The Thanksgiving weekend game was horrible. I donât know if we were still all slow from the fucking turkey or what, but we played sloppy. No one anticipated passes, including our goalies Strass and Kap. We lost 2-7. It was a joke.
The locker room is quiet as the ass whooping we received sinks in. Whatâs worse is knowing my family and Jordan were watching from home. Probably cringing since the first period.
I know sheâs trying to cheer me up with a joke, but it pisses me off.
I wait a minute . . . no response.
The guys talk about wrapping up bad games and wanting to go home to their wives and girlfriends, seeking comfort. I never wanted comfort when we lost, I wanted an escape. An escape by inviting a new face into my bed. Tonight? Sheâs all I want. Iâve been away for not even twenty-four hours and miss her.
And itâs not the sexâthough it is great. I want to see Jordan wrapped up in that ugly, grungy hoodie and spend the night watching a movie, or talking, or telling her the three best things about my day.