If making yourself sick with jealousy were an art form, I’d be a master at my craft. Over the years, I’ve tortured myself by watching the NHL Awards. I’ve watched him year after year with a different woman, each one more stunning than the last. I’d watch them all dolled up, walking the red carpet, smiling for the cameras, and when it was over, I’d crawl into bed and imagine what they were doing at that very moment. I’d envision them clinking crystal flutes filled with fancy Champagne, surrounded by other players at some ritzy club, followed by a quiet hotel room, where Jasper would peel off
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