37. Whore

I know we're all in a state of mourning at the moment so here is a little light relief. Hopefully Boston will knock out the flyers in the next round - I couldn't bear to see Carcillo in the EC final. Happy Commenting - I welcome all comments as your ideas and support help me for the following chapters so any ideas are always welcome. It's always nice to hear your feedback. And for MelTing - the key is cranberry and raspberry juice mixed with sprite!


Song: Jane's Addiction - Just Because


ELLA’S POV


Jordan had left his phone on my bedside table when he left for practice this morning. We’d had a fantastic night together last night after celebrating the two away wins in Ottawa and I hadn’t wanted Jordan to leave. My exam was this afternoon but I figured I would go and drop off Jordan’s phone on the way in to school. I had resisted any ounce of temptation I’d had to look through his phone – in truth I didn’t want to know – and I knew that embarking down that road was a long and slippery slope. So I put it in my purse and walked the few blocks to the arena. I used my pass to get through security and walked in the direction I thought the locker room was in. Jordan had told me that the main corridor is one long circuit under the seats, so whatever happened, I couldn’t get lost.

“What are you doing here?” I looked up to see who was talking to me. I’ve never seen her before in my life and she’s not someone I know from school either. Weirdly she seemed to know who I was, especially if she was asking why I’m here. I took in her appearance: the ragged mini denim skirt, the ripped black tights, totally inappropriate for a warm sunny day like today, the leather jacket with a Hells Angel symbol on it, the purple crop top with a tattoo poking out from the line of her skirt. And then there was her face – pierced nose and several in her ears and metal bits in her lips – how could anyone eat when they had metal in their mouth like that? She was kind of pretty if you like that whole alternative-bad-girl-look.

“Just dropping something off,” I replied. Dressed like that she clearly did not work for the Pens organisation.

“For?” she demanded.

“None of your business,” I said, trying to move past her as she blocked the wide corridor. She grabbed my wrist, forcing me to turn around.

“It’s Jordan, isn’t it?” she hissed. “He’s mine. Keep your filthy blonde mitts off.”

I tried not to laugh. He’s yours? Oh really? How the hell had she got past security, I thought. They really need to step it up around here.

“Yes, it is. And who on earth are you?” I tried to be civil with her though my patience was waning. Whatever thing she had for my boyfriend was getting on my nerves. I didn’t need this today of all days. I only came to drop off his goddamn phone.

“Lo-la. And he was mine before he was yours, if he really is yours,” she snarled. She pronounced her name as if it was exotic and I couldn’t help but be reminded of that dancing slut Cha-Cha in Grease.

“Oh well hi. And thank you, but he’s mine now,” I said moving away from her.

“But he’s come crawling back to me, and he always will,” this Lola replied, stepping closer so she was in my personal space, almost in my face. I didn’t like her sneering. “Clearly you don’t have the power to keep him. Does he still call out my name in bed? Does he love you like he loves me?”

I couldn’t take anymore. With all of my 5’6 strength I slapped her across the face, hoping it would leave a bright red mark. I’ve never slapped a girl before and I honestly never thought I would – but those last few sentences had really stirred me up, making me see red. I turned on my heel and ran down the corridor until someone grabbed my arm, dragging into a nearby room. I looked round at my captor. Jordan, thank God. No other crazies in the Mellon today. I looked around at the room – there was a bed and a few cabinets and sheets on the wall and several huge bottles of something or other.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling me to him.

“I came to return this,” I said, handing over his phone. From the look on his face, he hadn’t even realised it was missing. “I just met an interesting girl. Think her name’s Lola.”

Jordan looked apologetic. He must have seen or heard our little conversation; those corridors are pretty
echoey. “She was a mistake, an error, a fuck up,” he said, holding my hands, looking down at me.

“She said you’d gone back to her,” I said quietly, my eyes downcast. I trust Jordan but I wanted that what I’d just heard was total bullshit. “She was the girl from Diesel that night,” I added. It had made sense. Jordan had taken her back home after I’d gone and screwed her.

“Yes, but nothing happened. I promise. I love you. She shouldn’t even be here. Lovejoy brought her in. She’s got a restraining order against cappy so she shouldn’t be any closer to the arena than 200m,” Jordan said. Her restraining order did not explain why Jordan had slept with her. It only confirmed to me that she was a delusional loon.

“But since you’ve met me, you’ve been with her?” I pushed. I’m not sure I wanted to know the answer to this question, but part of me was curious. I shouldn’t have to be asking this, we’re both adults and we should be honest with each other.

“She’s been back to my place, but I didn’t sleep with her. I was so out of it, I didn’t even know she was there,” Jordan said. “That was the night she danced with me in Diesel.” That made me feel slightly better though I’d prefer not to have been reminded of that night if at all possible. If he’d been out of it, there was no way Jordan could have got it up, which means Jordan did not have sex.

“Any other times?” I asked. I couldn’t believe I was asking him this – I sounded so insecure, but I might as well know.

“Well, Sophie tried to kiss me, but she was off her head, so that doesn’t count,” he admitted. I was going to let that one go by. I know how much of a flirt Sophie is, and if she was on the coke, god only knows what she was like. And Jordan said ‘tried’ so obviously she didn’t get very far.

“Anyone you should tell me about?” Jordan joked. I gave him a little push in the stomach – as if he had to ask that question. 6’4 Jordan was more than enough man for me. “Only Noah, Felix and you - the three men in my life.”

“Noah?” Jordan questioned, raising one of his blond eyebrows.

“Yes, Noah. And for the record, he’s gay Jordan. He’s about as straight as the head on your hockey stick, not very.”

“I knew I could have taken him anyway if he wasn’t. He’s just not Jordan Staal,” he joked back.

“No, he’s Noah Greenbaum,” I emphasised being silly. I reached up to give him a kiss on his cheek. “Now I have to get going for lunch with Mr. Greenbaum and do my final exam.”

“Good luck or bonne chance,” Jordan said kissing me. I winced at his horrible French pronounciation before giving him a wink and walking out. Hopefully Lola had been forcibly removed from the arena and banged up in jail for breaking her restraining order.

“Merci ma cherie, à tant tôt.”