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Girl I Know


It was more often than not that I’d find myself in an oversize jersey with a pair of heels strapped to my feet. Not at the arena, though, vying for the players’ attention. My uniform was of better use in the bedroom, where there were no morals keeping me from going commando beneath it. Where I could lay myself across the bed on full display, where any and all form of contact was allowed. No two-minute minors for body checks and roughing. Where the dirty talk was encouraged and the five-hole always open.

And most importantly, right where Jordan Staal liked me best.

But let’s start from the beginning.

My name is Katrina, but I only go by Kat. Nothing says ‘shitshow’ clearer than being named after one of the worst natural disasters to hit North America in the last decade. I am a student at the University of Pittsburgh, majoring in Film Studies, of all things. Of course there was that ambition of someday making it big, but until then it was shoestring budgets and dollar meals. In the meantime, I waitress one job and bartend another. But the buzz from the mixed drink of tips and hourly wage only lasts so long.

Which brought me to Pittsburgh’s 24-hour Giant Eagle late one Friday night with a purse stuffed with coupons. It became a game, almost, seeing how much I could save. Even back home in Michigan my family lead a frugal lifestyle. Lucky for me a lifetime of limited money paid off. No pun intended.

The store was barren give or take a few employees restocking shelves. They took little notice to me as I filled my basket with generic-brand microwavable meals. That’s the other thing I always seemed to be short on: time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a meal that wasn’t either packaged or frozen prior to consumption. Not that it fazed me much; when it really came down to it, food was food and I would take what I could get.

It took me by surprise at first to see another actual customer wandering the aisles that night. I thought I was the only one who knew no one came into Giant Eagle at this hour. I knew this by default, somehow, and it became my time to extreme coupon myself into oblivion and back while still managing to leave with enough money to make it through bills.

My company was tall, chiseled, so built that even a black warm-up jacket had a hard time feigning modesty. Wisps of soft, blonde hair poking out from beneath a yellow baseball cap caught in the florescent lighting. A strongest jaw outlined his masculine profile. Everything about him was raw male, from the scruffy facial hair to the worn-in jeans.

[i]Excuse me, sir, did you get lost on your way to the Abercrombie and Fitch photo shoot?[/i]

Did I approach him? No. A man grocery shopping this late was meant to be left alone. Just like me. I didn’t need a stranger breathing down my neck while I decided if a two-for-one deal was really worth it. But I did keep him in my peripheral vision. It was the female in me that did it. Sex personified was not allowed to go unnoticed. Not on my watch.

Which currently read 12:17 AM.

I could have left. I had everything I needed, but something rooted me to that spot some fifteen feet away from him. Probably the sexual magnetic force this man oozed or the sudden anchoring of my ovaries. Maybe I should talk to him. A few exchanged words wouldn’t hurt much. Give for my vagina, who would be mourning the loss of something it couldn’t have.

My self dare resulted in glancing his way - it was a start. It took my mind a few long moments to register him looking back and a few longer moments to remind myself that ten second eye contact was considered impolite in the American culture. By the time I realized this, it had become a full fledged staring contest.

At this point I had two choices: 1. Avert my gaze, walk away and carry on through life with the distant memory of finding the Angel Gabriel in aisle seven of the Giant Eagle, and 2. say hi, maybe even politely introduce myself and manage conversation.

I chose the latter. Ten minutes later, I was backed against the unisex bathroom door with his hand up my shirt.


[b]*Jordan POV*[/b]

I had a girlfriend. A pretty nice one at that. But the seven hundred miles between us was a tolling distance and evidently the monogamous trait had skipped over the third child in the Staal family.

At first it had been easy - we were young and so in love that a few months apart did little to faze either of us. But time wore on and I quickly found out that my libido didn’t have the patience nor the morals to wait until her next flight to Pittsburgh to satisfy itself.

That’s where Kat came in.

But let’s start from the beginning.

This was my sixth season sporting Pittsburgh’s black and gold and I had no plans to change that. I loved it here - the city, the environment, the fan base. The nightlife scored a higher rating among the reasons I was happy to call the Steel City home. There was something about being young and rich and known in a city that could cater to my every need that appealed to me, many times more often than it should. And having ties to an old life back in Canada was hard when this new, glamorous life was being served on a silver platter.

Hockey was the best part of it, though. Only in my childhood dreams had I thought making millions off of the sport I was raised on. Then Eric had made it big in the NHL, and I began to rethink those dreams. It worked, too, resulting in an immediate jump from juniors to the big leagues.

Sometimes it was great. Greater than great. There was still no match to raising Lord Stanley’s cup over my head back in ‘09, knowing I’d earned it. Many great wins had come to follow that, too. But other times, it was hard to the point where it downright sucked. Like tonight, coming off a grueling 3-2 overtime loss to Washington.

Which brought me to the Giant Eagle as a pit stop on my way home from the arena. There was no way I would willingly claim the title of an emotional eater, yet I couldn’t deny the potential that was there. I needed something processed and sugar-loaded, something off-limits. And as soon as I turned down aisle seven to see rows packed with colorful goods, there was close to no stopping me.

I say ‘close to no’ because the second I saw the bombshell blonde partway down the aisle, I did - in fact - stop. There had to be something special about her, because even in what looked to be pajamas she looked well on her way to a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Her curly, blonde hair obscured a good amount of her face, but from what I could see, she was doing pretty alright for herself. Long body with longer legs, dressed in yoga pants that displayed what may have been the perfect ass.

[i]Excuse me, miss, may I hold your buns for you?[/i]

And then she looked at me, a quizzical expression on her face. For a split second, I panicked - could she tell who I was? It was the instinctual reaction I had to anyone that stared at me for three full seconds. But then I quickly realized that if she did recognize who I was, then so be it. Maybe it would give her an excuse to talk to me.

Her blue eyes still lingered, though, and she didn’t move. Another hint of panic shot through my body as my mind raced - was there something on my face? It was another instinctual reaction I had for the people who stared longer than three seconds. But really, that would be anyone’s reaction.

And then she blinked, relaxing her arms so the basket she held bounced against her knees. “Hi,” she greeted with a smile to rival any woman’s in the city. Maybe even the tri-state area. I said ‘hey’ back, and from there our conversation took off.

Ten minutes later, I had her in the unisex bathroom with her hand down my pants, my sweet tooth satisfied.


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