the shoulder. “I’ll never forget that one time in Vegas—” Brian starts to tell the story, but I put up my hand.
“What happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas,” I remind him, and he laughs, shaking his head as he walks out of the room.
Miller grabs his helmet. “So what do you say? You wanna come ride the pony?” He smirks at me. Always fucking smirking.
“I don’t ride motorcycles,” I say, ignoring his look. “I don’t trust you not to be reckless with my body.”
“I can promise you I wasn’t talking about the bike.” He laughs, and I look up at him with my mouth open. “See you Saturday, gorgeous,” he says, leaving me to pick up my mouth when he walks out of the room.
Chapter 2
Miller
The three trips to see the tailor were definitely worth it because my black suit jacket fits like a glove. As I straighten the sleeves of my shirt, I admire the shine of the black cuff links engraved with my initials. And just like that, with a run of my hand through my black hair, I’m ready.
Walking out of my massive walk-in closet and past the great room, I make my way to the garage where my black BMW is waiting for me. As I’m pulling away, I look back at my house. Is it big? Yes. Do I need all this space? Absolutely not. But I plan on staying here for a long time. I want to bring my wife here and have my kids here. And every time I walk through the doors, it’s so easy to envision. I mean, why the fuck else would I buy a five-bedroom, two-story house for one person? Soon after, I’m pulling through the gates of my community.
Never in a million years did I think I would end up playing in the NHL. Did I want it? Yes. Did I think it was possible? Nope. I played hockey like any other kid in Canada. I was good, but I wasn’t great. I started my junior year in the low category, but something just clicked into place that year, and I moved up to the higher level.
The coach of that team took a liking to me, and he introduced me to one of the scouts he knew. I was drafted one hundred and twenty-ninth overall to Chicago. It was exciting, but I had to be realistic. The chances that I was actually going to play for them were slim to none. So I went hard at school and graduated with a degree in economics and mathematics. Something that only got mentioned when I was on the cover of GQ one year. I got called up one game and, let me tell you, playing your first game in the NHL is a feeling you will never ever forget. The fans on their feet, cheering for the team. The rush of the game is so much faster than you can ever imagine, and I made the best of it. I went on the ice and skated my fastest, passed smartly, and when the third period came around, I scored the game-winning goal.
From that day on, I was on the ice with them, but when the summer came around, they traded me to Dallas. I was shocked and confused, but I was excited for the start. Now I’ve been here for eight years, and I’m one of the oldest ones on the team. I shake my head, laughing. Old my ass.
Pulling up to the arena, I park in my designated spot. I climb out of my car and then grab my phone to text Becca, my agent, and tell her that I’m here. Then I take a picture for my Instagram.
The picture is of me smiling, and the caption is:
This could be all yours. Going once, going twice.
Putting my phone away, I walk into the arena and see all the changes they made in order to get us to party here. The arena has been transformed into a ballroom with a huge black stage at the back of the ice. Seeing all the round tables situated in front of it makes it feel weird that I played on this ice yesterday. The tables are covered in white tablecloths with crystal standing chandeliers. People mingle as waiters and waitresses pass out food and champagne. I spot the bar right away and start my way there when I’m stopped by a couple of fans who are attending. I smile and pose for