Slap Shot (D.C. Stars, #3)

by Chelsea Curto

The best part of my job is being in charge of entitled men who think they’re better than me because they have a dick.

A week of job searching has left me empty-handed and on the brink of joining OnlyFans.

“Did you set me up on a blind date? My shirt has a hole in it, Piper. That’s not how I make a good first impression. And I didn’t bring wine. Flowers. Anything.”

“For you, Mom,” I say to the empty room. “Always for you.” One of the overhead lights flickers, and I laugh. “Yeah. I know you’re here. You wouldn’t miss this. Sometimes I can still hear you yelling at me to get the rebound.” I pause, my shoulders heavy and my eyes wet with tears. “Fuck. I miss you, Mama.”

“What was with the penalty you got earlier? I saw you chirping that dude.” “He liked one of Emmy’s photos on Instagram last week, and it pissed me off. The hit was worth the two-minute timeout I got in the sin bin.” “You’re joking.” “Nope.” “You might be the most deranged man I’ve ever met.” “Nah. Just an idiot in love.”

He gives me a wave and flips his hat backward before walking toward us. Jesus Christ. Shit like that should be illegal for men to do in public.

“We need to make him watch the ‘Juno’ positions clips and figure out which ones he likes.” Grant drops to the floor and thrusts into the rug. “Have you ever tried this one, Hud?”

There are a lot of men in the world, but I’m learning there’s only one Hudson Hayes.

“When I said green, I meant that exact shade. You in that outfit, really.” His cheeks are flushed, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “No other variation is ever going to do.”

“Who gives a shit if she doesn’t want to get married? Look at me! I was so against monogamy, and now I’m wondering how I can order a fucking casket that fits two people so I can hold Emmy’s hand when we’re dead. Marriage isn’t the only path for relationships. You don’t need a piece of paper to love her, do you?”

“Because y’all are mine.” I tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “And I protect what’s mine.”