Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I spent six solid weeks of summer in a confused, agitated state, freaked out that I’d accidentally bump into my ex or worried about my mother. The only place I was truly happy and content was on the ice, surrounded by a bunch of goofy teens who loved hockey. And the only time my thoughts were light and positive was when I let myself think about the hot dad I’d met in Syracuse.
I jacked off to memories of fucking Bryson more often than I wanted to admit. Hot Dad riding me, ass clenched around my cock. Hot Dad grinning, smiling up at me, pinching my nipples while I pumped my hips double time. It was one night, but it stuck with me.
Thinking about him kept me sane on lazy summer nights when my brain tried to torture me with all my fucking failures. Jesus, this was why I’d waited till I was practically hobbled to retire. I couldn’t stand being in my head. I couldn’t stand being home.
It was harder than ever to pretend I was having a grand old time with buddies I’d outgrown years ago.
Jimmy was the exception, but that was probably because we’d gone through the trenches together. We’d met in third grade and were the best of friends through high school, and teammates until our freshman year of college. We were drafted at the same time, and though we’d never played in the same league, we stayed tight. I was best man at his wedding; he was best man at mine.
Hockey was over, my marriage was long gone, yet our bond was still strong.
But I was a bad friend.
I passed on every invitation for dinner. I couldn’t make it to his hot dog cook-off, I was busy on July fourth, I had a thing the day of Sarah’s sixth birthday party. In short, I didn’t want to go to his house. Yep, that one passing mention of my ex living in their neighborhood spooked me.
There. Fine. I admitted it.
But…Jimmy’s clan was welcome at my pad anytime. He brought his family for picnics at the lake. We took the boat out, went swimming, and yeah, I had fun.
Jimmy never gave up, though, and eventually, he wore me down.
“One beer, Smitty. Come on. Christina is out with her friends, and I’m not schlepping three kids and a dog to your place.”
“Fine.”
That was last week.
One beer later, I’d ended up staying to let Sarah paint my nails while her little brother rolled his tow truck over my bare feet. And it was nice and just the right kind of distracting. I came by again on Monday for dinner ’cause I forgot to go to the store and Christina was making chili. That was fun too.
And maybe it was just what I needed. It wasn’t healthy to avoid a whole section of town on the off chance I might see my ex. I didn’t live in Michigan anymore. I was passing through, and nothing here could hurt that bad anymore. The worst was over years ago.
So tonight, I stopped by Jimmy’s on a whim after practice.
We were holed up in his basement, watching our Tigers demolish the Royals. I wouldn’t stay long, but I loved his kids and it was nice to be with people who felt like family.
“Aren’t you gonna change your clothes? You look fancy. I’m feelin’ underdressed here,” I griped, gesturing between us with my beer.
“Yeah, yeah. It was a long day. I’ll get to it,” he grumbled.
“How’d your meeting go?”
“Fine. Thank fuck you’re here. I couldn’t run the camp without your help.”
“You’re welcome, but I’m not the only coach you have.”
“No, but you’re the best. It’s been fun, huh?”
I nodded ’cause yeah, I liked coaching. I liked the kids. I liked molding the next generation of twelve to fifteen-year-old hockey fanatics into real players. I liked that they were rabid enough to happily sacrifice summer days at the lake to run drills and play scrimmages with a few local pros. The way Jimmy and I had in our youth.
We’d both grown up attending Ice Jam, and I had fond memories for sure, but Jimmy had loved it so much that when the owner wanted to retire four years ago, he’d bought the business on a whim. He’d wanted me to go in on it with him too. Fifty-fifty. No thanks. The thought of being tied to home with a contract gave me the heebie-jeebies.
I’d invested as a silent partner, but didn’t want anything to do with running the camp. I had a very finite fuse with this town. Eight weeks for Jimmy…okay. Anything more made me itchy as fuck. It was worse than ever this summer.
Jimmy set his beer on the coffee table and pushed his fingers through wavy dark hair. In his rumpled suit with his sleeves rolled up and his belly resting on his lap, he reminded me of his dad. It was funny how seamlessly he’d followed in his father’s footsteps. I thought of my dad for a moment, and my heart squeezed painfully.