Only One Love (Only One 7)

"By mistake," I say, taking a bite of the salmon. "I thought I blocked you."

"Why are you being like this?" she sighs. "I don’t understand."

"Well, if I’m so terrible, why the fuck are you calling me?" I ask her as I grab a piece of broccoli.

"We can start over," she says, and I laugh.

"I like my women like I like my coffee," I say. "Without a dick in it. Hence, why we can’t start over."

"How was I supposed to know we were exclusive?" She sighs now, and I have to wonder what the fuck I found so great about her. She was hot on the outside and cold on the inside.

"You left me at the table to go fuck the waiter in the closet," I tell her. "While at a work function that I was attending for you." I close my eyes and laugh. "After I caught you with your coworker the day before. It was a lot of work for a three-day relationship."

"That was an accident," she huffs. "You said you forgave me."

"It was an accident to answer this call." I take another bite of the salmon.

"What about when you went off with my best friend?" She tries to bait me.

"You mean to change her fucking tire?" My voice goes loud. "Listen, Tiffany, I don’t want to be an asshole," I start. "I mean, I’m an asshole, and it’s a given, but I don’t want to be a bigger asshole. Whatever this is or was, it’s run its course."

"What if we are just friends who fuck?" she says, and I swear to God if my dick could run and duck for cover, it would.

"No, never going to happen. I have to go," I say and hang up, and this time, I do block her number.

The following morning, I get on the bus and sit down next to Cooper, who just side-eyes me. "You look like you’re in a fantastic mood," he huffs.

"I fucking hate traveling," I say. "The beds suck so bad."

"So bad," he says now. "Two more games, and we go home."

"Four days," I correct. "Four fucking days."

"You think you’re going to stay out of the box?" he asks, and I roll my eyes, putting my head back.

"You think you’re going to be able to score a goal anytime soon?" I look over at him, and he glares. "What is it, four games with no points?" I put my hand on my stomach as the bus moves. "I may have fucked up the last game, but at least I got two points on the board."

"I bet you a hundred bucks I score a goal at the next game, and your ass will still end up in the box." He looks at me, and the bus stops.

"Deal," I say, getting up. "Now hopefully that will light a fire under your ass," I say, getting off the bus. Practice is a shitshow, and all of us are dragging our asses. When we get to the arena for the game, we suit up.

Getting on the ice, I know after the first shift that we have lost our steam. I know I’ve lost the steam, and the hits keep coming. I’m going to pass the puck, and my stick completely misses the puck twice. When I get back on the bench, no one has to tell me how much it sucked because I break the stick on my knee and pitch it in the back. "Relax," Martin hisses at me. "Don’t go off the rails."

The equipment manager hands me another stick, and this time, when I get on the ice, I’m going to pass it to Cooper, but I’m cross-checked in the back. I fall to my knees in the front and then turn to pounce. I’m not the only one pouncing. Cooper is right there with me. I land a couple of punches at the guy’s helmet, and my knuckles ache as fuck. Cooper drags another guy to the ice, and it takes three referees to pry them apart.

We both end up in the box, and I look over at him, then I look down at the knuckles that are bloody and look a little purple. "You had to try to be a tough guy."

"Fuck you," he says, looking ahead, taking off his helmet, and grabbing the water bottle that is there.

"You still haven’t won the hundred bucks," I tell him, and all he does is laugh. We both look up at the Jumbotron as they do a replay

"You’re such a pain in the ass," he says, laughing now, grabbing a towel and wiping his head. The rest of the game is cutthroat, and I end up in the box twice more, but we win the game in overtime. Cooper scores with three seconds left to go before shootouts.

"Someone owes me a hundred bucks," he says when he comes back into the room, and I toss my jersey in the bin in the middle of the room. "Pay up." He stops in front of me. I shake my head, grabbing my wallet and taking out five twenties to hand to him. "Wow, you actually carry money on you."