I never signed up for a Dr. Phil session with my teammates, but everyone thought I would benefit from a nice, cold, hard intervention about my current antics.

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With a hefty sigh, I finish my entire serving of soggy wheats in complete silence, contemplating my life. I’ve found that when people ask how you’re doing, a lot of times they don’t really care how you answer. They only ask to be polite.Maybe he got into a car accident on his way to work, broke all the bones in his body, had to be airlifted to the hospital, and hasn’t been able to use his phone?”

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The silence in the room is entirely too loud, but I’m too nervous to say much of anything. I’m afraid I’ll word-vomit on him. Or, you know, actually vomit on him…again. Hayes finishes shoveling the last of the sizzling bacon onto a plate, his whole face lighting up as his gaze lands and softens on me. “You’re awake,” he chirps, loading up his arms with multiple dishes of breakfast foods. He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off before he can get trapped in that pretty head of his. I blink owlishly, holding my fingers up and swaying a bit in my seat. “I…uh…I lost count,” I whisper.I’m violent when I get on the ice. I’ve already spent the most time in the penalty box my first season than any of my teammates combined. I’m not afraid to hit, I’m not afraid to strike, I’m not afraid to engage in a brawl if some douche gets under my skin. I don’t deal with my anger well. You’re not making me nervous. You’re not even all that. If I had to guess how big your penis was, I’d say a three-inch punisher at best.” I steer my head away to hide the growing blush on my cheeks. Would I mind this mystery guy taking me in the bathroom and bending me over the sink? No. Do I think there’s a good chance of that happening tonight? Definitely not.