: Chapter 23

“Do I have a bubble butt?”

I scroll through my messages, but there’s nothing from Brenna. It’s been five days. Five days of complete radio silence. That is un-fucking-acceptable.

“Yo! Are you listening to me?”

I lift my head to glance at Brooks. We’re in the media room at the arena, waiting for everyone else to arrive for the team meeting. We’re scheduled to watch game tape this morning, which’ll be fun. Watching Brenna’s friends skate around on a huge screen.

Shit. Hazel’s right—I am thinking about this nonstop, and that’s not good.

“You’re not going to answer the question?” Brooks demands.

“No, because I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” I set my phone down and lean back in my padded chair, crossing my arms behind my head.

“It’s not that hard, Connelly. Do I have a bubble butt or what?”

I stare at him. “What the hell’s a bubble butt?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his blond hair.

“Okay, so like a fat ass?”

“No, not a fat ass. For fuck’s sake. It’s like two perfectly round globes, and they’re usually super tight. You know, like two bubbles, but on your butt. A bubble butt.” He sounds exasperated. “What part of this don’t you understand?”

I’m genuinely bemused. “Why are you asking?”

He flops down in a chair. “Because last night I was banging Kayla—”

“Oh, I know,” I say dryly. “I heard every second of it.”

“—and we were up against the wall, you know, with her legs wrapped around me. I was holding her ass and pushing her down on my cock—”

“Dude. I legit don’t want to hear this.”

“There’s a point, I swear,” he insists.

Our teammates start filing into the room. Coby, McCarthy, Dmitry. Heath and his fellow Whipped Cream Bandit, Jonah. A few seniors.

Brooks is unfazed by the audience. “So we were doing it standing up and she’s clawing at my shoulders. And my closet door was open so she could see the mirror, you know, the full-length one on the inside of the door?” Outrage colors his tone. “And suddenly she starts giggling, and I was like, what the hell are you laughing at, and she said it’s because she just noticed I have a bubble butt!”

“What is happening right now?” Adam the freshman says miserably. The poor kid still hasn’t adapted to us yet. You’d think after almost an entire season he’d be used to the lunacy.

Brooks spins around in his chair. We have a sweet setup here in the video room. Padded chairs that actually swivel, a huge screen that takes up nearly an entire wall. Plus a ton of cool tech that Coach likes to utilize when he’s freezing frames or highlighting certain plays.

“What’s a bubble butt?” Heath asks.

“It’s when your ass looks like two globes,” Coby supplies.

“See! He knows what I’m talking about!” Brooks points to Coby, nodding in approval. “Do I have that?” he asks the room.

“Dude, I hate to disappoint you,” I say, “but I haven’t spent much time staring at your ass. I also haven’t spent much time examining other dudes’ asses, and since I don’t know what a bubble butt looks like, I can’t tell you if you have one. So for the love of Jesus, can we talk about something else?”

Apparently not, as Brooks is already marching toward one of the laptops on Coach’s desk. He clicks the track pad a few times, and a web browser appears on the big screen behind him. “Okay, so…” He types the words “bubble butt” in the image search.

Two seconds later, rows and rows of thumbnails appear on the screen, all featuring some very sexy female behinds.

“Ugh, sorry, no, I don’t want to look at girls.” Brooks alters the search to say “man bubble butt.”

The first image that pops up is one of a fully clothed grown man in an actual bubble.

“The fuck’s that dude doing in a bubble?” Coby guffaws.

“Maybe he’s got that bubble disease,” someone offers. “You know, where you need to be shut away from the rest of the world.”

“The bubble isn’t the disease,” Dmitry says with a snicker. “The bubble is the solution to the disease.”

“Why is it so hard to find pictures of male asses?” Brooks growls. “All right, boys. Brace yourself.”

“Weston,” I caution. “Whatever you’re about to do, please don’t.”

Unfortunately, there’s no stopping Brooks when he goes on a tangent, especially when it’s related to his appearance. The man is vain as fuck.

When a porn site appears on the screen, I’m quick to issue another warning. “You better get out of there before Coach comes in.”

He glances at the clock mounted over the door. “We have ten minutes, and he’s never early. Coach is an on-the-dot kinda guy.”

That’s true, but that doesn’t mean I want to be looking at porn on university property.

Brooks clicks the search bar and keys in “bubble butt,” and we’re not surfing porn anymore. We’re surfing gay porn. Awesome.

“There!” Brooks says triumphantly. “This is what she says it looks like!” He clicks on a thumbnail labeled: bubble butt gets pounded.

Coby groans. “Bro, I don’t want to see this shit.”

But Brooks pauses the scene before the sex gets underway. In fact, there’s still only one dude in the frame, a tall Nordic blond who decides to take all his clothes off in a jiu-jitsu studio because that’s what real people do.

Brooks zooms in on the guy’s behind. And okay, I’m not going to lie—his butt cheeks do resemble two bubbles. The rest of his body is lean and ripped, so those tight globes really do attract the eye.

“It’s the first thing I notice when I look at him,” Coby admits. “My eyes go right to the ass.”

“Mine too,” I say. “That’s weird, right?”

“Is this me?” Brooks demands. “Because if it is, I’m pissed. Look at it. It’s completely disproportional to the rest of his body.”

“Dude, we just told you, we don’t pay attention to your butt,” I say irritably. “We can’t compare.”

“Fine, here.”

He turns around and drops trou.

At the same time Coach Pedersen enters the room.

Coach stumbles to a stop. His gaze travels from the naked man on the screen to Weston’s bare ass. Then he scowls at the rest of us. “What the hell is wrong with you idiots?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Brooks tries to reassure him.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re trying to compare your ass to the one up there, and the answer to that is, yes, they’re identical. Now zip up your goddamn pants, turn that garbage off, and take a seat, Weston.”

My teammate appears genuinely devastated as he pulls up his pants. “I have a bubble butt, you guys. I feel like my whole life has been a lie.”

Our goalie Johansson snickers. “Plastic surgery’s always an option.”

“Enough,” Coach snaps. “We don’t have time for this shit. We’re facing off against Jensen and his crew in five days. It’ll be televised on all the New England stations, and I’m hearing rumors about HockeyNet, too. So tell me, do you want to make fools of yourselves or do you want to win?”

“We want to win,” everyone mumbles.

“Do you want to jerk off to Weston’s ass or do you want to win?”

We raise our voices. “We want to win!”

“Good. Then shut the hell up and pay attention.”

After the meeting, Pedersen stops me before I can follow the rest of my teammates out the door. “Connelly, stay behind.”

I shove my hands in my pockets as I walk over. “What’s up, Coach?”

“Have a seat.” Based on his harsh expression, I’m obviously not in store for a pep talk. Once I’m seated, he stands in front of me, arms crossed over his bulky chest. “What’s going on with you, Jake?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s going on with you? You were off at morning skate today. Two seconds slower than usual. Granted, that’s still faster than an average player, but it’s slow for you.”

“I was distracted,” I admit.

“And this afternoon? Normally when you show up early, I walk in and you’re already leading the meeting, going over tape. Instead I walk in and Weston is shaking his ass in front of everyone and you’re watching gay porn.”

“We weren’t watching gay porn,” I assure him. “We were just…” I trail off.

Because he’s right. I’m always deeply focused on the game. It’s a single-minded dedication that’s been with me since I was old enough to skate. I lead team meetings. I show up early, offer extra help to guys who need it. I sacrifice my own time, my own sleep, and my own schoolwork to ensure that every weapon on our team is locked, loaded, and in working order.

For the past five days, my head hasn’t been in it. And maybe five days doesn’t sound like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it is when you only have five more to prepare for arguably the most important game of the season. Not the second most important, because that’s operating on the assumption that the Frozen Four is a given, and it isn’t. We need to beat Briar in order to move forward; therefore, this is the most important game, and the only thing that should matter at the moment.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “I haven’t been as focused as I should be.”

“What’s going on? School? Do we need to set you up with a tutor?”

“No, I’m good with all that. A couple final papers left to write, but I’m not having any trouble. They’re not due till May, anyway.”

“So what is it? Shit at home?”

“No.” I readjust myself in my chair. Uncharacteristic embarrassment heats the back of my neck. “I feel like a moron saying this, but it’s a girl.”

Coach rumbles in displeasure. “You want my advice?”

“Please.”

“Forget her.”

A laugh pops out. Well. That’s not helpful. “That’s one solution,” I say carefully, because Coach Pedersen doesn’t appreciate being challenged.

“Trust me, kid, it’s the only solution. Women are goddamn headaches. Even the nice ones,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like they all take a master class in manipulation, learning how to play with your emotions. They either turn us into slaves, or fools.”

His volatile reaction catches me off-guard. I hear a lot of bitterness in his tone, and I wonder who broke his heart. As far as I know, Pedersen’s never been married. He doesn’t have kids, and if he has a girlfriend then he never talks about her. A few of the guys have posited the theory that he might be gay, but I don’t think he is. There was a team event at a Boston hotel last year, and I saw Coach leave the party with a hot redhead in a skintight dress. That doesn’t mean he isn’t gay, but, hell, who knows?

From the sound of it, though, he has absolutely no interest in relationships.

“At the end of the day, these women want something from you, kid. They always want something. They take and take and take, and they don’t give anything back. Nobody gives a shit about anybody else, so you might as well look out for yourself, right?”

That’s what I usually do. It’s what I’ve done my whole life. I’m not sure why the approach isn’t working for me lately. My stomach’s been twisted up in knots ever since Brenna ended things.

“You know what I like most about you, Jake?”

“What’s that?” I ask warily.

“You’re selfish.”

I find myself bristling. He’s presenting it as a compliment, and it’s not even a new revelation for me—I know I’m selfish. Yet for some reason, being called selfish by my coach raises my hackles.

“You don’t let anything come in the way of your goals,” he continues. “Your own needs come first, and that’s how it should be. That’s the reason you’re destined to be a superstar.” Coach shakes his head again. “This girl that’s causing you all this grief? Forget about her. Focus on winning, focus on this sweet new job you’ll have come August. One misstep on the ice can end a career. Loss of focus leads to dangerous outcomes, and not only the risk of injury. A bad game reflects poorly on you, and you’d better believe that your new bosses are watching every single game and studying your film afterward.”

He’s right.

“So get your head in the game. Forget this girl. There’ll be others. When you’re up in Edmonton I guarantee you’ll find a lot of cute bunnies to keep you warm.” He leans forward and claps a hand over my shoulder. “We good?”

I nod slowly. “We’re good. Don’t worry. I’ll get my head on straight.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

And yet the first thing I do when I step out the main doors of the Bright-Landry Hockey Center is contact Brenna again.

Coach’s speech got to me, but not in the way I’m sure he’d hoped. I don’t want to be the man who gets hurt by one woman and goes on to despise the entire sex. I don’t want to be bitter and angry.

I can’t force Brenna to go out with me again, but at least I can let her know that she’s still on my mind.

ME: Hey, Hottie. Me again. Feel free to keep avoiding me, but just know that I’m here if you change your mind.