strangers // m. zuccarello

February 9th

After playing professionally for five years, you would think I would be prepared for preseason. Every year it kicks my ass.

"We're all going to the city to watch the Rangers then hitting the town. Want to come?"

I thought about it for a minute and inevitably said no. I was exhausted, sore, and my face was breaking out. That wasn't a good combo for going out and having fun.

"Too bad we already got you a ticket."

I rolled my eyes not saying another word. I was glad that everyone else was just as tired. This way I wouldn't be made over and forced to dress up.

They told me the only Norwegian in the NHL plated there. Which was awesome.

Great.

Just perfect.

As soon as we got there I grabbed a couple beers. This was going to be a long game.

"Sources say the guys are going to be at George's." Celia told us during second intermission.

"Sources say it's someone you've fucked." Hillary laughed.

"Sources say Freya gets dibs on the Norwegian. He's even kind of short like you."

"Sources say you're all idiots and I'm thankful for beer."

No really. I was definitely thankful for alcohol because without it, I wasn't sure I'd survive the night.

"Bottle service tonight ladies." Claire flashed her dad's black AmEx. I mean, I came from a decently well off family, but I also had four siblings.

"Top shelf rum and might as well throw in a bottle of Grey Goose." Hell, it wasn't my card this was going on.

I heard someone laughing next to me and murmur something in my native language. "It's been a while. Let's catch up."

We found a quiet corner in the club and, well, caught up.

"Come back to my place."

"Buy me dinner first." I yelled as I got in the cab with my friends.

"Told you that you'd find the Norwegian."

"Hard to hide from someone you've known for 24 years."