Winners

Watching that curvy, fine ass stomp away from me was probably one of the saddest moments of my life. My half-hard dick hated me for letting her go. The asshole that had so kindly intervened was still muttering under his breath.

“Dude, chill out, we’re not sixteen, we’re both two mature, understanding adults,” I reprimanded the kid. Seriously, what was his problem? We hadn’t even started on most of the things I wanted to do with her and he was freaking out. Fuck.

“She doesn’t do one night stands,” he informed me, scowling.

I laughed. Who was he to come in here, break us up and the scold me about one night stands? “We’re at a fuckin’ party kid, why don’t you go tell the rest of the world about how they can’t have sex tonight.”

God if this was a hockey game, he’d be flat on the ice right now with no gloves or helmet, futilely trying to defend himself against my fists. I was known for being a goon, my quick temper and swifter punches gaining me that name.

“I’m not worried about everyone else, you bloody prat. Harper can do better than you,” he growled.

Maybe it was anger, maybe it was jealousy, maybe it was just the fact that I was a tad bit drunk or maybe just the fact that I hadn’t gotten into a fight in a good few weeks, but the next thing I knew, the guy was laid out on the ground moaning and holding his jaw.

“FIGHT!” I heard someone yell out, excitedly.

“What the fuck, man?” he coughed, still nursing his injury as he slowly stood up.

I just shrugged. He needed to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t my fault that he was being a douche and I got pissed. That’s pretty fucking normal. “Whatever, man.” I walked away.

After that I couldn’t get back into the music and happy drinking. I kept wishing Harper was back here, with her curvy body rubbing on mine, like it had been before that idiot yanked her away.

Finally, after half an hour of looking, I found Tyler. “Dude, I’m peacing. I’ll catch you later,” I screamed to be heard over the song playing.

“Later Kyle,” Tyler replied, barely looking at me. He was too fascinated with some chick who was dancing on top of a table.

“You should go talk to her once she gets down,” I advised my friend before leaving to walk home. Tyler and I were practically neighbours – it was how we’d become friends in the first place.

That night I had another erotic dream about Harper. Or two. Or three. I’d woken up more than once hard and needy, cursing her friend over and over. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to dream about it if he hadn’t butted in – not that I really believed that.

When morning finally came around, I made a decision – I was going to find Harper, I was going to get to know her, seduce her, and convince her to have sex, so I could find out what the fuck was wrong with me and hopefully get over it.

- - - -

My plan didn’t work out as I’d hoped. For the next few days, my mother made me stick around and help her out around the house and visit relatives. Then four days after the party, I got a phone call from my head coach.

“Hello Kyle, its Darryl calling.”

I’d been half-asleep in my bed, watching a movie when my phone had rang so my brain process wasn’t up to par yet. I barely managed to figure out who ‘Darryl’ was. “Hey Coach, what’s up?”

“Sorry this is so last minute, but we’d like you to come down to LA to do a couple signings. Nolan got sick and couldn’t make it, so we were hoping you could fill in,” Darryl informed me, sounding almost pleading.

Fuck. This might put a cramp in my decision. Or not, it wasn’t too big of a deal. Not a whole lot could change in the week to two weeks I’d be gone and besides, this will just build up anticipation. Harper will be twice as likely to want me after not seeing me for a while.

“Yeah, I can do it,” I agreed, thinking that this way I could get over Harper for a while, maybe bang some other girls and then see what magic a little absence can produce when I get back.

“Great. I’ve already booked your flights. You have time to pack and stuff and drive down to Toronto if your flight is at four-thirty pm tomorrow, right?”

I chuckled. Typical Darryl, always making plans then expecting people to follow through with them. “That’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“See you then. I’ll send you the tickets and information later today.”

The phone clicked as he hung up. Well, I guess I was going back to my 8-months-a-year home away from home. LA is much more exciting than Ayr, with all the flashy lights and a real downtown. I’m sure I’d forget about Harper the entire time I was there. By the end of the week, I probably won’t even be able to remember her name.

- - - -

Stepping out of the airport, I breathed in the smoky, polluted LA air that was much different than the clean, fresh air of my hometown. Hailing a cab, I directed the driver to take me to the hotel – which Darryl had also booked before I had said yes – where I was staying for the duration of my visit.

Watching the city fly past, I wondered who else was here for the signings. I could have asked around, but I liked surprises so I was content to wait. Hopefully it’d be guys interested in going out clubbing with me.

“Here we are,” the cabbie said, interrupting my thoughts. I thanked him, handed him his tip and got out.

After checking into my expensive, luxurious suite – Coach had gone all out on this one, probably to make up for the last minute thing – I decided to go look around for my teammates, see who was here.

Since it was only 7 o’clock LA time – 10 o’clock Ayr time – I figured that they’d probably be down in the lounge, either flirting or getting some supper. I was starving anyway, so the restaurant seemed like a good place to start.

Luck was on my side, it seemed. I heard boisterous yelling the second I entered the spacious and well decorated room.

“Clifford! Dude! I didn’t realize you were coming!”

“Man! Get your ass over here!”

“CLIFFORD!”

Dwight King – we liked to say he was our mascot because of his last name – my best friend on the team was the first one to bound up to me. “Hey man!” he cried, already seeming a little tipsy. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing these signings too?”

“Didn’t know until yesterday,” I told him, grabbing his fist and slapping him on the back, in a bro-hug when I reached the table where my teammates were seated.

I surveyed the four other people at the table – Colin Fraser, Justin Williams, Jeff Carter and Jarret Stoll. Giving them each a slap on the back or a nod, I lowered myself into an empty chair. “Have you guys ordered yet?”

“Just our drinks,” Fraser answered.

“Perfect,” I grinned, settling in. “How has everyone been?”

There were multiple choruses of “Good.” Which I interpreted as “I still can’t believe we won, I’m so happy, the girls are going crazy and I’m getting laid a lot.” In most cases, I was pretty sure I was correct too – except for Justin, who was married happily to his wife Kelly. Who knows though? Maybe she was giving him more attention than usual too.

By the time a waitress – a hot dirty blonde, with pouty ruby red lips and vibrant blue eyes – came around, I felt like I was going to die of starvation. “I’ll have the steak with mashed potatoes, please and a Keith’s,” I ordered, getting my standard beer.

The rest of the guys ordered as well, most of them hitting on the waitress. I couldn’t help but compare her to Harper. Her blonde hair looked dyed and fake whereas Harper’s luscious brown locks looked silky and smooth, like something you’d like to run your hand through. She had coated her face in makeup, but Harper, well, she didn’t have to. Even at work, when she was wearing minimal – from what I could tell – she’d looked more than hot, she’d looked beautiful.

Oh fuck. I’m starting to sound like a fucking mushy prick. Jesus. One of the pros of coming to LA had been to get laid so I’d stop thinking about her, not compare every girl I come across and find them lacking. Before, I would have been fighting to be the one to take the waitress up to my room once she was off, now, I was – apparently – content to sit and fucking watch like some saint or shit.

I finished up my food fairly quickly but stayed around talking to the boys until around midnight. By then we were all kind of tipsy and ready for sleep, considering most of us had gotten used to different time zones and were way past our usual going to bed times.

Pretty sure Dwight was the one who ended up taking the waitress home – that means had I been contesting, I would have won. Fuck. I should have gone for it. But… I just couldn’t bring myself to.

That night, for the sixth night in a row, I feel asleep thinking about Harper.