The catch? She's only fifteen right now. Imagine what she will be like when she graduates college.
Fucking unstoppable.
I shove my hands into my pockets watching through the glass as she practices. Twelve pucks are lined up vertically in the center of the ice. All of them are about ten inches apart. Valor starts at one end and weaves her way through making an S shape as quickly as possible while remaining consistent. Once she reaches the last puck she curves towards the goal, deking Riggs and delivering a wrist shot sailing the black biscuit into the net.
She's about to make another rotation through when my phone buzzes again. I was expecting a text from Coach Finnegan, not a naked picture of a busty brunette whose name I don't remember.
Her name is under my phone as Bunny. So that means one of two things. Either she fucks like a rabbit, which would require me to text back with details about coming over later or because she has big ears.
Either way, I'm definitely making plans because her tits are phenomenal.
I smirk at the picture, my thumbs move across the keys typing a time to meet later. If we don't go to her place, I'll have to rent a hotel room which is always a pain in my ass, but I have a strict rule.
No women at my home. Period.
I don't like having leftover perfume on my sheets or underwear in random places. My home is mine for a reason, plus women get the wrong idea when you invite them to your house. It's like a fucking marriage proposal.
"Why do you look constipated? Are you taking your daily vitamins?" I raise my eyes from my phone to Valor's face. She is currently watching me with a playful smirk, raising her eyebrow in question. I let out a soft chuckle, obviously, I was way too consumed on my phone.
"Nah, that is not a look of constipation, he probably got a dick pic," Riggs adds.
"No, I am not constipated. But thank you, Vallie, for being so concerned with my bowel track. Glad someone is. Aurelia, I am very much into women and only women," I snap back.
"Could've fooled me!" she yells as she moves past me to the locker room. I rub my temples. That girl stresses me out.
"Give me ten minutes, and we can head to Gio's," Valor says, following Riggs.
"Who said we were getting pizza?" I shout at her back.
She turns, giving me a wide smile, flicking her braid over her shoulder.
"Me, Maverick, got a problem with that?"
"Bullshit, there is no way the Fury will draft Nico, he's too soft." I lean back in the booth of the small pizza place. My spine is digging into the rough material. I watch as she gives me a deadpan look as she takes a huge bite of pizza.
The left side of my mouth tilts into a lopsided smile. Her red hair is out of its braid and is starting to dry.
The frizz is real.
The longer we sit here the more it looks like she shoved her finger in an electrical socket. As per usual, the sleeves of her hoodie are too long and almost completely cover her hands minus the fingers.
Crossing my arms with a sigh, I give a lazy come here motion with my hands. "Come on, let me hear it, I know you disagree. You always fucking do."
With a mouth full of cheese and sauce, she answers, "Soft or not, he's good." She pauses to swallow, taking a drink of her water. "He can make plays and moves to where the puck is going to be, not where it is. He has great ice vision, everything you need out of a forward. All he needs to do is score and he can do that. Mark my words Nico Jett is gonna be a Fury member whether you like it or not, B."
If I told her the sky was blue, she'd argue it's red just ‘cause she can. Her life goal is to piss me off. Very rarely does she fail. Instead of continuing this argument, I just nod my head. She isn't exactly wrong.
"He still has one more year of high school. Let's just see how that goes before we start talking about drafting him to the NHL. He might decide to go to college first, who knows." I shrug, reaching across the table and grabbing the crust of her pizza.
She never eats pizza crust, always eats fries with ranch, never leaves the house without Lemonheads, and can eat hot sauce on anything. She is the weirdest person I've ever met in my life.
With a scoff and an eyebrow raised, she reaches for another piece of pizza. "Whatever, you're just worried he is going to come in and take your Golden Boy image. God forbid the king of the Chicago Fury gets dethroned."
I feign sadness and pout, "I am not nearly that bad!"
"You were featured on the cover of ESPN's best body, yes, you are that bad. I'm just looking forward to plucking the heads off all the bobbleheads they make of you." I can barely understand her words as she swallows an insanely large bite of food.
I laugh as I reach for my water to wash down the food but realize it's empty, I'm about to wave down our waiter when I hear a wickedly sweet voice.
"Guess I have good timing."
I turn my head to the left and I am met with bottle-blonde hair, plump lips, and a fake tan that looks orange under the harsh diner lights.
My eyes travel over her figure. Her boobs are spilling out of her V-neck, which is no doubt on purpose. A pair of jeans with rips in them squeeze her legs so tightly I'm not exactly sure how blood is circulating.
All and all? She's the exact girl I go for when I'm looking to hook up. Easy on the eyes and easy to hook up with, which equals easy to get the fuck away from after we've had our roll in the hay.
I go for girls I know I'll never fall for. The ones who I know, one night, and that's it. I don't want to run the risk of falling for someone, so I avoid emotions altogether. I've known too many guys who sleep with someone and it ends up being more. It's all fun and games, simple, sex, and then boom. You're in love and she wants the white picket fence and twelve kids. Then she takes half of your shit in the divorce. Or she kills herself.
Fuck that.
Love has been and always will be my biggest fear, which when I say that, makes me sound like the biggest pussy. I'm not afraid to admit the thought of love makes me want to vomit. Sure, for some it's sunshine and rainbows. But for people like me? It's similar to swallowing battery acid.
Love can take a fucking hike, far, far away from me.
I run my eyes over her body making sure she sees me do so. She smiles back at me with a seductive glint in her eye.
"That you do, doll face." I shoot her a wink.
She twirls a piece of her hair, blushing lightly. I look at her name tag which reads Jessica. It should be simple enough, but I'll stick to doll face just in case. I don't want to get slapped. Been there, done that.
"You're Bi─" she starts but is abruptly interrupted.
"Yeah, he is Bishop Maverick. Yes, he plays hockey. Now if you are done eye-fucking him, can I have a refill to?"
Valor's voice comes as in intrusion to my lust bubble. I move my gaze to her, shock and confusion coats my face. She has her arms crossed, and a look of irritation settles on her features.
I tilt my head to the left and raise my eyebrow in question. My face has to read, What the fuck?
I've known Val for a long time. She's quirky, slightly introverted, and she's as sweet as they come when you get to know her. She'd give the shirt of her back to anyone in need. I've only seen her hostile when she's on the ice. This isn't Valor.