That makes me laugh. “Thanks, Paul, and happy holidays. Say hi to your family.”
“I will! I’m sure Jonah will love his new signed hockey jersey from all of you guys,” he says, mentioning his fourteen-year-old grandson, a huge fan of the Woodpeckers. Our PR team has always bought the kid a Christmas present after seeing how much he loved hockey during a visit on Family Day years ago.
“My offer still stands for those private lessons, if he’s interested, after the break.”
Paul nods. “He’s very busy with his current schedule of hockey and school, but I’m sure we can organize something soon.”
“Cool. Well, see you later.”
“Bye, kid.” He smiles warmly at me and waves before I disappear behind the corner. I love how although I’m close to thirty and a tall, athletic hockey player, Paul still calls mekid. Like he has since I joined the team as a rookie at the beginning of my professional career over five years ago.
As I walk back to my apartment, I can’t stop thinking about how I screwed up big this time. But like Paul said, it’s time to relax and enjoy my time in Finland. Before I do that, I’ll try to have another few hours of sleep because, damn, I’m tired. I guess working out isn’t in the cards for me today.
* * *
“Viking, answer your fucking phone. It’s distracting me,” my teammate-slash-roommate Teddy shouts as he bangs on my bedroom door. “It has like a million notifications and keeps vibrating on the kitchen island. I can’t focus on my yoga exercises.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it in a minute.”
He huffs so loudly that I can hear him through the door.Such a drama king.“No, Åkerman, get your phone right fucking now, or I’ll throw it out of the window.”
“Stop being such a pain in my ass,” I shout back, covering my head with a pillow. I really don’t want to get up.
“You’ve got sixty seconds before it’s bye-bye phone. You snooze, you lose.”
Knowing my friend, I better get up. Turning in my bed, I wince as pain shoots over my body. The right side of my lower back especially hurts like hell. That’s what happens when a big muscular hockey player knocks you against the boards with all their might. Even the padding couldn’t help me there. Fucking Westerholm will cripple or kill me one day. Only because he thinks I slept with his then-girlfriend, and it started the feud between us during our senior year of college.
News flash: I didn’t sleep with her—I only offered her a ride home after a group study session. Somehow, the rumors started even though we weren’t alone for more than five minutes.C’mon, I last longer than that.
Yes, I’m somewhat known for my tendency to enjoy bedroom activities and one-night stands, but I still have my hard limits. It isn’t my style to mess around with taken women. I follow four strict rules: no cheating, no dates, no cuddling, and no sleepovers. And those have been my rules ever since I started college, and I knew I had to focus on hockey more than anything else to make it to the NHL.
Let’s not forget that sex is a fun way to relieve stress. Getting down and dirty after the games is another adrenaline high. But just because I’m focusing on my career instead of finding a long-term partner, it doesn’t mean I will sleep with anyone with a pulse and a vagina. A guy needs to have some standards.
I finally get to my feet and almost need to sit back down—damn, my legs are like noodles. And I was the idiot who wanted to have a morning skate anyway to show that he’s hot shit. Not my most brilliant move, just like dropping gloves with Westerholm until I broke his nose. My knuckles are hella sore, too.
Slowly, I move toward the door and open it. An annoyed Teddy hands me my phone, and I see the notifications on my locked phone screen—he wasn’t lying; there are too many to count.
“Vittu,” I mutterfuckin Finnish and run my hand through my short dark blonde hair.
“What was that?”
I glance Teddy’s way, waving a dismissing hand. “Nothing. My phone’s just blowing up after the game last night.”
“Do you blame whoever is texting you? Getting an extended suspension isn’t the best look for a pro like you,” he tells me unhelpfully.
“I don’t need the lecture.” I rub my trimmed beard and let out a deep breath. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.”
“Well, better me than an opposing player on the ice. What did he even say to you before it all happened? We couldn’t catch any of it as you two fuckers speak in your secret language.”
“Don’t even get started. And it was Swedish, not some made-up shit. It just happens that we both speak the language.”
“Whatever—you’ve got to resolve the issues between you and Westerholm before something worse happens.”
Teddy has known me since I started playing in the NHL but has no idea of the feud between me and Rasmus because it has never come up. It can’t be fixed that easily.
“Sure, I’ll get to that after pigs start flying,” I deadpan.
“Smartass.”
