Just Barely There

April 28, 2011
The last press conference of the year was painful. It was tough going out in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Hell, it was tough getting knocked out in the semis and the conference finals as well. But nothing hurts worse than being the reigning champions of the most coveted cup in all of hockey and being knocked out in the first round.

Jonathan Toews, just sigh of his twenty-third birthday, knew that. The atmosphere in the locker rooms in Vancouver that night was quiet to say the least. Jonathan was sure the Canucks were celebrating finally getting past the Blackhawks to get in to the Conference Semifinals round and face Nashville. It was a very bitter feeling in all of their guts during the locker clean out and final media day.

Just less than two days after the difficult loss to Vancouver, he was standing in front of a swarm of media, answering questions he really couldn’t give one fuck about. He just wished for once he could just say what he wanted to say, not what the organization wanted him to say and what the media wanted to hear. As much as he hated to admit it, the summer was going to be a long one and it would be good for them – all of them.

Jon knew for a fact he wouldn’t be watching much hockey for the next month or so. He needed to be away from the sport after it consumed his life during the season and the short playoff run. He had already brought him Lord Stanley’s Cup, which was a hell of a lot more than some people his age could say. He needed to let go of Game Seven against Vancouver, let go of the disappointment of the less-than-spectacular post-Stanley Cup season.

That’s what Jon told himself at least when he found himself flanked by Patrick Kane and Brent Seabrook inside of a loud, nameless Chicago club. “C’mon Tazer, you gotta relax and let it go. It’s the end of the season and your birthday’s tomorrow. Might as well live it up,” Seabs said, clapping Jon on the back before dragging the three to the bar.

Jon was used to clubs. It was often that Kaner would drag him out after a particularly great win to ‘celebrate,’ which usually meant Kaner drinking copious amounts of alcohol and going home with a random puck slut. Jon was usually the one sober enough to call a cab for any involved. During the season, he was a no-nonsense kind of guy. It’s just how he was wired.

Now, with a Cup under his career and the 10-11 post-season behind him, it was time to let loose and have a little fun. He tried to ignore his friends’ shocked looks as he ordered three shots of vodka for the three of them.

“Here’s to the summer and long off-season,” he said to both of them in turn, his throat already hurting with the effort of being heard over the music. They clinked their glasses together and downed the shots as one. Jon was the only one really affected by the burn sensation; he hadn’t had much alcohol in over a year, and doing the shot of vodka was like jumping into the deep end of a pool and not knowing how to swim.

Both Kaner and Seabs left him alone at the bar, where he ordered another shot of vodka. Jon could already feel the effects of the first shot, and he knew the second one was really a confidence booster if anything else. Clubs were not Jon’s scene; he didn’t like dancing close together, he didn’t like the loud, thumping bass and he didn’t like the scantily clad girls.

He smirked to himself; bullshit, who didn’t like the scantily clad girls, especially when they were throwing themselves at him. It was a feeling he never got enough of. Sure, during the season he didn’t sleep with many puck bunnies; he was Captain Serious after all. But this was the off season, and tomorrow was his twenty-third birthday. He’d have ever puck bunny that threw herself at him from now until he left the club if he really wanted to.

After the second shot, Jon finally got up the courage to walk towards the dance floor. It was packed with flowing bodies pressed tightly against one another, touching and teasing and dancing so seductively that Jonny knew he was going to have to take home one of the bodies or else he would have to take care of his hardening problem himself.

Jon adjusted himself as he spotted one girl that seemed to be having a fine time with some girlfriends. Her hair was in a dark, messy heap on the ton of her head; because of the dim lighting in the club he couldn’t tell the color. She was in a tight red dress that left just enough hidden to make him want to see more, and just enough exposed that his mouth ran dry.

He took a drink of whatever alcoholic mixture was in his hand; he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of the concoction he had ordered. He put the glass on a table he saw that was vaguely empty and headed into the masses that was the dance floor, eager to get to the seductive woman in the sexy red dress. Almost immediately he felt hands pressing against him, grabbing him, eager to dance with him. He just continued to push through the crowd until he found himself right beside the group of women he had been watching.

Jon was not as smooth off the ice as he was on the ice. Add alcohol into the mixture, and he was practically hopeless. He settled in behind the woman, leaving just enough room so she wouldn’t get freaked out or whatever happened when women were approached by strange men in clubs. It was just enough room to notice, too, that she had rich, think chocolate hair. He could see the strange looks her friends were giving him and he figured he would make his move.

“May I dance with you?” he asked into her ear, making sure she heard him. She turned her head to give him a confused look before she did a quick once over. When she backed up into him, he figured she was saying yes, and he gripped onto her hips as she danced against him. Because of the alcohol he wasn’t as coordinated as normal, and his dancing was even worse. The woman in front of him didn’t seem to mind and she grinded against him to the beat of the song, making Jon’s breathing go heavy.

They danced through multiple songs, this little vixen grinding her ass into his crotch fast and slow, effectively driving him crazy. Jon’s hands had started to travel up and down her sides, starting at her thick thighs and going up to his ribcage, just under her breasts. On the third time he was doing this, she turned to him suddenly, no longer moving to the beat. “Let’s get drinks!” she shouted loud enough to be heard and Jon nodded, watching as she signaled to her friends to join them.

The woman in red was the one to order the shots, something that he had never even heard up. Jon and the sexy woman clinked glasses before down the sweet shot, which was followed by a multitude of more shots.

“Seabsy!” Jon called after several shots, seeing his Blackhawk teammate in the crowd. “Come, have more shots. Where’s Kaner?”

Brent downed the shot before replying. “Dunno, I was gonna head out.”

“Nonsense!” Jon said, looking over at the woman in red. “Join me and—”

“Amy,” the woman piped up, just loud enough to be heard, “and these are my friends, Lori and Josie.”

“Yeah, join me, Amy, Lori and Josie,” Jon stated before throwing back yet another shot. Brent shrugged his shoulders, having another shot with his captain. What’s the worst that could happen to two hockey players and three women?

April 29, 2011
His head throbbed painfully in time with the throbbing in his lower back. Jonathan Toews groaned, rolling over on his bed. When he hit the floor, he opened his eyes with an alarming speed, making him wish he was blind. The room he was in was bright as hell and it was making his headache even worse than what it already was. He groaned, holding his head between his knees, his eyes clenched shut.

“Morning,” came a voice to his left, now sounding like either Kaner or Seabs. Jon cracked one eye open, tilting his head to look at the speaker with the squinted eye. It was a woman. A beautiful, clearly not hung over, dressed in just his shirt woman. She looked familiar, but he had no idea who she was. Or why she was wearing his shirt. He looked down at himself, finding his body naked save for his pair of plain black boxers.

Jon grunted as he got up, rather unsteadily. He nearly shot the woman a glare as she came over as if she was going to come over to help him up. “Morning,” he said gruffly, his voice coming out even deeper than normal. He strode past the woman on considerably steady legs, going right into his bathroom to brush his teeth and see the damage in the mirror. He didn’t look particularly bad. He just had deep dark circles under his eyes and a nice, dark hickey on his collarbone. He brushed over the mark and hissed; it was damned sensitive. He looked at the woman in the doorway that was watching him.

“I’m assuming this is yours?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow, gesturing towards the hickey. She just shrugged gently.

“I should hope so. I did wake up sprawled all over you, so I’m guessing.” She shrugged again and Jon watched her hair bounce up and down. Her hair was beautiful, rich chocolate brown waves.

“Do you know what happened last night?” Jon asked, leaning against the sink. It wasn’t his sink, not his bathroom; it was Brent’s. How did they end up at Brent’s apartment?

“Lots of shots,” she replied, a grin attacking her red lips. “And lots of sex.” Jon’s face blanched and she let out peals of laughter. The noise made Jon’s head explode and he groaned.

“How are you not hung over right now?” he muttered, gently pushing past her to sit on the couch, where they had apparently slept the previous night.

“Who says I’m not?” she replied, sitting behind him and gently rubbing his back and shoulders. Jon let a gentle moan at her gentle touch, leaning forward so she had more room to work. “I took an Advil and practically drowned myself in water.” Jon just grunted in acknowledgement, not wanting to move his head for fear of the headache getting worse.

After the woman – Amy – had finished rubbing Jon’s back and Jon popped an Advil, they both dressed rather awkwardly, neither ready for the walk of shame. “Oh, there’s something you have to see before we leave,” Amy said suddenly, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the only other door in the apartment: Brent’s bedroom.

“I, eh, don’t really want to see this…” he said, ready to snap his eyes shut as she opened the door.

“C’mon, this is just ridiculous, you have to see them,” Amy said and Jon relented, peeling his hand away from his eyes. The sight before him was worth it. Seabrook, Kaner and the two other women from last night were wrapped up together. The tangle of limbs was so complete that they had no idea whose limbs were whose.

“This is great,” Jon whispered, taking out his phone and snapping pictures of the four of them. Amy giggled outside the room, shaking her head as he shut the door behind them. “Perfect blackmail material.” They headed out of the apartment complex together and into Jon’s car, which was left at the building overnight.

The ride back to Amy’s apartment complex was pretty quiet, neither really knowing what to say. He pulled up outside the apartment complex and fiddled with the loose button on his shirt. “So,” Amy finally said. “Last night was fun.”

“Yeah, except that I can’t remember much of it,” he admitted, subconsciously rubbing the place where she had given him a hickey. She just shrugged and smiled.

“Lightweight,” she joked, before hoping out of the car, already on her phone texting someone. He jumped about a foot in the air when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out to see Text message from: Amy written across the screen. He looked out the door to see her having disappeared into the building and opened the text message. Happy birthday Jonny Toews! Xxoo the message said, and Jon couldn’t help but grin.

It was going to be a damn good summer this year.