Soulless

'The back' turned out to be the VIP room, and it did make me feel quite important, but I found myself wondering why these guys were so important and also why such important people were partying before seven o'clock on a Tuesday night.

Andy and I got pulled into a group of people about to do shots, and I gladly took one. This was the first, and most likely the last, time that I would ever be offered free drinks by hot guys in the VIP room of an upscale bar. I was going to take advantage of this. Everyone clinked glasses with those around them before downing their shots.

I followed suit, the alcohol burning the entire way down my throat causing my face to scrunch. "Not a fan of whiskey, eh?" said a voice next to me. Sir Douchington had appeared at my side, where Andy had been only seconds ago. At least he'd lost the sunglasses, but he also seemed to have lost his shirt at some point.

"Not a fan of shirts, eh?"

"I like yours even less." He looked at my chest. It was not subtle.

"Oh, not a chance," I answered.

"Is that a challenge?" He was determined. And hot, douche bag or not.
"It wasn't, but maybe it is now." Why did I say that?

Before Sir Douchington could respond, another shirtless young man sauntered up next to him with a very large bottle of Grey Goose in hand. He took a gulp and handed it to Sir Douchington who also took a gulp. He offered it to me, and I took a swig and then shoved the bottle back at them.

As I contemplated how I ended up with the only two idiots in the entire room that had taken their shirts off I noticed the matching tattoos on their ribs. Suddenly, something clicked in my brain.

These guys were the Boston Bruins. I was partying with the Boston fucking Bruins, the Stanley Cup champions. Fuck, I really had been rounded up, but that meant I was hot. I didn’t know if I should be flattered or offended. So these two morons were...Tyler Seguin. And Marchand? Yes. But what was his first name? Brian? Corey was going to kill me for this.

Shirtless Guy #2, or Tyler, waved his hand in front of my face.

“Huh?” I asked.

“I asked what your name was. I’m Tyler,” he said proving me right.

“Oh, Jamie.” I said brightly. He grinned from ear to ear and said something to Marchand whose name was on the tip of my tongue.

I watched Tyler say something to me, saw his lips move but I didn’t actually catch what his words were. I saw him grin, and then Marchand belly laughed and his eyes lit up, and he looked at me expectantly. Brad. That was it. Brad Marchand. Corey would have killed me if I hadn’t been able to remember.

"Do you wanna dance?" Tyler had disappeared and now only Brad was left. How were people just leaving without me noticing?

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to, but I nodded my head. Brad, as I now recognized him, took my hand and led me out to the dance floor. A dance remix of some Top 40 song pulsed through the speakers as I began to move with Brad. I really enjoyed dancing actually, but I couldn’t focus. All of the players who I half knew on a normal day were around me, and my curiosity was at a maximum. I glanced around and my eyes landed on one of the tallest men I’d ever seen talking to a man with larger shoulders and a goofy grin. Zdeno Chara and Milan Lucic. I knew those two. I also relocated Andy for the first time since he’d left me, and it took me only that one look to recognize him. Andrew Ference was Corey’s favorite player. Yes, he was officially going to punch me. My attention snapped back to Brad when I felt his hand slide from my hip down to my thigh. It felt like a challenge and I decided I would play, but I needed to do something he wasn’t going to expect.

Placing my hand over his, I slid it towards my inner thigh. I closed the small sliver of space between us, grinding harder into him. I turned my head to the side so he could hear me. “We can play this game, but you should know that I don’t lose.”

He caught my lips with his own. It was sloppy and heated, but I had the overwhelming desire to keep on kissing him. I turned toward him, reconnecting our lips. I reached up to touch his face and accidentally (on purpose) lightly (not that lightly) grazed the zipper of his jeans with my hand.

He immediately bridged the small distance between us, his excitement evident against my body. He broke our lips apart, only slightly. “You wanna get outta here?” He asked, his voice husky.

I nodded my head, and he led me back out of the crowd. We were close to the exit of the VIP area when he stopped suddenly. He turned around and smiled goofily at me. “I should probably get my shirt.” A giggle escaped my mouth that I’m not proud of, and I agreed.

“I need to find my friends and tell them I’m leaving anyway. Meet at the front door?”

He nodded and headed back into the crowd, while I exited the VIP room and attempted to find my long abandoned friends.



This proved harder than I originally estimated. I really wanted to find one of them, but there were so many people and I could barely make out guys from chicks, so I decided that I would just text one of them once I got outside. I headed towards the front doors where I told Brad I’d meet him, and after only a minute of standing there someone called my name.

“Hey, Jamie! Jamie!” I looked up, expecting Brad but saw Wes instead. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?” He frowned at me.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear it.” I pulled it out to see I had five missed calls, or was that a six? “I’m gonna leave, though, okay?” I told him.

“Yeah, you’re okay right?” I nodded and looked up as I heard someone else call my name followed by a crash. I didn’t need to see them to know who it was. Noah had run into a waitress carrying drinks. They’d spilled all over the floor but appeared to have missed her, at least. He was apologizing profusely as she glared at him. He slipped away quickly and arrived where Wes and I were standing. Noah engulfed me in a hug, nearly crushing all of my insides, both of us leaning unsteadily.

“I love you too, No. You wanna let me go?” I laughed. He obeyed, and I nearly fell over from the change in support. Unfortunately Wes noticed.

“Are you drunk?” He asked me.

“NO! I’m fine. Really.” As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I knew I’d said it too forcefully and too quickly.

“You are. You’re all swaying and shit now that I actually look at you. I’ll come home with you. I don’t want you going alone.”

“No, I’m okay. Really. I’ll be okay.” I wanted this conversation to end before Brad arrived.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m ready to go anyway. I don’t want you going alone.”

“I-I have someone to go with me, okay?” I admitted, knowing that he wasn’t going to give up.

Noah whooped, and Wes held out a hand to high five me. I left him hanging and groaned instead. “We told you that you needed to come out and get laid.” Wes beamed at me before starting to make out with the air in a very disturbing way. Noah followed suit, making exaggerated humping motions, and I tried to melt into the floor. At that exact moment, Brad approached me. He’d adorned his shirt and his sunglasses, this time also sporting a hat. He turned his head toward Noah and Wes.

“I’m sorry, these are my friends. They’re assholes. We’re leaving now. Bye guys.” I pulled Brad out the door by the arm, and just before it clicked shut, I heard “Always wear a condom!”

It was a particularly hot night outside. It felt like the temperature had barely gone down from the afternoon. Brad fumbled around in his pocket for his keys before I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Huh?” He asked.

“You can’t drive like this.”

He nodded his head, pulled his phone out instead, and called a cab. We didn’t really talk or anything while waiting for the taxi, but Brad stood with his arm around my waist, silently signaling to everyone that I was already taken for the night. I was glad because it was much easier not to sway with his arm holding me up.

We didn’t wait long, less than ten minutes probably. When we got inside the car, Brad told the driver an address that I assumed to be his home. The drive was only another ten minutes. When we got into his apartment, Brad slid off his shoes at the door and looked down at mine. I’d expected to being taking off more clothing than my shoes, but my boots were my boots, and I was oddly protective of them. “Nothing’s going to happen to your shoes. I promise,” Brad laughed when he noticed my hesitation. He walked into the kitchen. I took off my shoes and seized the opportunity to browse his living room.

I stopped at a case of pucks on the wall. Each was taped and written on. As I was reading them, Brad walked up beside me with two beers. He handed me one. “Thanks,” I smiled at him. “These are all your first goals, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Brad smiled in return and sipped his beer.

I pointed to the very first puck in the case; it was dated 12-18-1984. “Is that your first goal ever?”

“Mhm. You see how bad the handwriting is?” I nodded. It was barely legible. “Well, that’s because I insisted on writing it. My dad and my coach both offered, but I wanted to do it myself. My dad even wrote it out on a piece of paper so all I had to do was copy it, but I still messed it up six times before I got it right.” He laughed a little bit and continued. “I like having them here. They keep me focused. Like if I feel like slacking I look at them and I remember that six year old kid who was so proud of one stupid goal that he had to write the same thing seven times on his own, and I can’t stand thinking about disappointing him.” He paused for a second and looked over at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you all that.”

I shook my head. “It was nice. Surprisingly human.”

He gave me a smile, and set his beer on the shelf he stood next to. He gently took mine, setting that down too before kissing me. Our lips met slowly; this kiss was much less sloppy than earlier. We were both far less drunk. He started to walk, backing me toward the couch. He took his time, not hesitating or unsure, just deliberate in his actions. His movements told me that he was in charge, but I had no interest in challenging him anyway. When we got to the couch, he swept my legs out from under me and laid me on the couch in one motion, and I briefly thought about how many times he’d probably done that exact move in this exact spot. The thought was pushed away quickly by the kisses he was leaving on my collar bone. His hand slid under the hem of my shirt, dragging lightly up my side and reaching around my back until I felt my bra pop open.

I tugged his shirt over his head, and he smirked down at me, shirtless once more. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. How was that smirk so idiotic and so sexy at the same time? He pulled my torso slightly off the couch, and I kissed hungrily him this time, placing one hand on the back of his neck and running the other through his hair.

He peeled my shirt off followed by my bra. “What happened to you not losing?” He whispered, letting me fall back flat onto the couch. I opened my mouth to answer when my phone rang shrilly through the air. I groaned. “You can answer it if you need to.”

I shook my head, but six calls later I decided that maybe I had to answer.

“What?” I barked into the phone once I’d seen “Wes” flashing across the screen.

“Well, hello to you too,” Wes said laughing. I could tell by the rowdy yelling in the background that they were back at the house getting overly aggressive at ping pong and clearly still drinking.

“What the hell do you want? I’m busy.” I was pacing by this time.

“Corey made me call. He was mad that we let you leave.”

“That you let me leave?”

“Here, you can talk to him.”

There was a good deal of shuffling and bickering before Corey’s voice finally came through the receiver.

“Hi, Jamie,” he said sheepishly.

“Corey, what the fuck? Why did you make Wes call me?”

He hesitated before speaking. “I didn’t know where you were and they said they hadn’t even seen who you left with and that you were drunk and what if you left with some creep and you were in trouble.”

“Well I’m fine. I’m alive and not cut up in little pieces. You know I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but-“

“No more fucking calls from any of you tonight.” I cut him off. This whole thing was bullshit. They all knew I could take care of myself.

“Alright, J, but I-“

“Goodnight, Corey.” I hung up the phone without waiting for his response. I slumped back onto the couch.

“Everything cool?” Brad asked.

“Except the fact that my friends are fucking annoying, yeah.” I sighed.

“Hey, it just sounds like they care about you.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m tougher than I look.” I knew it fell on deaf ears.

He laughed and I caught him staring at my still exposed chest. I tried to hit him with a pillow on the couch, but he was faster and stronger and easily stopped it. “So tough,” he mocked.

“Shut up, and stop staring at my boobs.”

“You didn’t mind five minutes ago.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. My asshole friends completely ruined my mood.”

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. That meant I was left to actually think. I was in Brad Marchand’s house. I wasn’t a huge Bruins fan but I knew enough to know he had a reputation. I also knew I came here drunk under the mutual assumption that we were going to have sex tonight. That just wasn’t happening now; I was in no mood. I was probably supposed to leave now. I folded my arms over my chest uncomfortably. “I can leave, if you know, I don’t wanna stay if you-“

“Do I come off that bad?” He laughed. “If you think I’m going to kick you out just because we’re not having sex now, you’re wrong.”

“No, that’s not what I was saying!” I lied, and he snorted. “Okay, yeah, that’s what I was saying.”

“Do you wanna just get some delivery, drink some beer, and play video games?”

“Did I just morph into your little brother?” I laughed, unsure of whether this was a serious offer.

“Look. You wore combat boots to a club, were drinking beer, alone, when I met you. You’ve been cursing all night, every friend you’ve talked about is a guy. If we’re not fucking, you’re basically a dude to me.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or if that just makes you a little gay.”

“Well, whatever. I’m going to the bathroom, and I’m coming back down, so if you’re staying figure out what you want to eat.”



Eventually we decided on Chinese food, but not before a lengthy debate about the pronunciation of ‘General Tso’s’. I was lucky enough to find a drawer in the kitchen filled with matching bear themed kitchen accessories. There was everything from salt and pepper shakers to oven mitts to dish towels. I only stumbled on it while looking for silverware for the food. After a few minutes Brad came into the kitchen to see what was taking me so long, but the damage was done. He hastily shoved everything back into the drawer and mumbled something about his mother always going overboard. I harassed him mercilessly.

Two hours after that we’d put a large dent in the food and the beer. Brad killed me in every single game we played. Now we were just watching television. Brad sat at one end of the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. I was laying with my head at the other end and my feet on his lap. He flipped slowly through the channels, but I was having trouble focusing on the TV. My stomach was full, and my eyelids were heavy.

“Why the hell does anyone need that? It’s just a fucking bib for an adult.” That was the last thing I remember hearing before I couldn’t fight sleep any longer.