.

  What the fuck?

  I think she saw my questioning stare because she turned to Ami who was to her right and carried on a conversation.

  Annoyed, I skated off the other direction and started firing pucks at the net.

  With just a few minutes left to play in the first period, I saw Jeff Walker, the Senators center. I hated that guy and I didn’t even know why. Everything he did or said to me rubbed me the wrong way. Usually I only saw the guy a few times a year but it had added up over the years. Maybe I was lying to myself because the reason I hated him was he had a thing for Callie. Three years ago, the year I started playing for Chicago, I was drafted to replace him and it was just bad blood from the beginning. Apparently him and Callie had a thing or two, and then it ended. Every time he was in town, they’d hook up. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t bother me. But lately, yeah, it fuckin’ bothered me. And I took it out on Walker.

  I looked over at Mase. “Sometimes I just want to barrel into that bench and knock that guy out.”

  Mase ribbed me. “Do it!”

  “And create a power play, no thanks.” He knew I was smarter than that.

  When my shift was up again, I lined up and looked at the boys behind me. It was then that I decided to be a true asshole to this Walker guy.

  “Have you scored yet this season?” I paced around him, both of us refusing to get into position just yet as the linesman urged us to.

  Walker rolled his eyes. “Go back to the minors, Orting. They’re waitin’ for ya.”