Scoring Chance (Carolina Comets)
Scoring Chance: Chapter 1

“You’re a what?!”

I wince at the level-ten volume at which he screams the words. I yank my hat down lower and glance around to ensure we haven’t drawn any unwanted attention. Luckily, we’re so far out of the way from others that I don’t think anyone heard him. This is not the kind of information I want to spread around.

“You heard me,” I tell Greer, my teammate and the starting goalie for the Carolina Comets.

“I’m not entirely sure I did, so let’s start from the beginning.” He points to himself. “I said I was going to town on some chick last night, and somehow, she reached around and stuck her finger in my ass.” He stretches his finger my way. “Then I asked if that’s ever happened to you, and you said—”

“No, I’m a virgin.”

His mouth drops open at the confirmation, and the donut he’s holding slips from between his fingers, splatting icing side first onto the table—a shame, especially since I know the Chocolate Nutty Butter is the best donut ever created. He’s staring at me like I’m crazy, like there has to be some miscommunication going on.

There isn’t.

I’m a twenty-four-year-old professional hockey player…and a virgin.

I’m a fucking anomaly.

“I… What… I can’t even comprehend this right now. How did I not know this?”

I shrug. “It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How?” Greer repeats.

I didn’t think I’d have to explain this to him, but… “Well, it’s simple—I’ve never stuck my dick in a woman before. I—”

“No, you idiot. That part I understand just fine. What I mean is how? How in the fuck have you not had sex yet? You’re what, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four.” I don’t bother to remind him he was at my birthday dinner just last month.

“Fuck, man.” He shakes his head. “How?”

I don’t want to get into my reasoning because I know it sounds stupid. I’ve already told him enough, so I settle for, “I don’t know, man. Just never happened.” Then I pray he lets it go.

Like, I legit close my eyes and clasp my hands together. My grandmother would be so proud if she could see me right now. She was always wanting me to become more religious. I think praying my friend and teammate doesn’t continue to question my lack of dicking down a woman counts, right?

I have no idea how long passes before he finally says, “Okay, how do we fix this?”

Slowly, I peel one eye open, then the other. “Fix what?”

“Your…” He waves his hand toward me. “Issue.”

I’m not too keen on the way he says issue. I’m a virgin—big damn deal. There’s nothing wrong with being one. I’m not embarrassed by it at all. I’m just…frustrated—and not just sexually. I’m frustrated because I’ve gotten to this point in my life and let so many things pass me by.

Prom? Never went.

Skipping school? As if I’d ever let that shit go on my record.

Girlfriends? I wasn’t about to let my GPA suffer because of someone I was dating.

I lived and breathed hockey. My days consisted of four AM practices before school and running drills afterward until well into the night. My weekends were games and tournaments. When it wasn’t hockey season, I was practicing for hockey season.

The game always came first because I had dreams, big ones. And they came true.

I’m lucky, and I know that. I get to play the best game in the world in the best league. But now that I’m here, I can’t help but think maybe I gave up just a little bit too much for these dreams.

“It’s not a big deal,” I mumble, even though it feels like one, especially when he’s staring at me like I’m King Ghidorah or some other three-headed monster.

“If you don’t care about it, why’d you tell me? I wouldn’t have known otherwise.” He lifts a challenging brow, picking up the remnants of his dropped donut and shoveling it into his mouth.

Fuck. He’s got me there.

I clasp my hand around the back of my neck, trying to squeeze out the tension that’s slowly building.

Why the fuck did I tell Greer? I could have easily lied to him. Hell, I probably should have. He’s by far the biggest asshole on the team. I mean, not that he’s really an asshole. He’s just honest, and some people don’t like that. His honesty doesn’t bother me, though. For someone who has been used most of their life, it’s refreshing to have someone be honest.

“Is it bothering you?” he guesses when I don’t answer immediately. “Messing with your game at all?”

“Most of the time, no.”

“But it does bother you?”

I sigh. “Of course it does. I turned twenty-four a month ago, and I’m ninety-nine percent positive I may be the oldest virgin in the entire history of the NHL. It’s hard not to think about it sometimes. I can score on the ice all damn day, but I can’t score off it? It’s sad.”

“It’s not sad. It’s life, and sometimes life is shit.” He says it like he’s speaking from experience, and maybe he is. We only just recently started hanging out, and I don’t know much about Greer’s life, but he’s not exactly easy to read. I always figure if he wants me to know something about him, he’ll tell me, so I don’t pry. “We can fix this. We just need to teach you to talk to women.”

“I know how to talk to women, fucker. I never said that was my problem. And besides, I don’t need your help.”

That damn brow of his rises again like he doesn’t believe me. Shit, if I were sitting across from me right now discussing losing my virginity at twenty-four, I wouldn’t believe me either.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been with a woman, and I—”

“Just because I’ve never had sex doesn’t mean I’ve never been with a woman. I’ve been with plenty.”

All right, fine, so plenty is a significant stretch. I’ve fooled around some but not much else.

“When’s the last time you were with one, then?” he challenges.

“Last night.”

“Who?”

“Your mom.”

He drops his head, shaking it. “I walked right into that, huh?” He scrubs his hand over his face. “This is going to be a lot more work than I thought.”

“Again, I don’t need your help.”

“Says the virgin.”

It’s not that I’m entirely hopeless with women. I can flirt. I can charm. I’ve had plenty of dates over the last few years.

Sure, nothing has stuck, but that doesn’t mean I need dating help. I think it just means I need to find the right person to date, and I certainly don’t need Greer’s help with that.

“What about her?” Greer lifts his chin toward someone.

I follow his line of sight to the front of the donut truck we’re sitting outside of. Inside is the truck’s owner, the woman who happens to make the best damn donuts I’ve ever had.

She also happens to hate me.

“Her name is Scout,” I tell him, turning back around.

“You know her, then?”

I shrug. “Sort of. She’s, uh, not a big fan of mine.”

“What’d you do?”

“Why do you assume it was something I did?”

“Because I once watched you hit on a mom and her daughter. You’re not exactly smooth with the ladies.”

Fuck. I did do that.

I drag my hand back to my neck, squeezing it again because more tension is building. I’ll have to see about stopping by the team’s masseuse if this shit keeps up. I need to be loose on the ice, not all keyed up like this.

I groan. “I sort of…introduced myself to her.”

His brows slam together. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Since I come here pretty much weekly and should have known who she was, yes.”

Even Greer winces at that, and he should. It was embarrassing as hell.

In all fairness, I’m used to seeing her from the tits up with her brown hair tossed into a bun and an apron on. I didn’t expect to see her at my former teammate’s party wearing a dress that hugged all her curves with curled hair and the sexiest fucking smoky eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe not her.” His eyes slide back toward the truck. “Or…” He draws the word out. “Maybe yes her, because she’s definitely looking this way right now.”

I’m almost sure he’s screwing with me, so I glance over my shoulder to check. Before I can get a good look, Greer smacks me in the back of the head.

“Don’t look, you idiot. It’ll make it obvious that we’re talking about her.”

“Ouch.” I rub the spot he hit. “Fine, I won’t look.”

“I won’t lie, you are missing out.”

I go to sneak a glance, and he hits me again.

“Stop hitting me, asshole.”

“Well, stop looking. Breaking your neck to get a glimpse makes you look more desperate than you already are.”

“Fuck you. I’m not desperate.”

“You wouldn’t be coming to me for help if that wasn’t the case.”

“But I’m not coming to you for help. You’ve just inserted yourself into this.”

“Because this can’t go on any longer. You’re a fucking pro hockey player and a damn good one at that—you should be swimming in pussy.”

“Like you are with your ass-play girlfriend?”

“First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.” He wrinkles his nose like the thought is disgusting to him. “I don’t do girlfriends. I’m not really the relationship type. Tried it, wasn’t for me.”

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There I go confessing more shit to him like he’s my fucking therapist or something.

“Seriously? You’re a virgin and you’ve never even had a girlfriend before?”

I shake my head, hoping like hell he doesn’t see the heat that’s definitely filling my cheeks right now because this shit is embarrassing to talk about. “No. I, uh, spent a lot of time playing hockey.”

What I don’t tell him is I tried to date in high school, but as soon as my dad found out, he nixed that completely. Girls were distractions, and I wasn’t allowed to be distracted. I had to keep my eye on the prize: the NHL.

I got drafted right after high school and wasn’t in college long enough to get wild. By then, dating and girls and everything else felt like too much pressure, and with having to prove to the Comets that I was call-up worthy, I was already under enough. I’ve certainly made up for it over the last few years, but it’s not like I’m out with a different woman every night the way he seems to be.

“So did I, but I still made time for pussy. Tell me you’ve at least had your dick sucked.”

“Why? You offering if not?” He glowers at me, and I laugh. “Yeah, I’ve had my dick sucked.”

“Well, at least you’ve experienced that. Was it any good?”

I mean, I came, but would I say good… Eh.

Apparently, I don’t have to tell him that; my face must say it all.

He chucks his third donut, which is only half eaten, back into the box. “You’re depressing me and ruining my donuts.” He glances over my shoulder. “But not as much as she’s depressing me.”

I risk the smack to my head and look this time. The heated stare Scout is sending my way makes me scared she’s about to pull a knife from behind her back and chase me out of the parking lot with it.

I shift around on the bench because, sadly, a tiny part of me finds that particular scenario really hot.

Shit. Maybe I am more desperate to get laid than I thought.

Scout is in her usual attire: an apron over a pair of overalls with her hair piled high on top of her head in the same messy look. Her usually pouty lips are rolled together, and she’s standing with her arms crossed over her ample chest. She looks just as annoyed as she was at the party.

And even more so when she realizes I’m now staring at her.

I lift my hand in a small wave, and the frown she’s sporting deepens. It takes half a second for her to turn her back on me, busying herself with something in the truck. It’s clear to anyone else watching that she’s not actually working on anything and is just ignoring me.

Guess I deserve the cold shoulder.

“Wow.” Greer whistles. “You weren’t kidding. She does hate you. It looks like you might be screwed when it comes to her, and not in the way you’re hoping to be. It’s too bad, too. She’s hot, maybe a little nerdy for me, but the nerdy girls are always up for some kinky shit.” He bounces his brows up and down, grinning. “I bet she’d forgive you if you played the famous hockey player card.”

His words grate on every damn nerve I have because I swear he sounds just like my father right now.

I’ve been the hockey player my entire life. It’s all my parents ever cared about since they realized I wasn’t so bad at the game. Having me go pro became their life, so it became my life. So much so that I gave up everything—and I do mean everything—for it, and none of it was for the right reasons.

I’m not telling Greer any of that shit, though. I’ve already said entirely too much.

“I’m more than a hockey player.” The words come out much harsher than I intended.

He doesn’t miss it either, his eyes widening at my sudden outburst.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say you weren’t. I’m just saying it’s not a bad card to use. Works like a fucking charm for me.” He licks remnants of his donut—Fruit & Pebbles this time—off his fingers. “Shit, maybe I should hit her up because damn these donuts are good.”

My stomach sours at the thought of Greer and Scout together. I don’t have any business having any sort of opinion about it, but still, I don’t like it for some reason. Maybe because Scout’s always seemed nice, and Greer is a bit of a tool on a good day. Plus, it’s clear all he wants women for is one thing, and Scout doesn’t deserve that.

“You shouldn’t want people just for what they’re good at.”

He pauses just before he takes a bite of his fourth donut, then quirks a brow. “I’m sensing there’s some unresolved shit going on with you given the comments you’ve made, but I’m not going to go into it because I’m a respectful asshole.”

“You’ve got the asshole part right,” I say, and he just laughs, completely unfazed.

“That I am.” He grabs a napkin and wipes the remaining mess off his hands. “All right, if we’re done bonding for the day, I’m heading out. I need to stop by the practice barn and check out my new helmet.” He rises, towering over the table with a stern look. “We’re not done talking about this, though—the virgin thing, I mean. We need to get that fixed.”

“We?”

“Yup. Can’t have you out on the ice in these conditions. It’s clearly eating you up. We don’t need you distracted. We got a Cup to win, baby.”

He’s not wrong about that.

“And that,” he says, nodding toward the truck. “Fix that.”

“Scout?”

“Yes. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast peacefully and not feel like I’m about two seconds away from being chased off with a broom. You need to apologize to her.”

“I’ve tried,” I explain. “Several times. She hides or puts up her Be Right Back sign and then never returns. Hell, she even shoved a kid to the register once.”

“Try again. Nobody wants to eat donuts in these conditions.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to her.” I rise to my feet. “But I just have one question before you go.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you like it?”

“Huh?”

I lift one finger in the air, wiggling it around with a grin. “Did you like it?”

His cheeks pinken, and he looks about two seconds away from leaping over the table and swinging at me, but he can’t. We’re in public, and Coach would have our asses if we got in trouble for fighting.

So instead, he flips me off, which makes me laugh even harder.

I swear I hear him call me a dick as he heads for the makeshift parking lot.

With a sigh, I pick up our trash and head for the garbage cans up front, readying myself for my second embarrassment of the day: apologizing to Scout.

She can’t hide from me forever, right?

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