Body Checking (Men of Havoc #3)

2

I WAKE up to the sound of my phone dinging with one text after the other. I throw my hand over my face and pray to God one of my players didn’t do something stupid like get arrested. After it dings three more times, I decide it’s time to see what I’ll be dealing with.

I pick up my phone but the screen is a blur, so I grab my glasses and stick them on my nose.

Santos: Yo Coach. You’re trending!

Golden: The Hammer is back, ladies and gentlemen.

Bicknelle: It would be like naughty Ice-capades. And Coach has VIP seating.

More texts follow from my players, all with similar vague yet oddly specific words. I’m trying to piece together what they are talking about, but no one gives the reason for their references.

Me: Can one of your jack-offs please tell me what you’re talking about?

A couple minutes pass when I get a text from Santos with a link. I click on it and it takes me to a video site where stupid people post videos of themselves doing stupid shit and become famous because other stupid people sit there and watch it all day.

A video pops up of a girl talking about a celebrity crush and the crazy thing she would do in order to meet him. After that is a stitch of another person talking about another celebrity and what idiotic thing they would do for a chance to touch him. It goes on, one video after the other, and I’m about to shut it down when a video pops up with my name as the title.

A drop dead gorgeous woman appears and I decide I need to watch this to the end. Her brown hair sits on top of her head in a floppy bun, and her cheeks are rosy. Her blue eyes are a little glossy telling me she is more likely under the influence of alcohol. She has plump lips and Jesus, do they look kissable .

The camera shakes and then I see her take a few steps back, giving me a better view of her body, and now I’m adjusting my dick because the response is immediate.

She has on a baby blue sweater and her full tits are pressed together, showing off a spectacular view of her cleavage. I can’t see her whole body, but I can tell she has fuck me curves by the way her hips are full and rounded. I swallow down my arousal and turn up the volume.

“ I am Cade Hamlin’s biggest fan. It was instalust the first time I saw him play. I’m sure he would never pay attention to a girl like me, but I’d dance across center ice in my bikini for a chance to meet Coach Hamlin. Maybe I can convince him to show me why they call him the Hammer.”

She bites her pink plump lip and I hear giggling in the background. A voice pipes up and says, “Ask him if he has a pencil di—“

The voice is cut short and the video stops with a view pointing straight down the valley of her tits.

I close out of the video and set the phone and my glasses down. Flopping back on my pillow, I replay her video in my mind over and over. Her soft voice. Her innocent looking face. Her luscious tits and hips. My dick rises to full attention once more, and no amount of adjusting is going to take care of it .

I push out of bed and walk carefully to my bathroom and turn on the shower. While I wait for the water to warm up, I take a look in the large mirror that hangs over my sink. Age is really starting to set in. Where there was once only fine lines, now sit deep wrinkles. My players say it’s from glaring and frowning at them so much. Maybe they're right.

I turn my head side to side and see a few more gray hairs sprinkled along the sides and standing out in my now dark red hair. Back in my hay day it was a much lighter shade of red, but now grows darker from my head and my face.

I can still be proud of my body. Fit, muscular, and only a little softer in the middle, but that’s bound to happen to any athlete when their career is over and they can let loose on their diet a little more .

I peel off my sleep pants and step under the hot spray of my shower. The shower head is set to massage and I let the streams pelt my muscles. I grip my dick and stroke it a few times, visions of the mystery girl clouding my thoughts. I don’t even know her name. Her user name said Swiss Miss but I don’t imagine that’s her real name.

I close my eyes and think about tasting her lips. My grip tightens around my cock and I wish it were her tits that it was sliding between. I bet her nipples are beautiful and brown and perfect for sucking. I’d love to dig my fingers into her round hips and sink into her warm, wet pussy. I can picture her with thick thighs and those beauties wrap around my head as I tongue her clit.

The more I think about her, the faster my hand moves until I come all over my shower floor. My chest is heaving and I brace my hands against the tiled shower wall. My body relaxes and I realize it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been with a woman, but now none of my regular hookups seem to appeal to me. The only satisfaction I want is from my little Swiss Miss. If she wants to know why they call me the Hammer, I’d be more than happy to fulfill her request.

I walk into my office and find a box with a red bow sitting on my desk. I look around but see nothing out of place and it doesn’t look like there are any cameras set up, so I’m assuming it’s an actual gift and not a pie ready to spring out and smack me in the face.

I walk over and set my energy drink down and pry off the top of the box. When I peer inside, I get a glimpse of something in an orange-ish pink tone. I reach and pull it out to find that it’s a bikini top. When I pull out the second item, I’m not surprised to find the matching bottoms.

I clench my jaw and flare my nostrils then look back at my door where a few of my guys stand with their hands over their mouths to muffle the laughter.

“We thought Swiss Miss would look good in that color. Maybe you can give it to her when you show her why they call you the Hammer,” Golden snickers and I wad up the swimsuit in my hand and slam it back into the box.

The other guys crack up laughing which then causes an echo of laughter to sound all the way from the locker room. I notice that Bicknelle has his phone out and is filming the entire incident and must be casting it to everyone on the team.

“You assholes just earned yourselves line sprints,” I bark.

Santos just looks at me with a wide smile and says, “Totally worth it. See you on the ice, Hammer.”

I reach for the first thing I can get to on my desk and toss it in the guys direction. The stack of post-its hits the door frame and falls to the floor, splitting in half and scattering. The guys laugh harder and haul ass away from my office.

Inhaling a deep breath, I walk around my desk and drop to the leather chair that groans under my weight. My eyes move from one picture to another to trophy after trophy that are placed around my large office. MVP awards, photos of a Stanley Cup celebration, action shots of me on the ice. Then there are the photos and accolades I’ve received as a coach. My career has been short, but a great one. The only thing missing is a Cup win with the Havocs.

There’s one picture in particular that stands out amongst them all. It’s a photo of my best friend and his wife sitting on a boat with me and my then wife. It’s not that I love staring at a photo of the woman who divorced me and took a good chunk of my money, but that is the last photo I have of Oscar and I. He died shortly after that picture was taken when a drunk driver slammed head first into his truck when he was on his way home with ice cream for his pregnant wife.

I remember getting the phone call from Sarah, his wife, and I thought my chest was going to collapse. My best friend of twenty years was gone and it kickstarted my destructive phase. I drank too much, partied with the wrong crowd, and eventually cheated on my wife that led to her filing for divorce and moving back to Montana.

I don’t blame her. I was a shitty husband during that time. I’m sure she would’ve stuck by my side if it was just alcohol, but the cheating was the straw that broke her back. I was an idiot and let a wonderful woman go. But she deserved more than I could give at that time and so I didn’t even fight her on anything she asked for in the divorce. I told my lawyer to agree to everything she wanted and I wished her well.

We don’t really keep in contact anymore. We would send a happy birthday message or Merry Christmas for the first couple of years, but when she remarried, all of that stopped. Which I understand. I’m happy for her and hope that maybe one day I can find happiness again.

Maybe that is the source of all my wrinkles and not these players. Maybe being alone without anyone to come home to after a long road trip is weighing on my shoulders and my heart. Some guys say they want to be forever bachelors, but I’ve never wanted that. I’ve always wanted a wife and kids and a happy retirement with a place out on the lake, where I could take my boys fishing everyday and teach my daughter to be tough and not rely on a man for anything. Now I’m afraid it may be too late for that. No woman in her late thirties or forties has babies on her mind. And certainly not with a grumpy hockey coach, like me.

My thoughts wander to Swiss Miss again. I wonder how old she is, where she lives, and what she imagines for her life. I doubt it’s someone like me, but a man can dream.