Dancing On Ice: One-Night Stand With The Hockey Captain

Anne-Marie Potter’s P.O.V

Tonight, I’m getting wasted and laid. It’s the perfect, perfect night to live like it’s my last. Living carefully, being the good girl, hasn’t taken me any further in life; in fact, it’s set me back several years. 

Completed my third year in college and had to take a gap year because my family is always in the deepest of messes—my mom’s failing health, creditors on our backs, a leaking and caving roof, or counting down to when we’ll be homeless again. One gap year spiraled into two, and still counting. Got a job at a logistics company to support my family. But, guess who has just been fired from her decent front-desk role?

Me.

Because I refused to suck that bald MF’s d*** like the other girls have been doing. He’s been harassing me for months!

As I pack my cheap office essentials in a box, my eyes travel to my office manager, Mr. Dawson, seated at his desk at the head of the office hall, his gigantic feet out and crossed on a small ottoman under his table, and filing his filthy fingernails as if he’s done any job for today. Fat lazy thing! 

According to him, I got fired because I defaulted on a task that cost him a position he’s been vying for. Maybe. But he’s had it out for me since I started turning down his advances.

“You were so good at your job… why did he get you fired?” Mabel, my sweet colleague, murmurs, sadly helping me retrieve things that I’ve lent to colleagues.

I’m always giving out favors like a fool. Always the nice girl. It ends today.

“Anne, you know, he could get you promoted real fast if you just go clubbing with him…” Rachael from PR says as she returns my mug. She’s been hoarding it for months. And in two months, she went from a zero-experience office assistant to a permanent role in PR, while I’ve been at the front desk for twelve months. I’ve also had to take on her office assistant role.

I flash her a stare and force a loathing smile.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugs, slipping my mug into my box.

“I’d rather get hit by a bus than hang out with that ugly piece of…”

“Anne?” Mabel gasps under her breath, gripping my arm.

Oops! I said that out loud.

Baldie lifts his eyes to mine, indignation flashing in them, and everyone slowly turns their eyes to me.

“Anne-Marie Potter?” He grunts, his hoarse voice scraping my ears wrong as he sits up. “ Ugly piece of what? What were you going to say?”

Rolling my eyes, I bite my inner cheek and drop my eyes, putting the last piece of my belongings into my box—a flash card. I stare at it, reading what it says:

‘Let’s work hard, make enough money, and finish up college!’

I wrote that 2 years ago. 

I worked hard. So freaking hard. Pulled all-nighters and overtimes.

I made some money, but it was gone before it even reached my account. And that fat pig over there kept cutting my pay, hoping I’d eventually give in to his pleas to be one of his playthings because his father owns the company.

“Ugly piece of shit,” I utter without lifting my head.

Muffled gasps echo through the work hall—a sound that tells me I’m digging my own grave. But I’m done giving a fu–.

“You’re going to get into trouble now, Anne-Marie…” Rachael sings in her irritating Bimbo voice.

“Actually, I won’t,” I say and yank my box off my desk, meeting her eyes. “I don’t work for that harasser anymore. The attention is all yours now. I hope you suck his d*** till he runs dry, so you can get all the promotion you want.”

Her eyes widen with horror, her face turning ashen.

I smirk in triumph and brush past her, nudging her shoulder so hard that she staggers to the floor, almost landing flat on her back. Silly thing left all the work for me to do, and gets paid for doing nothing in her air-conditioned office.

Mr. Dawson springs to his feet, his cold, unforgiving gaze on me, promising severe punishment.

Keeping my head high, eyes locked on the fat baldie’s eyes, I march past colleagues who have walked all over me for months, turning me into their slave because I always took on extra work, hoping to be compensated. All I got from them were stupid lunch coupons and vouchers that couldn’t even get me a nice skirt. 

And the idiot who’s supposed to pay me hourly kept withholding my pay, sending me texts and atrociously vulgar images of himself, bugging me to come over to his place while offering to pay me double or triple what I was owed.

“Don’t think because you no longer work for me, you’re going scot-free!” He barks, marching toward me with his potbelly, already sweating at 10:00 a.m.

My jaw ticks.

I slide my left hand around my box, hugging it against my chest. Without thinking, I pick up my breakfast bowl of oats and fling it in his face. The lid flies off first, followed by the warm, soggy oatmeal, plastering all over his face like vomit.

He freezes, hands in the air.

I let the bowl drop noisily, drowning the horrified noises of everyone behind me.

“That’s what you get for being such an awful boss and a terrible human being!”

He lunges for me. But I back away quickly, kicking him hard on his shin. He splutters a foul word, bending over so clumsily to touch his leg. 

“You know what?” I utter, holding my box with both hands. “I’m going to go fu– some random stranger at the club for free. He’s going to be freaking hot, not some awful, sweaty, unfit…” I stop myself.

Blinded by oats, he lifts his head to me. I stifle a laugh at how terrible he looks. “I’m going to ruin your life, Anne-Marie.”

“Not before I ruin yours… I could send those naked pictures of you to the police and accuse you of sexual harassment. Or I could post them online.”

His jaw falls to the ground.

Yes. I kept receipts. It didn’t matter that he sent some as view-once.

“Oh,” I turn over my shoulder, finding Rachael staring at me with hatred. “You were in one of the pictures.”

She drops her head quickly.

“And you, too, Mabel.”

Mabel goes white, turning away in shame.

In his bid to get me jealous, the fool ended up exposing everyone. Then I turn my eyes back to Mr. Dawson. “If you wanted a chance with me, being nice instead of overworking, underpaying, and harassing me would have been a start. Then, going to the gym would have increased your chances. Being competent would have moved you up the ladder. I’m actually into smart and hot men. See you never, d***head!”

I kick the bowl at his shin and storm off.

What’s so great about d***s? I’m going to get one for myself tonight to celebrate getting the heck out of this hellhole.

Wait.

I stop in my tracks and turn around, marching back into the office. Everyone freezes as soon as I enter, including Mr. Dawson with his oatface.

“Pay me all that you owe me, or I’ll post those pictures as soon as I’m out of this building. I swear to you!”

He chokes, standing upright.

“Anne-Marie?!” Mabel gasps.

I scoff with mockery, turning to her. “You might want to give him a massage for moral support. I need my money as soon as possible… I’ve actually scheduled the post for six p.m. Did that as soon as he fired me.” I confess with a shrug and turn away, heading out for good.

On the bus, determined as ever, I take my phone out and text my girlfriend. 

Me: {Omw to your place. Just got fired.}

I can’t deal with my sister and mom right now. They’ll only quench this fire burning in my chest by reminding me of all the problems and debts we’re in. I’d rather be high and dancing. It’s Friday anyway.

My phone vibrates.

Beatrice: {Bright side: You don’t have to see your horrible boss again. But what do you want? Group tears or alcohol?}

Smiling, I text back: {Both. And I might be down for something else.}

Beatrice: {What?}

Twisting my mouth and taking a deep breath, I type my response before I change my mind: {Starts with a D and ends with a K.}

I can tell she’s losing her mind. 

Pushing my fringe out of my face, I turn my phone face down and look out the window, awaiting her response. My phone buzzes, and I quickly check it. 

It’s a picture. Warmth spreads to my cheeks as I stare at an outfit she’s laid out on her bed—tiny denim shorts, a sheer shimmery silver crop top, and a pair of slutty red-bottom heels. Another message is added to our chat.

Beatrice: {We’re getting fu–ed tonight!}

“We are.”