I hadn’t considered how vast the ramifications could be should things go sour with Alex. Buck has a good point. He’s the new guy on the team, and my involvement with their captain could make things difficult for Buck more than anyone. I suddenly feel guilty for not being honest with him in the first place. Buck might have been upset about the situation, but it would’ve been better than him walking in on us having sex, along with all his teammates.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Buck. I thought it was going to be a fling, and it turned into something more.”
He sighs. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know I can be a fuckwit and a huge man-slut most of the time, but I do have a heart. I haven’t forgotten about the turdburger from the minors who messed with you.”
I’m stunned. Buck laid off the asshole comments after the turdburger and I broke up. I assumed it was because I had what would probably be considered a complete emotional breakdown.
I must have been way more emo about it than I thought if Buck is bringing it up now. At the time, he attempted to be as sensitive as his male brain would allow. He set aside his bunny time to watch horror movies with me and let me beat him at video games.
“I know you’re coming from a good place. I promise I won’t make the same mistake twice. Alex is a decent guy. I see a different side of him than you do. One that isn’t completely testosterone and semen fueled.”
“I don’t know, Vi—”
“I promise if I need you to mess Alex up over something, I’ll let you know.”
His eyes light up like he’s in a nudie bar.
“Really?”
“Really.” I nod, knowing I will never in a million years sic Buck on Alex if things don’t work out. I have knees. I know how to use them.
He nods, his relief evident. “I’m gonna shower. Wanna hug it out?” He opens his arms wide.
I make a face and back away. “I think I’ll wait until after the shower for that, thanks.”
“Okay.” He lumbers awkwardly to the door, still wearing his skates.
Our bonding session over, I find a mirror and work on fixing my hair, which is very much the product of a sex tornado. If anything, I look like an expensive escort, which is not nearly as bad as a hooker. While performing emergency hair surgery with my fingers, I get caught in memories of the turdburger, Steve.
He exemplified the term asshole. Not at first, though. Initially, he was charming. I met him in my last year of college at a campus coffee shop over a latte mix-up. His major was undefined, and he was in his second year. He was a little younger than me, but he was cute. On our third date, I found out he was in the minors, looking to get drafted. Lots of red flags, right? I should’ve called it off right there. I didn’t because sometimes I’m blinded by hotness and nice teeth.
We’d been seeing each other for only a few weeks when he suggested meeting my parents. I was floored. Most guys avoid that business like the plague. So I introduced him to Sidney, who offered to watch him play. I went, too, just to be a supportive girlfriend, and discovered Steve was never going to be a good enough player to make it to a farm team, let alone the NHL. Sid took him aside and let him down easy. Still, a bruised ego is a bruised ego.
A few days later I stopped by the coffee shop to pick up a latte between classes. I wasn’t surprised to see him. What did surprise me was the brunette cozied up on his junk. She was one of those skanky types, dressed in a super-short skirt with cleavage spilling out of her low-cut blouse. Her boobs were way bigger than mine.
Now, let me be clear—I knew this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, I wasn’t really interested in seeing him anymore. Sex with him was, as mentioned previously, lackluster at best. His orgasms sounded like a hyena in heat and he was lacking below the waist. It was the ultimate in disappointing sex. At the time I was tired of being alone, and the unpleasant, high-pitched sex seemed better than nothing. It was quite the funk.
Steve and the skank were snuggling on the couch. I was as annoyed as I was relieved until he pulled the shittiest kind of move in the history of dating. It will stick with me for the rest of my life—beyond the dog-whistle moaning sex.
He looked at me as if he didn’t know who I was. He even asked if he could help me. Before I made an enormous fool out of myself, I told him he looked like some douche-whore with a small dick I used to know, and left.