Chapter Text
Erik Holmberg didn’t get it. He had joined the MLH, he loved hockey and he loved his job. He was finally playing regular games, and not benched for most of the season. He loved denying league greats like Hunter, Pike and Lutz from shooting routes. He still haven't quite managed how to stop Shane Hollander but who really has? Shocking forwards by throwing them into and over the boards was one of he greatest joys. He expected to live the high octane lifestyle that came with it. The parties, the girls, the late nights.
He was originally drafted to Tampa after a successful 3 years at D1 level at Michigan Tech and admittedly he was only called up to play five games over those two years. Hence, still living firmly in the rookie range so many years later. He never really made friends while there as he never touched the ice. Then later when he was in Anaheim he didn't make any there either but he completely blames this on his nemesis Akseli Ojala.
They were too busy fighting each other to fully integrate with the team. But this is not about him. This is about how Erik had ended up on a Wife Guy team. "All my life I prayed for someone like you" type guys. Erik hadn't ever felt like that but he hoped a love like that never finds him.
The booed up to single ratio was sitting at an unfortunate 50%, but Erik suspected it was actually 55% because Cap was not subtle, and sure hockey players get married early. However, even within the other rookies he had imprinted on like baby birds their first weeks playing together in camp, he and Lapointe were the only ones still single. Because despite what Luca tried to convince everyone and himself that guy was shackled in monogamy and didn’t even know it. The third line was completely single but they didn’t mesh with the rest of the team well anyway. Erik wasn't sure they would make it to next year with how they subtly snubbed the first line. Troy and Cap were a powerhouse on first line.
They were nice guys but they weren’t there for extra practices. They didn’t come to the barbecues, they didn't participate in any of Harris' social media attempts. So Erik never really asked them to hang out. He didn’t vibe well with underachievers, or bigots.
That being said, getting the team to a club was hard if not tipping to impossible. But they had just won against The New York Hamlets which, what a fuckass team name, putting them into playoff position for the first time in Ottawa in years. It was a reason to celebrate. Yet, his team was being fucking lame.
Going out with Cap meant they couldn’t have more than two drinks before he cut them off. Half of the team was old old old. Like seven of them are over 30, they’re not into the party scene anymore. He managed to convince the rookies to come out and a few of the other guys but they were not great wingmen.
Every time a woman showed any sort of interest you would get three to five guys flashing their rings and then they scattered away without even looking his way. So much for the partying lifestyle. Though he guessed that’s what he gets for being traded to Ottawa.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves his team for so many reasons. They’re great people. They volunteer together, they hang out all the time. They’re accepting, liberal and not fucking assholes. It's like one big family. It’s just not the hockey lifestyle Erik envisioned. Especially considering how much he didn’t get to party through school.
It probably the smartest option to text he who shall not be named, but he was the only person he knew who lived in New York. Holmberg wasn't really good at making friends. Or at least friends that would answer his texts. It's why he felt so much for the ones he did have. The other rookies on the team that replied at any time in the morning, regardless of how he annoyed them. He would do the same for them. Unfortunately as much as Erik despised the Admiral defensemen, in all their years of mutual hatred and rivalry he never once ignored his text. Ojala enjoyed annoying him too much.
Delta was definitely a club. The lights were low, the music was loud and the dance floor was packed. The team did not have a game tomorrow but it was a travel day and the flight was at one. As long as Holmberg got on that plane he was fine.
He walked in surrounded by almost half of his team. Somehow getting ten of them out was a miracle.
But they had just become one of the top teams in their conference. After being dead last all last season. Holmberg had to be dreaming. He was on the older side for a rookie. Just having his 24th birthday while almost dying during a plane crash. But the second chance at life seemed to be really working for the team. Boyle letting the team know that his long term girlfriend was expecting a baby may have been another defining factor to the larger than usual turn out.
Maybe a part of him missed his university days. He lucked out with both academic and sports scholarships and a student visa after high school and playing in junior worlds 2014. He got drafted at 20 to Tampa but spent an extra year at D1 level then got traded to Anaheim before even touching ice. And ended up on the same damn team as his lifetime rival. Who now apparently was going to show up at the club.
“I’ll cover drinks, you can head to the table.” Sure, he probably had one of the lower contracts on the team. But he was very good with numbers, money included so it was fine. He also did drag the team out with him so he could spot some bottles. He barely ever paid for anything the older guys, especially the bigger contracts. Hayes, Bood, Cap they usually spotted but none of the wife guys came out tonight. And Cap with his two drink limit could stay in his room for one night.
The bar was full even on a Tuesday night like Drake said apparently. Unlike back in Ottawa or even Michigan not a single soul knew who he was. It’s not like he had many sponsors. He had his sticks, thank god, considering the amount he broke them against the boards. He also somehow snagged Tim Horton recently thanks to his agent, though he made more from his various side hustles. But here in New York he was just a guy. So, he would have to work a little harder to find someone to maybe take home tonight.
He scanned the room and found many attractive women but everyone knew Holmberg had a type. He was a strong guy, it was what made him a wall on the ice. He liked lifting heavy in the gym and in bed. Simply put if the ass wasn’t fat he wasn’t interested. He needed more cushion for the pushing. More ground for the pound. More booty for the Beauty. Something to grab on to. Baby got back was his goal song for the little that it got played. Besides that he loved pretty eyes. What a killer combo.
He wasn’t really picky either. Blue, green, brown eyes. As long as they twinkled and sat behind long lashes he was instantly hooked. Similarly he didn’t care if she was a squat queen, naturally gifted, or doctor made, it was all the same when it was sitting on his face.
He lamented that most of the absolutely stunning women around him were all petite little things, breakable. That is until he saw her. She was at the other side of the bar and technically it wasn’t really a detour. He could order drinks from that side too.
Now Erik had a system for these things. An equation. Observation + Statement + Question. The key was that the question needed to be open ended. Nothing that could be answered with a yes or no answer or it would fail. When used correctly it was very successful.
It happened in parts with a 87.38% success rate of getting a positive response and a much more impressive second 60% chance of starting a conversation.
So he observed. She was obviously waiting for the bartender. She leaned against the bar with no regard for getting her outfit dirty. The outfit in question was a silky shirt and jean combo that most girls could claim in their closet. The stunning part was that it was all white. To quote Ludacris ‘all white top, all white belt, all white jeans body looking like milk.’ Erik was dehydrated. He approached from the side standing beside her mirroring her position, as if by solidarity they could will the bartender over. He left a solid foot of space between them. For now.
“You’re entirely too pretty to be waiting to order.” Plus statement. Now Erik got it. Everyone had their own type. But no one could deny that this woman’s face card alone should have got her anywhere in life. A drink should be the least of her worries.
“Right?” She turned to face him straight on and he actually had to blink at the full force of her face. Simply put she stunned, her skin was darker than Erik’s could ever hope to be. Naturally melanated into a golden brown. She was expertly made up, skin flawless, smooth and soft looking. She had full glossy lips outlined in brown and long fluttery lashes framing pretty hazel eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were natural or contacts and he didn’t care. Not when she was smirking at him like that.
“What are you drinking tonight?” Plus an open ended question. Equation complete.
“Currently nothing but I would be drinking a gin and ginger ale if I could get some service!” Equals response. She raised her voice just lightly at the end. A half serious attempt to get the bartender's attention.
“I get it you know, I was also intimidated to talk to you, he’s just shy. Took me a lot of courage to talk to someone who looks like you.” And the lack of shame to be turned down. Erik took rejection well.
“Oh gosh!” She laughed. And bonus points for starting a conversation. He’d have to adjust the stats when he got home. “He better gain some confidence soon or maybe I will just burn the place down.”
“Officer what do you mean? She was with me the whole night.” Erik joked. This he could do. When he tried dating apps he failed a lot because they judged him on his bad texting behavior and grammar. He just didn’t like to bother with typing things out, it took up so much valuable time. He calculated it once when he was still in university and found he saved 17% of his texting time on average. He never went back.
“Alibi secured, unlike my drink.” She stepped closer to him, the foot of space diminishing. She looked him down, and then back up. She was taller than him though she was in heels and in the past some women had a problem with that. It didn’t seem to be a problem to her if the way her eyes caught on his exposed biceps were to be trusted. He thanked himself for the set of pushups he ground out before his shower and the tight cut of his dress shirt.
“Let’s see if I can’t help you with that.” Erik pulled out his credit card. The black of it almost disappeared into the club. He had suspiciously more money than a rookie player should have but that was due to his little secret projects. He waited a moment before the bartenders eyes started scanning and held up the card. “Hey boss!” Used to shouting over fans and speeding skates his voice was easily heard past the music and bustle of the club.
“Well, aren’t you useful?” Her right had come across her body to rest on his bicep. He looked down and saw her long painted nails and had a flash of what they would look like wrapped around other parts of his body.
“My beautiful friend here,” he waited, catching the woman's eyes and she graciously obliged his silent question.
“Diane, Dee.” She smiled like she had secrets. It was mysterious and charming.
“My beautiful friend Dee here,” he winked at her and she giggled again. “Would like a Gin and ginger ale, and I will order for my booth over there. “ Erik waved his hand to the rowdy, despite still mostly sober, table of hockey players. “Two bottles of patron silvers, a grey goose and a black label. Sixteen shot glasses. Four mixers Diet Coke, Club Soda and Cranberry juice oh and an OJ.” The bartender nodded, taking his card to process and get started on the drinks.
“You called?” A deep voice spoke right in his ear.
“Jävlar!” Erik startled.
“No, need to swear.” He recognized the voice immediately. It had been chirping him since they were 10 years old. The thorn in his side, his arch rival. Erik couldn't believe he had the nerve to show up.
“Go away.” In all the years of knowing each other, Erik still couldn’t find a way to deal with this guy. He was sure there were rivalries where guys didn’t actually hate each other, like Cap and Hollander, they were even friends. Erik hated Akseli Ojala. It was over a decade of getting on each other’s nerves. Tying the other person’s skates together, Erik. Cutting the tape along the other’s stick right before practice, Akseli. Back and forth with increasing annoyance, at some point Erik just stopped fighting back, it was less energy to ignore him. He hated the guy, so besides their loud fights when in the same vicinity for over five minutes, he tried not to pay attention to him. He only had himself to blame for whatever happened tonight, he just had to send that text. Google would've been free.
“You’re not going to introduce me to your lovely friend?” Hell would freeze over first.
“Not a chance. Go away Ojala, I told you not to come tonight.” Erik tried to bring his attention back to Diane, he didn’t want to be rude. Or ruder than he was already being.
“I’m Akseli Ojala, my friends call me Axe or Juicy if they’re nasty. You can just call me.” She shook his hand, while shaking her head. Her eyes slowly slid between the two of them.
“You’re fucking gross.” Erik said under his breath. The pick up line was one he unfortunately had heard many times before. Erik tried to reign in his anger for Diane's sake because this was not the first time Ojala has tried to take a woman Erik was interested in. And if Erik wasn’t so sick of it he would be impressed by the sheer statistically improbability of it having a 93% success rate.
Flings, one night stands, girlfriends! Akseli has been stealing women, not that they can really be stolen but the premise stood, from Erik since they were fourteen. The first time Erik had a girlfriend she had attended a hockey game of his and never texted him back. He had to see her out getting ice cream with fucking Ojala before realizing what had happened. Needless to say that fight ended up with Erik throwing his first punch off ice.
The problem was objectively he was hotter than Erik. First of all he was a whole four inches taller. Sitting at a more than respectable 6’2. He was more lithe than Erik. While Erik had a usable dense and compact body. Ojala was all long lines of visibly corded muscle, his wing span so long he covered a demonic amount of space on the ice. With his stick he could clear ten feet either way without moving, made easier by the fact he was ambidextrous.
He also had the whole long shoulder lenght wavy curly blond hair, currently secured in a manbun, thing going for him. In a group of guys he looked very clearly European, apparently American girls though he was exotic. Meanwhile Erik had brown hair, brown eyes usually hidden behind glasses, a short stature and thin lips. As if his lack of height wasn’t enough to drive most women into Akseli’s arms. If most of the women Erik went after were also teetering 5’11 or taller, well Erik blamed societal standards, on the supposed importance of women feeling small with their partner. But he wasn’t in the right field to discuss those topics.
The drinks arrived, and Erik ever the gentleman handed Diane her drink first before lifting a shot glass from one of the trays. He needed a drink to handle Akseli in long doses. But he also didn’t want to drink too much to get whiskey dick. Diane was far too hot to embarrass himself like that.
Inside his pocket his phone buzzed. He ignored it, though it continued for sometime.
“You always fucking do this. It is called stalking you know? I remembering specifically not inviting you.”
“Do what? Flirt with pretty women? Yes, it is one of my favorite hobbies.” Erik was blessed that Diane was a patient woman. She sipped her gin and ginger ale slowly, licking the condensation off of her ring covered fingers. There was a silver snake around the upper part of her index finger that she wrapped her tongue around catching the moisture. She had jewelry everywhere. On her hands, her wrists, her neck, she had a little gold septum and even her hair had gold through it. The mix of curls and braids adorned like a queen.
“Remember us? Your your friends? we’re all going to die of thirst, mon Holmie.” Oh good now it’s the second most annoying guy Erik knew. “What is taking so long? Distracted by a cute face?” Cute face, chubby waist, thick legs yes he’s fucking distracted Lapointe fuck off.
“He gets distracted on the ice too. That’s why he lets your goalie get bullied.” Lapointe blinked, tilting his head to the side, he was an asshole, but a lot more in control when chirped at than Erik. It’s why he was an annoying player to play against, he didn’t get mad. Erik however did, easily and often. Usually following it up with an aggressive shoulder check, that caught a lot of guys off guard. He was small but powerful like a beetle. He’s a brick house.
“Oh fuck you. Like you’re any better, people confuse you with a slow winger with how far away you are from the crease.” Thus it began. Erik heard Lapointe sigh.
“I’m going to stop you both right there. Please, no fighting. None of us want to get kicked out. How about you all pour yourselves a drink and I fuck off non?” The french accent was unfortunately just as pretentious as always. “I will leave you to your contest of piss.” It was made more annoying by Sebastien’s very stupid tiny moustache. If they hadn’t been winning games lately Erik would shave it off in his sleep. But the superstitious beast inside him wouldn’t allow it.