Page 13 of My Virgin Puck
- CHAPTER FIVE -
Mason
The look on Jamie-fucking-Fisher’s face when I got up and asked Madi out, despite winning the bet, was fucking priceless. He never saw it coming, and although I wouldn’t tell him this - neither did I.
I acted on a whim. A feeling.
The second Madi walked in, her gaze was hovering over me. She tried to keep her eyes off me, settling in the closest chair to the exit, which also happened to be as far away as possible to me. But she couldn’t stop herself.
It was the same for me.
I don’t know what it is. There’s a deep flutter in my heart that makes me levitate whenever she’s around. When she’s close-by, nothing else matters. It’s that feeling that keeps me going back to reception every single day in the hope that she will be there.
I don’t want Judy’s slimy hands all over me. I don’t need Penny’s approval of my cakes. Or Lisa’s man-ish groaning every time she takes a bite. I don’t go there for that despite what those lovely ladies think of my cooking.
But I do need Madi.
I need to see her flowing hair. I need to see her gorgeous eyes and her stunning figure.
Like an addict who’s struggling, I need Madison Conner.
And that’s what drove me to make my move. Finally.
And now, I’m standing in my apartment in nothing but black underwear, wondering what the fuck I’m going to wear for the most important dinner of my life.
Everything else is put in place. I’ve been on the phone all day, pulling strings and sending money in every direction just to make sure this night is perfect. I’ve hired people, found a venue to do exactly what I want them to do.
Everything must be perfect.
Coach Best put us through the ringer today and my body is aching like never before. My age is catching up with me and I don’t recover from suicide runs and double weight sessions as quickly as I used to.
Word got out that the boys were at the bar last night and Coach was furious. It’s Rival’s Week. The most important week on Coach’s calendar. If we lose to Toronto, you can forget about calling this a successful season. Even if we win the Stanley Cup, a loss against our bitter rivals will spell a disaster.
Not only for Coach Best, but for the entire city.
My phone buzzes on the bed and I gingerly scuttle across, grabbing my sore muscles and slide to answer, “Hello?”
“Everything is all set,” Miles Johnson says, his voice echoey. “Ellie is all good and you’ll have the place to yourself.”
My lips slide into a beaming smile. “Excellent. Thanks, bro.”
“No problems, man. How are you doing? You all good up there?”
Blowing out a deep breath, I look down at my underwear and grin, “I haven’t been on many dates before… But I’m guessing black scruds aren’t suitable attire?”
Miles’ laugh cackles on the phone, “Nah, man. I don’t think you’ll get away with that.”
My chest collapses at the daunting prospect of going through my wardrobe to find something suitable to wear. Of course, I have shirts and jeans. Chinos and nice tees.
But none of it is good enough to wear on a date with Madi.
“Just choose something,” Miles says after I ask his opinion. “Just relax. She likes you man; she’s not going to give a shit what you’re wearing. As long as you’ve got your smile, she’ll love you.”
I catch myself in the mirror and couldn’t disagree more.
Whatever.
“Cheers, mate,” I say and Miles’ bids me good luck and hangs up.