"I'm fucking bored!" Marco yelled, then threw his pillow at me, knocking my book out of my hands.
And that was how it all started - the somewhat sorry, often eye-opening and most definitely entertaining period of time I self-centredly call the last three months of my life. Marco and I had no idea what we'd set in motion that night, and it's a damn good thing we didn't, because we never would have done it otherwise. And that would have meant ... well, I really shouldn't spoil the story.
"Fuck you, Marco." I grumbled, groping around on the floor blindly for my book since I was too lazy to sit up and look for it. "You made me lose my page."
"Fuck reading!" he said, petulantly. "I'm bored! Entertain me."
"Take some NyQuil and go to sleep." I sighed. "If you're going to be this annoying the rest of the season I'm asking for a new roommate."
"That's just it! The season just started and I'm bored already." Marco stood up and started pacing. I hate it when he paces. He knows I hate it when he paces. Asshole. "We've got to come up with something to make things more exciting. I want something to look forward to when we go on road trips."
"Call me boring, but I think playing hockey at the professional level in front of thousands of people is fairly exciting." I located my book and proceeded to search for the page I was on.
"You are boring, Patty!" he declared, walking over to me and snatching the book out of my hands, closing it, and thus making me lose my page again.
"Well, what the hell do you want to do?" I was starting to lose my patience with him. "Fuck?"
At this point, I should state that this wasn't entirely a joke, given that we'd slept together several times in the past. More often than not, both of us were obnoxiously drunk at the time. More accurately, he would be obnoxiously drunk, and I would be stupidly drunk. That's an important distinction, or at least, I like to think it is. Sober sex happened when we were both horny and unattached. We haven't really been single much the past few years, hence the infrequency.
That night, neither of us were seeing anyone, so it was a good suggestion on my part. And if we'd followed it, we'd have fucked, gone to sleep, played Vancouver the next morning, and gone on with our lives as usual.
Of course, Marco had to come up with an even better suggestion.
"We could do that." Marco answered, tossing my book into a corner of the room and collapsing onto me. I vaguely remember thinking at the time that having the wind knocked out of you isn't much of a turn on. "But I'm thinking long-term. Something that will keep our interest all season."
"Because fucking me gets old after a while?" I frowned at him, feeling incredibly insulted.
"Okay, how about this ..." he started, completely ignoring my complaint. He kissed me quickly and continued talking. "We're going to have a little competition."
Hearing Marco say the word "competition" set the alarm bells ringing madly in my head. Yes, we're all competitive, us hockey players - that's how we got where we are. But Marco is in a class of his own. Once he almost got into a fight with Scott Thornton over a game of "Go Fish". Three of us had to restrain him.
"Competition?" I asked, trying very hard to keep my voice from trembling.
"Yes! It'll be fun! There's no way it can be anything but fun!" he said excitedly, kissing me again. A maniacal gleam started to shine in his eyes as he furnished me with details of the competition. "We're going to have a little playoff series of our own. Best of seven."
I stared dumbly at him, blinking in incomprehension. "We're going to play one on one hockey?"
"No, we're going to sleep with hockey players." Marco stated proudly.
"Oh." I digested this briefly. "So the first person to sleep with four hockey players wins? But that's easy ..."
Marco cut me off. "Nobody in our team counts."
I thought for a moment. "That's still easy."
"No Wings either." he grinned. That made it much more difficult. Obviously he'd put a lot of thought into it. "Oh, and Mike Comrie, Andy Ference and Bates Battaglia don't count either."
"What about Jason Arnott?" I asked.
He gave me a withering look. "That's a given, Patty."
I paused, and sadly enough, seriously considered his idea. Furthermore, I came up with a suggestion. "How about, instead of disqualifying guys, we have a fixed list of seven guys and both of us has to agree that each one is a challenge."
"Fabulous idea." Marco kissed me yet another time. I'm not quite sure why, but that time it made me smile back at him.
I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the bedside table and started trying to think of tough challenges. Marco snatched the pen from me and scribbled a name down.
"This is supposed to be tough, not impossible, Marco." I said, when I read the name. "Meaning, the player has to be gay, or at least bisexual."
"He's gay!" he insisted.
"No, he's not, he's French Canadian." I explained.
"Oh." Marco considered things for a while, then scrawled another name. I nodded my approval and added a possibility that I'd come up with. He seemed fairly satisfied with my choice.
So we came up with the rest of the list, fucked, then went to sleep.
We both wanted to get a lot of rest for our game against the Canucks the next day, given that Markus Naslund was the first name on the list.