#i do have plans to watch a las vegas golden knights team while i’m on vacay. but not at the t mobile arena cuz that shit is expensive

[lovevalley45]

i realize a flaw in establishing bright city as having a hockey team like vegas might imply they also have the raiders and for that i say no <3… i do not claim them

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 21 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Y’all deserve this one.  I’ll be at church cleansing my sins if you need me.  

Briony never got to give out Valentine’s Day cards at school because she could never afford them.  She’d get them from her fellow students, decorated with superheroes or puppies or whatever else was popular at the time, usually with a heart-shaped chocolate or a Hershey’s Kiss, but she was never able to give any out.  That was why, given the opportunity, she went out and bought really corny Valentine’s Day cards, the fold up ones that came in packs of 30, wrote one to Morgan for each day of his road trip, and hid them in his suitcase for the 13-day tour of Montreal, New York, Colorado, Las Vegas, Arizona, and St. Louis.  Bee was a bit bummed that she wasn’t able to spend time with Morgan on their first Valentine’s Day together, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about it.  

Instead, she was focused on the training she was completing for her new job.  The day after her interview, Mark Travers had called her back.  “Can you come back to my office?” he had asked.  Morgan was at morning practice, so she high-tailed it in an Uber.  When she got there, he sat her down in the same chair she sat in for the interview.  “What are your salary expectations?”  “There will be performance bonuses if you accept and do well.”  “We’re not going with the candidate from Montreal.  I would love for you to be part of our team.”  It was all very surreal, and of course, she accepted the job.  She was a junior financial analyst at Scotiabank.  Her hard work paid off in the best way possible.  Yes, she had a boyfriend, the best boyfriend in the world – but now, she had a job.  She had a career.  She had everything she had ever wanted.

Morgan was, of course, over the moon when she told him.  So over the moon, in fact, that the Leafs won their next two games against Anaheim and Ottawa.  She was able to go to both games after her training, just a short walk to the ACC from Scotia Plaza.  He asked so many questions and was so interested in everything she would be doing.  He was like a little kid in a candy store.  He wouldn’t shut up about it.  He told his teammates.  He told the wives and girlfriends (as if she hadn’t already).  He told Mike Babcock because, well, he just happened to be listening at the time.  He told the Uber Eats delivery man when he dropped off their food that night, a celebratory feast on Indian food.  He’d tell a park bench if it listened.  

But, like always, then he had to leave.  A thirteen day road trip for the team.  He cursed the fact that after all these big events, he always had to leave, and they could never properly celebrate.  They couldn’t even properly celebrate their first Valentine’s Day, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  There wasn’t exactly anything any of the other wives or girlfriends could do about it, so instead of wallowing in self-pity, Alannah had organized a “Galentine’s Day” night over at hers and Zach’s place.  The boys were facing the Vegas Golden Knights tonight, and the girls could at least watch the game together while eating junk food and sipping on mimosas and mocktails rather than spend the night alone.  

Until then, Bee found herself with Aryne, who was apparently feeling particularly stir-crazy.  There was a week of paid training before Bee assumed her full responsibilities, and in the time, Aryne made it her personal goal to meet with Bee everyday for lunch so they could check out places to eat in the financial district.  Today, they were at the Cactus Club, an import from western Canada that just opened a few blocks north of the Scotia Plaza.  Aryne had ordered them both a tuna poke bowl and non-alcoholic Valentine’s Day-themed drinks.  

They had been talking for a while, discussing who was going to be at Alannah’s place that night and what time Aryne would pick Bee up, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard from across the restaurant screaming, “Ohmigod, Aryne is that you?!”  Aryne and Bee both looked to their left, and Bee saw a beach blonde running over to them with a giant smile on her face.  

“Oh Lord,” Aryne mused under her breath as she smiled at the woman making a beeline.  

“Who’s that?” Bee asked, but it was too late.  The woman had approached their table and Aryne was smiling politely at her.

“So nice to see you here!” the woman said, bending down and giving Aryne a hug, who didn’t bother getting up from her seat.  “I can’t believe I ran into you here of all places.  What are you doing here?”

“I’m having lunch with my friend,” Aryne said.  Why else would she be in a restaurant with another person sitting across from her?  “Bee, this is Sydney.  Sydney this is Bee McTa--”

“So you’re Bee?” she said slyly, not bothering to offer her hand for a polite shake.  “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From who?” Bee asked.

“From Instagram,” Sydney said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  Bee got worried the second she mentioned it.  She didn’t even know who this Sydney was – why did she knew who Bee was?  What had she seen on Instagram that made her feel like she already knew who Bee was?  “I just love that Chanel bag that Morgan got you.”

“What have you been up to, Sydney?” Aryne intervened the split second she saw Bee’s eyebrows furrow.  “What brings you back to Toronto?”

“Well, I had my dress fitting at Kleinfeld today.  Jessica had a working lunch so I thought I’d come to Cactus Club and see what the food’s like,” she explained.  Bee had no idea who Jessica was and she wasn’t inclined in the slightest to ask.

“Jessica who?  Mulroney?” Aryne asked.

“Of course, Aryne.  Who else?” Sydney smiled.  “Anyway, the second dress was already ordered in Southampton so we’re waiting for that to come in for alterations as well.  Then there’s the veil and the flower wall and just, like, so many other things.”

“Should’ve eloped,” Aryne winked.

“Boomer wouldn’t want that,” she giggled, turning her attention back to Bee.  “You must know my fiancé Matt?  Or my father Boomer Esiason?”

Bee didn’t understand.  Did Sydney just ‘my father’ her a la Meghan McCain?  Was she just name-dropping people in the hopes that Bee would recognize who she was?  Why would she want anyone to recognize her?  Bee shook her head.  “I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“My fiancé is Matt Martin.  He plays for the Islanders.  He was on the Leafs last year,” her tone was light but she spoke in short sentences, talking to Bee like she was an idiot.  “Do you not know about hockey?”

“Not a lot, actually,” Bee tried to keep her voice as cordial as possible.  She could see Aryne trying to suppress a smirk.  “I’m usually too busy with work to learn about other teams, so I just stick to the Leafs.”

“Oh…” Sydney was taken aback by Bee’s answer, by Bee’s lack of interest in who she was, in Bee’s lack of caring about anything to do with her.  

“Bee’s a financial analyst with Scotiabank,” Aryne informed Sydney.

“And Morgan’s okay with that?”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine.  “Why wouldn’t he be okay with that?”

“Morgan earns more than enough money for the both of you.  All the hockey players I know would love to have their girlfriends at home with them to help with the hockey schedule.  You know how boys are so dependent,” she tried to turn it into a joke.  “They can be so useless sometimes.”

Maybe her boy was dependent, but Morgan could get by on his own.  Bee didn’t like the insinuation that he was the only one that mattered in the relationship and that her needs took second place to his.  That’s not the way she lived her life, ever, and that’s not the way she and Morgan acted in their relationship.  “Morgan loves that I have my own career,” Bee said definitively, taking a sip of water to prevent her from saying anything else she might regret.

Sydney smiled politely.  “Well, I won’t keep you two much longer,” she gave a half smile to Bee before focusing on Aryne.  “Look for the invitation to come late May.  It’s going to be in Southampton.  We’ll provide hotel details.”

“Good luck with the rest of the planning,” Aryne smiled before Sydney walked away, readjusting a Prada bag on her shoulder.  Aryne looked back at Bee and gave her a look.  “Sorry about that.  I thought we’d be safe here.”

“Is she always like that?  Namedropping Jessicas and Boomers and who her husband is?” Bee asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Aryne rolled her eyes slightly.  “Her dad was a pro football player and now she’s getting married to Matt.  He played for the Islanders with John, then played in Toronto for two years, but now he’s back on the island.  She’s really close with Steph.”

Bee tried not to roll her eyes.  She didn’t like those types of people – those that would namedrop to get what they want or so they could let you know who they were.  It actually did say a lot about who they were, and to Bee, it wasn’t that good.  She didn’t even like it when Morgan did it all those months ago at Cibo.  “What did she mean she saw me on Instagram?” Bee asked.

“Well obviously we’ve been uploading pictures and stuff,” Aryne said, taking her phone out of her purse.  “But then there’s like, the fanpages or whatever.  She stalks them a bit to see what they say about her and Matt.”

“The what?”

“The fanpages.  You know, like the girls who somehow get a hold of our pictures and then post them on their accounts?” she phrased it as more of a question.  When she saw the confused look on Bee’s face, she shook her head.  “Oh come on Bee.  You have to know about them.”

“I know about the girls who send me messages telling me I’m fat and Morgan’s my sugardaddy,” she said bluntly.  Aryne knew about them too.  They laughed about them together.  “I don’t know about these so called fan-pages.  How do they get the pictures if our profiles are private?”

“Oh, they find their ways,” Aryne typed something into her phone and swiped through a few screens.  “It’s nothing horrible.  They literally just post pictures.  But…yeah.  Here’s you,” she said, showing Bee her phone over the table.

Bee took Aryne’s phone in her hands and swiped through the post from @theladyleafsoftoronto: ten pictures stolen from her Instagram account, from Ashley’s Instagram, and even from Lucy’s private one somehow.  Group shots of her with the girls.  None of her and Morgan together, thankfully, because those were few and far in between.  She had just posted her first one, series of photos of them together in Vancouver, after they got back from their trip.  She’d cleared her Instagram like Angie told her to, and she hoped they wouldn’t get out.

“Check out at NHL wives and girlfriends,” Aryne said the name of another account before she stuffed her face with contents of her poke bowl.  “Those girls should work for CSIS.”

Bee punched the handle into the search bar and immediately saw the account.  She didn’t have to scroll far to see the two different posts, each with another series of photos and videos of her.  Twenty total.  They had screengrabbed Instagram stories of her and Morgan kissing from Auston’s New Years Eve party and others, Boomerangs from Halloween in their costumes, and even went so far as to include one of the oldest pictures of herself she had posted to Instagram.  They were crazy.  And somehow – yup, of course, of-fucking-course – the series of photos of her and Morgan together from Vancouver were on there.  She didn’t even want to know how they got there.

“Wait…” Bee said as she noticed one specific picture.  Their backs were to the camera and they were standing on the seawall on Kitsilano Beach, where Andy brought them when they landed in Vancouver.  “That’s…that’s not…”

“What’s wrong?”

“One of these is Shirley’s picture,” she said.  “Shirley…she only posts to Facebook.  You mean to tell me they stalk her Facebook?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Aryne shrugged her shoulders.  “I told you.  They should work for CSIS.  They could get information on anyone.  Hell, if you didn’t even have an online presence they’d still find you.”

It was at that point, staring at the candid picture Shirley had taken of them in Vancouver, that Bee realized there was nothing she or Morgan could do about it.  Absolutely nothing.  They could switch on every privacy button they could, they could refuse to post – none of it mattered.  It would still end up somewhere.  It would still end up on an Instagram profile with almost 10,000 followers and fifty comments on the post.  It was completely out of their control.

So why bother?

“Jesus,” Bee shivered slightly, and it wasn’t because of the cold outside.  She handed Aryne’s phone back to her.  “I didn’t know…I mean, these girls must have a lot of time on their hands.”

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s not a big deal.  It happens to us all.  They all find it somehow.  The more you come to just accept that it’s gonna happen, the less freaked out you get when it does happen,” Aryne explained.  “The fact that you don’t care what they say helps, too.  Yours and Morgan’s relationship is strong and you’re better than what they say about you.  Other girls aren’t as strong as you.”

***

Bee had received a text with a picture of every Valentine Morgan found on his 13 day road trip followed by a heart and a message of “I can’t wait to see you”.  Now that he was finally on his way home, Bee sent him a text back: “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

She was restless.  All she wanted was him with her, beneath her, above her, beside her, behind her – she didn’t fucking care at this point.  She wanted touch him and to feel him so desperately she was willing to jump his bones the second he got in the door.  Hell, she’d meet him down in the parking garage if it meant getting her hands on him.  But with the last ounce of self-restraint she had, she put on her blush coloured baby doll lingerie set and waited for him on the bed.  

Even as she heard the door open and shut, she stayed in her position.  “Bumblebee?” Morgan called out, the sound of his bag hitting the floor loud in the quietness of the apartment.

“In here!”

She heard his footsteps make their way to the bedroom.  When he opened the door, he was greeted with her, sitting on the bed on her knees in her lingerie.  He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene before him.  “Well well well…happy belated Valentine’s Day to me,” he hummed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby,” she smiled, noticing he had something in his hand.  “What’s that?”

“Your valentines,” he said.  “Wanted to give you a kiss for every one you left me, but it seems like you have other plans in mind,” he licked his lips.  “I’ve never seen this before.”

“I was keeping it a secret.”

“Oh were you,” he sauntered over to her, making a come hither motion with his finger.  She moved towards the edge of the bed where he was standing, slipping her arms around his neck.  “I mean it.  Thirteen kisses,” he mumbled, grabbing hold of the flesh at her hips before giving her the first kiss.  “I love the pink,” he mumbled.

“I knew you would,” she said, biting his bottom lip.  “God, I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too, Briony.  But I’m home now.”

She kissed him again, unable to wait any longer.  They definitely gave each other more than thirteen kisses as they made out, but she wasn’t exactly complaining.  Morgan’s hands on her flesh were intoxicating and all she wanted to feel.  She wasted no time in ridding him of his clothes.  He moved quickly to put the valentines on the dresser so he wouldn’t lose them.  

“Lie on the bed,” she directed him when he came back.

“What?”

“I said lie on the bed,” she repeated as she made way for him to do just that.

“What are you --”

“Can you stop asking questions and just lie on the bed!” she giggled, pulling him down so he had no choice.  Crawling in between his legs, she couldn’t help but smile as he put his hands behind his head to view her.  She grabbed a pillow for him so he could use it in place of his hands.  She needed his hands for this.  “Did your cock miss me?”

“Mmmm, you have no idea,” he said, his voice low.  

She helped him out of his boxer-briefs and scratched her nails teasingly down his thighs.  When she finally grabbed hold of his cock, she smiled before kissing the head gently.  Morgan bit down on his lip as he looked at her.  “C’mon baby.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, a devilish smile on her face.  “Nice and slow.”

He glared at her momentarily.  “Excuse me?”

“Nice and slow,” she repeated, her eyes flashing with revenge.  “I can tease too, you know.”

“What are you – wha…” he didn’t understand what she was trying to say, but then it hit him.  This was payback.  ‘Nice and slow’ was payback for their little impromptu rendezvous before Auston’s New Year’s Eve party, where he’d teased her so achingly slow with his fingers.  “Baby, please --”

“No,” she said definitively, licking the underside of his cock, but pulling away right after.  “Nice.  And.  Slow.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.  He knew he was going to pay for that one day.

 True to word, miraculously, she worked on his cock slow and steady, making sure to take her time with the foreplay and use all of her tricks that she knew would drive him wild: the moaning, the dirty talk, even the simple act of catching his eye while his cock was in her mouth and rolling them to the back of her head in pleasure.  His body felt like it was a thousand degrees as she worked her magic.  

When she began to take him deeper into her mouth and throat, he made sure to gather her hair in his hand as he guided her up and down his shaft.  Like always, his eyes rolled back when she would gag slightly, but because she was taking this all nice and slow, everything seemed heightened.  She was thoroughly enjoying herself and taking her time, and by her actions he knew she wasn’t forcing herself to do anything she was uncomfortable doing.  

“Feeling good, baby?” she asked quickly before taking him into her mouth again.

He grunted in appreciation, tightening his grip on her hair slightly.  “You’re so fucking good.”

She moaned a little before she sucked him from base to tip, ending with a pop.  “I wanna taste you baby.”

His breathing was hot and heavy.  “W-What?” he stuttered out.

“I want you to cum down my throat baby.  I want to taste you,” she cooed.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he moaned out, but before he could say anything else, she took him deep in her throat quickly, gagging, and he actively had to think about something else to prevent him from exploding right then and there.  He caught her eye as she looked up at him.  “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

She giggled.  “Good,” she said before continuing her actions.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before he began to lose control.  He tightened his grip on her hair one last time before he rocked his hips so he could push himself even deeper into her throat.  After one last moan and one last gag, she felt him shoot his hot load into her throat.  His breathing was erratic, his sighs more high-pitched than normal, and Bee let out a satisfied sound as she swallowed every bit of him.  

She continued sucking until she felt him get soft, ending with another pop and another devilish grin on her face.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Morgan.”

“Hap…Hap…” he tried to speak, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t even think straight.  “I can’t…I can’t…” he repeated, worried, still on a high.  He didn’t know what to do.  He couldn’t move, but he knew the night couldn’t end here.  No way.  He never wanted to not make her come, especially for Valentine’s Day celebration, but after doing so himself, like that, he didn’t know how long he’d have to take to recuperate.  Needless to say, he didn’t exactly want to wait either.  

“C’mon Morgan,” she whispered, her voice breathy and low, her lips grazing against his ear.  

His brain was fucking mush.  He wasn’t even sure where he was to be honest.  “I…I…” he tried to formulate a coherent thought, completely spent and still trying to catch his breath.

“C’mon baby.  I’m all dressed up,” she taunted him.

He watched her as she slipped her hand underneath her panties and began to touch herself.  He regained enough semblance of a conscience to realize he didn’t want her to be doing that.  He wanted to be the one.  “Stop,” he said as firmly as he could.  

She did as she was told.  She looked at him and a small smile crept onto her lips.  “How do you want me?” she asked.  

Just by the way she phrased it he was ready to explode again right then and there.  “Get on your knees,” he said, and she followed instructions, lying back on her knees to face him.  “Other way,” he directed, watching the surprise spread across her face as she did what she was told yet again.  

Finally regaining enough consciousness, he got on his knees too, getting behind her so her back was flush with his chest.  He wrapped his left arm around her slowly, making sure his fingers grazed her skin underneath the material of the babydoll.  His right hand was already playing with the lacy material of her underwear.  He kissed his way along her shoulder and up her neck until he got to her ear.  “You trust me?” he asked.

Bee nodded her head.  “I trust you.”

He gave her another tender kiss on her neck, his right hand already reaching over and slipping into the front of her panties to tease her hot core.  She jumped at his touch, knowing what he was about to do.  “I’m gonna start with one,” he whispered in her ear.

“Two.”

A shiver went up his spine.  “Two?”

She nodded her head.  “I want it so bad.”

He sighed contently, chuckling to himself at the desperation in her voice.  He began teasing her with two fingers, playing with her slick folds and rubbing circles on her clit as he continued to kiss and bite the skin along her neck and shoulders, definitely leaving marks.  He could feel her getting wetter with each passing moment and, lacking all self-control, he didn’t wait to push his fingers inside of her.  

She moaned at the action, grinding her hips against his hand as much as possible.  She snaked her hand along Morgan’s arm that wrapped around her body and intertwined her fingers with his.  “Fuck, Mo.”

“Feel good?” he bit down on her neck.

Bee could only nod her head as he curled his fingers in her, hitting the spot that made her shake in pleasure.  “Feels so fucking good,” she managed to breathe out.

His kisses were a mix of tender and hungry; his bites both loving and heated.  He bit his way back up to her ear.  “Are you gonna be a good girl for me Briony?” he asked.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes.  “Yes.”

“Are you gonna take more?”

“Yes.  Yes,” she said, desperate, grinding her hips again.  “Please Mo.  I want more.”

He slipped another finger in, now three fingers deep in her.  Bee shouted out slightly at the sensation, adjusting to the new feeling as much as she could before her body began reacting before her brain could.  A warm shiver went up her spine and she leaned back into Morgan, his chest slick with sweat.  “You okay?” he asked quickly.

“Go harder, Morgan.”

Was it possible to self-combust?  Because between the blowjob and this, he was sure he was going to spontaneously self-combust right then and there on the bed.  She knew just the right tone to use in her voice when she begged to drive him wild.  “You’re fucking desperate, aren’t you?”

“Please Morgan,” she begged again, bringing her free hand up to yank at his hair, pulling him so she could give him a sloppy kiss.  

His fingers continued to curl inside her and she moaned out in pleasure.  This time, he tightened the grip his arm had around her body, limiting her movement so she couldn’t grind against his hand as much.  He knew how much she liked when he held her hips down while he ate her out, making sure the responsibility of her pleasure was in his hands the most, and he figured she’d enjoy it just as much in this situation too.  A whine escaped her as she realized what he was doing; despite her best effort, she wasn’t able to grind down as much.  “Harder,” she panted out.

Losing any semblance of restraint he had left, he began pumping his three fingers in and out of her quickly, much to her wish and indulgence.  Her moans were loud and desperate, long and throaty, while, by some miracle, he was still rubbing against her clit and he was still kissing and biting down on the sensitive skin on her neck.  It was all too much for her – the different sensations in different places – and her body became hot and she could feel her orgasm already building as Morgan continued to work.  “Morgaaaaaaannnnn,” she elongated his name, pleading with him to continue exactly what he was doing.  

“You like that, huh,” he mumbled against her skin, making her nod her head.  “You’re so fucking desperate for me to fuck you like this.”

“Morgan, please,” she didn’t know what else to say.  She knew it was all she was saying but she could barely form a coherent thought.  This was so unlike anything they’d ever done; although he had fingered her before, it was never like this.  It was never this hot and this steamy and this raw.  She was so close she felt like she was going to explode already.  “I’m so close.”

“Then make a fucking mess, Briony.”

That’s it.  She’s lost it.  She cried out loudly, repeating his name over and over again as he curled his fingers in her one last time, making sure it lasted as long as it could as she collapsed against his body, her head leaning back onto his shoulder.  Her legs felt like jelly and her hair stuck against his skin.  

His fingers were still in her and her thighs were wet as he gave her a tender kiss.  “You’re such a good girl for me.  Always such a good girl,” he whispered.

“Again.”

He stopped momentarily.  He wasn’t expecting to hear that.  “What?”

“More.  And again.”

The shock was written all over his face, but she couldn’t see because between not facing him and her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she couldn’t see much of anything.  “I…you want more?” he clarified.

“Keep going,” she nodded her head.  “I want more.  Keep going until I can’t scream anymore.”

In a snap second he realized what she was asking him to do.  “Are you sure?” he asked one more time.

“Positive.  Go wild, baby.”

He practically growled at her request, tightening his grip around her once more and starting to move his fingers in and out of her again.  “You gonna take it all like a good girl?”

“Like your good girl.”

“Mmmmm, that’s right.  You’re my good girl,” he licked at her jawline.  “You ready?”

Bee nodded her head.  She whimpered when he curled his fingers and began pounding them into her even harder than before.  She felt so warm and wet and the sounds they were making, the moaning and the screaming and the panting, the squelching of her wetness against his hands, it was all so hot and heavy and neither Morgan nor Bee could get enough.  “Mooorrrrgaaannnnn, fuck you’re so good baby,” she cried out.

“You want to come again, Briony?  So desperate for me to make you come again?” he tormented her.

“Yes baby.  Over and over.”

“Over and over till you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Yes!” she screamed out, apparently loving the idea.  “Yes baby.  Because of you.  Only you get to do this to my pussy.”

“You gonna make another mess?”

“Yes.  Yes Morgan.  Always.”

“You gonna come for me?”

“Only for you baby,” she turned her head as much as possible to kiss him.  “Don’t stop, baby.  Keep going until I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Morgan did just that.  Over and over Bee cried out, losing control, screaming, panting, her body being shattered as waves of pleasure continually washed over her, non-stop, especially after Morgan slipped a fourth finger into her, stretching her completely and filling her like she hadn’t been filled before.  Her body felt like it was on fire as Morgan held her up in his arm, but the constant state of orgasm and the more overstimulation she felt, the more her body began to feel like it was going to collapse onto the bed at any given moment.  

The longer they went, the more orgasms she had, and the longer they went, the more Morgan recovered and began to feel hard again.  He didn’t even know how long they’d been going for, but because of the overstimulation, his non-stop movements, and the fact that Bee hadn’t been silent since they started, he also wasn’t truly sure how many orgasms she’d had.  “How many?”

She didn’t answer at first.  She couldn’t answer.  She was so wrecked she didn’t know words were a thing she could use.  “How many, Briony?” Morgan repeated.

“I d’know,” she let out quickly.  

“You wanted this baby.  How many?” he demanded an answer from her.  

“I don’t…I don’t know,” her moans were broken, her skin shining from the sweat.  “It’s so much.”  A rose flush had taken over her body.  His fingers hadn’t stopped.  She was too concentrated on the feeling; the feeling of pleasure but also the feeling of being completely lost to another person, her pleasure in his control, and feeling one hundred percent safe about it.  

“C’mon baby, you can keep going,” he encouraged her.  

“Morgan,” she cried out, so hot and so wet and so…so willing to keep going.

“C’mon, you can do it again, huh?  Like a good girl?  Like my good girl?”  His voice was soft instead of demanding, filled with love instead of forcing her to do something.  

“Y…Yes,” she panted out.  All she knew was that she was close, she was so close, but she wasn’t done yet.  It was a lot, almost too much, definitely more than she had ever felt before, but she wanted to keep going.  

“That’s my good girl,” Morgan cooed as he placed a kiss on her temple.  “I’m almost ready, okay?  But you’re being such a good girl.”

“Fuck me when you’re ready,” her voice was hoarse and strained.  

“Don’t worry baby.  I’ll fill you up like I always do.  Stretch that pretty pussy how you like it.”

“Mmmmmmm fuck, keep going Morgan.  Keep going,” she whimpered.  

“C’mon baby, you can take it.  You can take it,” Morgan hummed as he began moving his fingers inside her again.  She was so sensitive that any movement sent her over the edge quickly.  She cried out his name over and over, his fingers and her thighs absolutely fucking soaked, and it wasn’t long before he felt her walls clench around his fingers again, and again, and again.  

Finally, finally, the arm keeping her up loosened, his hand going to his cock to stroke himself and get him as hard as he could.  She immediately collapsed down, hitting the sheets as he teased at her entrance.  It wasn’t long before he pulled her by her hair, slick with the sweat from their bodies, and brought her back to be flush with his chest.  “Are you okay baby?” he asked.  She barely nodded her head.  “One more?”

She closed her eyes, another barely there nod.  “I need your cock deep inside me.”

He entered her in one quick go, gasping at how fucking wet she was and how fucking easy it was to slide in to her aching, hot pussy as she collapsed on the bed again, ass up in the air for him.  He knew he wasn’t going to last long, his hard thrusts burying his cock deep inside of her.  She screamed and moaned and whimpered over every movement, practically sobbing at the feeling of feeling completely and absolutely wrecked by Morgan.  When she felt his hot cum squirt inside her, one last orgasm – after way too many to count – ripped through her body, sending her into one last rush of pleasure before Morgan collapsed on top of her body, cock softening inside her but refusing to pull out.

It was a long time before they came back down to earth.  Bee’s heart was threatening beat right out of her chest, the overstimulation still running rampant through her, especially since Morgan’s cock was still inside her.  She took some deep breaths to try and calm herself.  When Morgan’s arm wrapped around her and he shifted their bodies slightly so he was spooning her, he placed tender kisses along her shoulder, now absolutely ravaged with red hickeys and bite marks, and she felt her heartbeat slow down a bit.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered.

At first, she could only nod her head.  Her throat was so dry it hurt to speak.  She wondered if she would have a voice tomorrow.  “I’m okay.”

“You did so good baby.  You were so good for me,” he cooed, giving her another tender kiss.  “Always such a good girl.”

She couldn’t get enough of him calling her his good girl.  She knew she was always good for him, to him, but he was good to her and for her, too.  She twisted her body so she could somewhat see him yet still keep his cock inside her.  She was absolutely spent, just absolutely destroyed, but she wanted to see the face of the man who made her feel this way; the face of the man who indulged her every want but always kept her needs in mind.  “Thank you, baby,” she whispered.  She wouldn’t have been confident doing this with anybody else, and for that, she was truly thankful.  She could completely lose herself to him and know she would be safe.  She knew he would explore this with her but always keep her in control.  

“Thank you, baby,” he kissed her.  “I love you so much.  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.  No, you didn’t hurt me.  It was better than what I wanted.  I love you too.”

“You wanna clean u--”

“No,” Bee said as he began to move.  Her desperate hand on his skin stopped his movements.  She knew it probably wasn’t the best decision but she didn’t care.  “I don’t care right now.  Just stay here with me.”

Morgan nestled back into her, arm draping over her body as he pulled her close against his chest, their bodies still slick with sweat.  She’d kill him once she realized what her shoulders and neck looked like, but for now, all he could do was kiss the skin peppered with love bites until they both drifted off to sleep.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Back To You (2)// Auston Matthews

A/N: Ask and you shall receive. Thank you so much for all of the love and support on the first part! You guys are seriously incredible. If you want more, don’t hesitate to let me know. 

You woke up the next morning and momentarily forgot where you were. But the moment you felt the body next to yours, it all came flooding back. You turned your head, Auston was fast asleep next to you. He looked so peaceful and somehow younger. You felt sick again, you wished you could blame your actions last night on alcohol, but you’d been sober.

Carefully, you pushed Auston’s arm off you and sat up. All you wanted to do was nuzzle back into his chest and stay like that for the rest of the morning, but you knew you needed to get out of there. You couldn’t be here when he woke up. You weren’t ready for that conversation. You weren’t prepared for the fact that he might regret it too.

After all, he was the one who broke up with you. You no longer cared if he swore he did it for you. The fact was, he’d broken up with you and left you all alone. You hadn’t even originally planned on taking the job in Vegas, not because of Auston, but because Toronto was your home. And you also knew you could work you way up in the Leafs origination and get to the point that you were at in Vegas. But he’d never even given you the chance to explain it to him that night. He’d made the decision for you.

You felt like you could throw up. You wished you’d never seen him last night. You hated yourself for talking to him, and kissing him, and letting him bring you back to his room. However, what made you hate yourself even more, was the way you liked every minute of it.

You tried to get up from the bed as carefully as possible, but the moment you felt him stirring, you knew you were sunk. Maybe if you moved fast enough, you could get out of there before he fully woke up. Maybe you still had a shot.

“Y/N, what are you-“ Auston stopped mid-sentence and sat up,” You’re leaving.”

You shook your head and tried to collect all of your clothes,” Last night shouldn’t have happened. I- I made a mistake.”

You were trying to sound sure of yourself, but all you wanted to do was cry. You wanted to crawl back into bed with him and just let him hold you like he used too. You wanted him to help you make sense out of everything that had happened.

“Y/N, I thought,” He sighed and started to get out of the bed,” I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

In the light of day things seemed so much more real. You couldn’t even begin to understand everything you were feeling. In part because you couldn’t process what had happened last night. Or maybe because you still weren’t sure what happened between the two of you in the first place.

You’d gone from being so incredibly in love one minute, to him yelling at you to leave the next. Suddenly, now you were here and for once, he looked like the broken one.

“I shouldn’t be here,” You stated,” I’m here for my job Auston, not to have a one-night stand with you.”

“That’s not! Y/N! Can you just-”

You shook your head, you didn’t want to hear any of it. You couldn’t hear any of it. All you could think about was getting out of that room. You pulled your dress back over your head and backed away from the bed slowly.

“I can’t be here,” Your voice was shaky,” I have to go.”

Before Auston could say anything or make another move, you turned and ran out of the hotel room. You knew by the time Auston put clothes on, you could be half way to your room. But that was only if you didn’t stop running until you got to the elevator.

You could feel your throat tightening up, making it hard to breathe. You didn’t want to be that girl who cried like this, but you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t stop the sobs that came once the elevator door slid closed.

Your hand covered your mouth as you slid down the wall to the floor. Your curled up in a ball and just let yourself cry. You knew you had to pull yourself together before the elevator stopped though, you were here for work, you had to at least try to act professional. Even if you were in the middle of a massive walk of shame.

You looked up and saw that you were getting close to your floor. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you pushed yourself off of the floor. You forced yourself to stop crying and then wiped away your tears. You weren’t going to let anyone see you fall apart if you could help it.

You finished gathering yourself by the time the elevator doors opened. You took a deep breath before stepping out of the elevator. Your room was just down the hall, so lucky you didn’t have far to go. Maybe no one would see you and you could just disappear for a while, just until you had to start work for the day.

You made it to your room and automatically went to the bathroom. You needed to shower and hopefully forget. The problem was that you still loved Auston. He was the one that you couldn’t get out of your head. Probably because there had been a time when you thought he was the one you’d spend the rest of your life with.

You’d never been able to understand how someone could wallow in misery like this, until suddenly you were one of those people. You’d been in anguish after the breakup, because it’d all happened so fast and you didn’t know how you were supposed to start over in a new place, without having him to fall back on. Now, you didn’t know what to do now that he was seemingly back in your life. Especially now that there was a possibility that you could go back to Toronto.

You tried to calm yourself down while you were in the shower but ended up sitting on the floor with your knees hugged to your chest. You hated feeling like this. You didn’t want to feel like this, at all.

After the water in the shower turned cold, you started to prepare for the long day of press you had to do. You knew you’d have to put your personal shit aside and do your job, even if it meant being near him. How were you supposed to look at him?

Auston was the only person that you’d ever had sex with. Hell, he was the first person that you ever actually loved. Maybe that’s why it hurt so bad. You’d given him your heart and never got it back.

“Are you okay?” Sydney Crosby asked, walking up to you at breakfast.

“Y/N?” Marc-Andre, who was sitting across from you, questioned when you didn’t reply.

“I fucked up,” You mumbled,” God, I really fucked up.”

You looked up from your coffee and at the two men. Syd looked at Marc-Andre for a brief second before pulling out a chair and sitting down at your table. You didn’t know Sydney as well, but you knew he was a good guy. He’d already told you, after you’d taken a trip to Cole Harbor last summer, that he saw you as a little sister. Most of the players that you knew said the same thing. You liked having a family like that.

“What happened?” Syd asked.

You looked over at Flower, you could tell by the way he was looking at you that he already had an idea. You picked at the bagel you’d gotten to eat. You weren’t sure if you could even say it. You’d done some pretty stupid shit, but this was by far the worst.

“I left with Auston last night,” You told them quietly.

“Y/N-“

You cut Flower off,” I knew it was stupid. Jesus, I knew I shouldn’t gone with him,” You groaned,” It’s not like I can say I was drunk either, because I was nowhere near drunk.”

“Then why did you?” Syd asked.

“Because I still love him, even after everything,” You shrugged,” And I told him I got an offer from Toronto. They want me to come back and essentially run their all their media.”

“Are you going to take it?” Flower asked you.

“I don’t think I can now. I can’t exactly work with my ex, not after I slept with him last night,” You cringed even saying it.

“Okay, what if it wasn’t about him? If he wasn’t there, and if you didn’t have to think about it, where would you go?” Syd tried to help.

“I don’t think it works like that Syd,” You replied.

“No, seriously Vegas or Toronto?”

You sighed and thought about it for a second,” I love Las Vegas. Flower, you know I love working with all of you. You’re my family,” You promised,” But-“

“Toronto is home,” Marc-Andre finished for you,” It’s okay. Sometimes home is where you need to be.”

“Toronto is home,” You replied,” But going home would be so much easier if I didn’t still love him.”

Lucky for you, you weren’t covering any of the events that Auston was in, meaning you could hide out in the media room when he was around. You knew in some ways you were acting like a child, but you were trying to get your job done in any way that you could.

By midafternoon, you’d done almost everything that you could do until the next event that one of the Golden Knights would be in. You packed your laptop in your bag and made your way back into the rink. You wanted to actually watch a couple events, rather than be focused on reporting what was happening during them.

You had fun watching the skills and updating official accounts as to what was going on. You’d always thought that this was one of the best parts about your job. But you couldn’t help but wonder what would change if you went back to Toronto.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t matter where you decided to go, your life was going to change. Either way you knew everything would be different. You knew that part of it went back to Auston. Most of it went back to Auston.

But either way, you had a decision to make. Go to Toronto and try to face him and everyone else. Finally get your dream job with the team you’d loved since you were a little girl. Or, stay put in Vegas and keep hiding. Sure, your current job was amazing, but it would take years to get a position like Toronto was offering you.

“What are you going to do Y/N?” You asked yourself that night,” Stay? Or go back to him?”

You played with your hands and tried to come to a decision. You weren’t being pressured by either team to give an answer, but you knew you needed too as soon as possible. Your lease in Vegas would run out in the next two months. If you didn’t take the job you needed to renew it or find a new place. If you took the job in Toronto, you needed to make arrangements. You’d need to find a new place and move all your shit.

You started to feel oddly overwhelmed. You hadn’t had time to think about all of this last time. But now it all seemed too much.  How were you supposed to make a decision like this all on your own? You were supposed to be an adult, but right now you couldn’t help but feel like a little kid.

You were just about to fall asleep when your phone lit up with a text. One glance was enough to make your heart break all over again.

A Matts: Can you meet me downstairs? I promise, I just want to talk. Please.

[the-penalty-box]

Wasteland Wonderland

Every now and then, I run into a place that crawls under my skin more than others.  Maybe there’s a point to its existence, culture, or character that I feel a kinship with, some defining element that I can’t resist.  Trite and tired though it might be, there’s truth in saying that “one man’s trash is another’s treasure,” particularly if the so-called trashy parts are embraced as not flaws, but features. 

I ended up in Las Vegas by chance, to be honest.  The city was chosen by another party for another purpose, but I went happily when asked and I elected to explore.  The more I observed beforehand, the more the world seemed to possess a dramatic split in attitudes toward the place - one either hated the noise and neon of a tourist trap, or loved the historic hedonism of a city where anonymity allowed for some interesting things.  Maybe for some, it was a bit of both - a love of Vegas proper, so long as the technically unincorporated Strip was left off the menu. Personally, it’s hard for me to complain.  The projected philosophy here would appear to be rooted in a stubborn pursuit of pleasure in spite of everything, an outlook that matches my own only too well.  I have long been of the opinion that we’re all here to die, that we ought to make the most of what we have and love it, even as we let it go.  Las Vegas, for me, embodies those ideas and turns them into a tangible catharsis.

The geography and climate help to augment this perception.  People from all over the world convene in the middle of nowhere for a perpetual party.  Neon lights and borrowed landmarks rise from the arid expanse of the Mojave Desert in sudden, clean lines - dry lake beds and dust storms be damned - an ostentatious, inorganic middle finger to the forces of nature. Thematically, it’s an oasis waiting for an apocalypse and living accordingly. For one thing, more than almost anywhere I’ve been, this is a place that truly does not sleep.  Many businesses and restaurants close at the expected hours, but the general modus operandi elsewhere is one without last calls or closing times - nothing to kick you out or cut you off.  If you'd like to keep going until sunrise (or mid-morning, or the next afternoon, or until you just fall over dead), you’re allowed and encouraged.

There’s also an unselfconscious openness in the body language of just about everyone, thanks no doubt to the vast quantity of diverse visitors and interesting nightlife venues.  Jeans, sandals, and fanny packs occupy the same elevators as sleek suits and cocktail dresses.   Lovers of every orientation make out publicly on the sidewalks, palms going slack around open containers while they forget everything in their periphery.  Makeup too loud and skirts too short for anywhere else are just ornamentation on another person  - nothing to stir judgment or condescension.  There is no shame in it, no reason to wonder why so many people come here (yes, in my opinion, even if they only begin by dealing with the Strip). As honest as it is about its vices, there’s a mysterious quality to Vegas too - an amorphous surrealism that might suck you in even without the influence of certain substances.  I call it the “perfect void” sensation, a feeling of having fallen off the map without care or consequence, like dying without being dead, simply subject to whatever strange experiences might find you.  You need only be open and curious, and maybe a little appreciative of your good luck.

Of course, the extremes of such surreal circumstance may vary.  Decades prior, one could look from their hotel windows to watch mushroom clouds blossoming skyward from the nearby nuclear test site.  A handful of weekends ago, I woke to a state of lockdown in my tower owing to a standoff with a shooter on the Strip in our immediate proximity.  With news of one fatality, the event lasted hours before the suspect surrendered and the surrounding premises reopened.  (I was later told the Chicago Cubs were holed up in the neighboring Cosmo, the prominent edifice seen here on the left.)  In the meantime, I waited and watched and snapped cell phone pics of the empty streets and police barricades below. The previous night?  A guy wearing a pig mask robbed a Rolex store in the Bellagio - with a few accomplices and a sledgehammer.  My boyfriend and I were out at the time, searching for food and entertainment along the same block, when we passed a SWAT team on foot.  In later hearing what had transpired, we dubbed the incident “Oceans Pork.”

Let’s not forget, the Raiders’ move has been made official.  Though we’ve continually encountered fan celebrations (amidst numerous ESPN live setups), I’m also happy to report a solid contingent of people decked out in Golden Knights gear, eager to support the incoming NHL team.  I’m not sure what I anticipated, but Vegas is wonderfully strange and surprising; why shouldn’t hockey flourish in the desert, along with everything else in this nonsensical paradise? And you’ll make friends in the desert, oh, yes - people who transition from total stranger to perfect co-conspirator over the course of an evening.  Maybe it’s the happy hours that start at 2:00 PM or 2:00 AM, the discovery of alcohol cheaper than water in a place so dependently fueled by Lake Mead.  In my case, we were indulging ourselves on a private bus for a likewise private occasion when it become all too clear that our evening couldn’t end with the planned meal ahead. There was a blur of arcade games, of fountains, of a roller coaster ride at midnight.  For whatever reason, I became team captain, guiding our moves and proposing spur-of-the-moment solutions with regard to whatever we got up to next.  The tower, then, was probably my fault; we eventually holed up with too much liquid ammunition and too much fun and a complete lack of certainty that I’ll ever know what happened to my beloved jacket.

I’m new, I know that.  I’m a traveler who sometimes attaches heavily to places that have had nothing to do with me prior to the moment.  Still, I wander around enough that first impressions make a difference to me, and I can say without hesitation that, personally, Las Vegas was one of the most immediately friendly cities I’ve encountered.  So warm, so flirtatious, and so without a damn to give that I can’t help but fall a little in love. After all, I was born on the edge of the desert, taken away too soon and raised in the northern U.S., a neighbor to Canada instead of the canyons.  I’m not ungrateful (that’s how all things hockey happened, no doubt), but every time I come back here, something in my chest aches.

A lot of our lives are owed to luck, and much of our challenges due to chance.  In a world where none of us are getting out alive, I can’t help but think it’s best that we enjoy what we can. Las Vegas, I look forward to getting to know more of you. To everyone else?  Have fun.  Be yourself at the loudest volume.

[thrashermaxey]

Injury Ward: Updates on Klingberg, Raanta, Kings’ Goalies, and more…

Are you tired of being the last manager in your league to hear about an injury? Frustrated that someone else snagged Miro Heiskanen when the Stars announced John Klingberg would be out for four weeks? Well, do I have a solution for you! Follow me on Twitter @BrennanDeSouza for the latest injury updates and line combinations. While you’re busy living your life (and actually contributing to society), I’ll be glued to my phone. Constantly refreshing my timeline. Waiting for news of Shea Weber’s return. Furiously retweeting updates on Jonathan Quick’s status. Please friends, my self-worth is measured by the number of followers I have on Twitter.

Cam Fowler – The Ducks’ defenseman continues to be evaluated by doctors after taking a puck to the face in Monday’s game against Nashville. His cheekbone appears to be the area of concern, but we should know more in the coming days. I wouldn’t expect him to be in the lineup on Wednesday when Anaheim takes on the Golden Knights.

Alex Goligoski – Day-to-day with a lower-body injury. The 33-year old had gotten off to a good start this season, with seven points in 14 games.

Antti Raanta – Has been skating and feeling better since sustaining a lower-body injury in practice last week. Coach Rick Tocchet wants to see Raanta practice a few times before getting back into action. I’m just speculating, but Saturday against the Bruins seems like a realistic date to return. I don’t think we realize just how good Raanta has been since the beginning of the calendar year. He sports a 21-10-4 record alongside a 1.91 GAA and .939 SV% in 2018.

Charlie McAvoy – Has a concussion. I say this every time an NHLer gets diagnosed with a concussion, but we really have no idea exactly how long he’ll be out. Concussions are so unpredictable because you can be feeling good for a few days, and start to feel symptoms again out of nowhere. In my opinion, he should be considered week-to-week until we hear otherwise.

Brandon Saad – Brandon optimistic! Optimistic that he’ll play Wednesday against the Blues! Considering coach Jeremy Colliton stacked the top line (Nick Schmaltz – Jonathan Toews – Patrick Kane), I’m interested to see where Saad will line up. He has three points in his last four games.

Devin Shore – When will he be back? I’m not Shore! Okay, but seriously, it sounds like he’ll be out for seven to 10 days with a lower-body injury.

John Klingberg – The Stars’ defenseman will miss at least four weeks after surgery on his hand. If Miro Heiskanen is still a free agent in your league (he’s available in 54% of Yahoo! leagues), stop what you’re doing right now and add him to your roster (but come back to finish reading because I miss you when you’re not here). Heiskanen will move up to the top power-play unit, one that features Jamie Benn, Tyler Seguin, Alexander Radulov and Jason Spezza. The third overall pick of the 2017 draft has been such a treat to watch this season, and should see an increased role in Klingberg’s absence.

Thomas Vanek – We’re two weeks into the original two-to-three week timetable, but he doesn’t appear to be skating or practicing just yet.

Jonathan Quick – Still a few weeks away from an actual return, but we should see him start skating in about a week. I mentioned this last week, but it makes sense to acquire him in your league right now for what should be pennies on the dollar.

Jack Campbell – Sometimes we strive so hard to be like our role models, we go overboard – we become too much like them. Jack Campbell was the student, Jonathan Quick was the master. When Quick had surgery to repair a torn meniscus in his knee, the only logical option was for Campbell to do the same! Okay, in all seriousness though, it’s really unfortunate that LA lost two goalies to very similar injuries. Campbell will miss the next four to six weeks. Considering how poorly the Kings have played this season, Campbell was a real bright spot with a .923 SV% and 2.33 GAA.

Paul Byron – Week to week. Yes, this update was weak, I’ll try to have a better one for you next week.

Shea Weber – The Canadiens’ captain practiced with his teammates for the first time this season on Tuesday. He had the knee surgery in early July, and the recovery period was expected to be five to six months. It looks like he’s ahead of schedule, and there’s a chance he plays before December. Weber hasn’t seen game-action for almost a year now, so give him some time to ease back into things. His return should also have a positive impact on Carey Price.

Viktor Arvidsson – On injured reserve with an upper-body injury. Apparently, he was seen flexing his hand after taking a slash and crashing into the boards on Saturday against the Stars.

Nico Hischier – Day-to-day with an upper-body injury. He had a good start to the season with 12 points in 15 games, and I genuinely believe he can maintain the 65-point pace he’s currently on. Travis Zajac takes Hischier’s spot on the top line with Taylor Hall and Kyle Palmieri.

Pavel Buchnevich – Broke his thumb on Saturday against the Blue Jackets, will miss the next four-to-six weeks as a result. He had been playing well recently, with five points in his last five games. Let’s hope this doesn’t ruin his momentum.

Mats Zuccarello – Should be in the lineup on Thursday when the Rangers take on the Islanders.

Jean-Gabriel Pageau – Has been skating. Still no timetable for his return, but he has been making incredible progress since tearing his Achilles in training camp. We might even see him play some time this season (which wasn’t a guarantee).

James van Riemsdyk – Is a possibility for Thursday when the Flyers host the Devils. He should join the third line with Jordan Weal and Wayne Simmonds.

Derick Brassard – Has been making good progress from a lower-body injury and should start practicing soon.  He has only appeared in eight games this season, and has five points in those games. With only one win in their last seven games, the Penguins could really use Brassard.

Brayden Schenn – Won’t be in the lineup on Wednesday when the Blues face the Blackhawks. Coach Mike Yeo hopes to see Schenn play at some point during the road trip, which continues into Vegas on Friday and San Jose on Saturday.

Ondrej Palat – The Lightning forward will miss the next four weeks with a lower-body injury.

Auston Matthews – Has been practicing with the team, but hasn’t been taking contact. We’re about halfway through the original four-week timetable, and he still seems on track to return in a couple of weeks. The Leafs have scored three or more goals in four of their last five games, so the offense has been okay without Matthews.

Brock Boeser – Should be considered week-to-week with irritated adductor muscles. In this case, it seems like Boeser strained his inner thigh muscles, which control movement inward and to the sides of the thigh bone. The main takeaway here is that the team identified what was bothering Boeser, and now have a plan to fix it. He had 11 points in 13 games while playing through the injury, I’m scared to see what he can do when he’s 100% healthy.

Erik Haula – The team is collecting a number of medical opinions as they diagnose what seems to be a complex issue. At this point, the recovery looks like it will be measured in months, not weeks.

  from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/injury-ward/injury-ward-updates-on-klingberg-raanta-kings-goalies-and-more/

[flauntpage]

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets

On Tuesday, the Vegas Golden Knights won their first home game in franchise history, 5-2 against the Arizona Coyotes. The Knights' second game wasn't until Friday, leaving me an extra day in Las Vegas to get in trouble. In the interest of creating content and winning thousands of dollars, I finally did the most VICE thing possible—I partook in marijuana and documented my attempt to turn $150 into $3,100, the exact amount I require to retire.

I chronicled my Thursday night as best I could. (All times Pacific)

3:00 PM — I head to the Westgate Superbook. I imagine this room is what heaven looks like. Westgate boasts the most prop bets in Vegas, and the plan is to do a six-team parlay for $50 and 10 silly prop bets for $10 each. Unfortunately, the only games with prop bets are the Eagles-Panthers game and Game 5 of Cubs-Nationals but there are enough things to blow money on.

The parlay pays $3,000; the props are $100, give or take a few bucks. I'm going to be rich but I promise not to get all power-hungry once I'm a wealthy gambling magnate.

3:30 PM — Bets are placed. In the interest of drama, I won't reveal the actual bets, just the games I bet on.

3:45 PM — I walk to Essence, a marijuana dispensary. I imagine this room is what heaven smells like. I buy a gram of the Ghost Train Haze, a sativa that offers a lucid high with notes of lemon zest. I spark it up behind the building in a marijuana pipe made from the mahogany of Jimi Hendrix's guitar from Woodstock.

OK, fine. I bought an $11 Reese's Pieces cereal bar.

4:00 PM — I try to get a Lyft from the dispensary to Caesars Palace but they only pick up in casino parking lots, so I walk over to Stratosphere carrying this giant white envelope with my hardcore weed drugs inside. I think to myself, "Doesn't this white envelope signal to people that I'm carrying drugs so they should kick my ass and take them?"

4:15 PM — My Lyft driver informs me, unprompted, that people get their asses kicked all the time because they're walking with a giant white envelope that everyone knows has weed in it.

4:18 PM — We nearly die in the car because some other person swerves. I realize that if that was the moment I died, with an uneaten marijuana cereal bar in one hand and a bus with Brad Garrett's face resting on my crushed body, that would have been a really funny way to go.

4:25 PM — I take my drugs into the bathroom at Caesars. I'm pretty sure I can just open this giant envelope in the lobby and eat my drugs, but I'm pre-paranoid. So I sit on the toilet, crack the envelope (that's not a euphemism for farting), rip open the bag (again, not a euphemism), and stuff my face with drugs. It's less a cereal bar and more just individual Reese's Pieces cereal bites, and one falls out of my hand and onto the bathroom floor.

4:26 PM — I stare at the fallen piece.

4:26 PM — I consider eating it.

4:26 PM — "Don't drugs cancel out germs?"

4:27 PM — I decide to cut my losses and throw away the fallen piece of drugs.

4:30 PM — Penguins at Lightning and Blues at Panthers are underway. Riches are not far behind.

5:00 PM — After eating a chicken Caesar salad, the thing that passes as healthy when it's Day 3 in Vegas even though it's probably worse for you than a cheeseburger, I decide to sit in the poker room, play cards and watch sports. The poker room is right next to the sports book so there's a good energy. Cubs-Nationals is about to start.

5:10 PM — I'm very aware of the fact I am not high yet.

5:15 PM — Lightning are up 1-0.

5:17 PM — I mean, I asked the woman behind the counter if I needed to buy a second weed bar and she insisted this would be enough. I'm worried I wasted money.

5:18 PM — Are anyone else's teeth vibrating? Why is my face so warm all of a sudden? God, have you ever just run your hands over a felt table? It's incredible. Why is everyone at the poker table staring at me? What? Do they know I'm high? Is it illegal to be high? Just be cool, be cool... oh, there are cards in front of me and it's my turn to act.

5:30 PM — Eagles-Panthers has begun. I can no longer focus on cards.

5:42 PM — That jerk who kicked that 80-yard FG against the Giants opens the scoring against the Panthers, giving me my first victory of the night. At +142, I've already got $24.20 back in my pocket. I'm going to win enough money to buy VICE Sports and turn it into an Eli Manning fan site. Prepare to lose your stake in the company, Shane Smith! I'm going to be your boss!

5:43 PM — Lightning are still up 1 and the Panthers are leading the Blues 1-0.

5:45 PM — Bryce Harper and Kris Bryant are both 0-for-1, so my total bases prop bet is even. I've got Bryant so I feel pretty good.

5:49 PM — Daniel Murphy homers. The casino is rocking. I'm indifferent.

5:55 PM — Michael Taylor hits a three-run homer off Kyle Hendricks, who earlier that day I said was, "the most underrated pitcher in baseball."

5:59 PM — Lightning still winning, Panthers still winning, Wild-Blackhawks has started and is scoreless.

6:08 PM — Bryant doubles. That's two total bases for me. Suck it, Bryce Harper!

6:10 PM — After revisiting my betting slips, I realize that my prop bet is actually Bryant vs. Murphy, so I'm losing 4-2. I'm not handling my buzz very well.

6:21 PM — Gio Gonzalez strikes out Jason Heyward for his fifth K of the game. I bet the under on his Ks for the game, which was four, so there's $10 I'll never see again. Heyward almost single-handedly lost this bet for me.

6:45 PM — Panthers are now up 4-1 on the Blues. I have now added alcohol to this evening. I'm also playing in a two-table poker tournament I was told would have 45-50 entrants and am not happy about it. I'm gambling angry and distracted by all the sports. I can also feel the inside of my tongue. Everything is pretty great actually.

7:02 PM — There is a lot of passion in the room and people are truly appreciating the tense moments in this Cubs-Nationals game and showing respect for athletes at the peak of their lives.

7:03 PM — "Eat fucking shit, Max Scherzer!" some dork in a tracksuit screams at the TV as he gives up the lead to the Cubs. He probably had $9 on the under or something.

7:04 PM — I'm pretty sure I saw the Cash Cab guy in the stands. I can't believe how high I am. I'm bad at this.

7:10 PM — Panthers are up 5-1.

7:15 PM — I notice the Cubs and Nationals have combined for 28 runs/hits/errors in like the sixth inning, so that's another prop bet win on the over 24 runs/hits/errors. That's another $19.10 coming back to me for a total of $43.30. I'm so rich. I will host VICE News on HBO. I'm going to run this place.

7:24 PM — Lightning win. That gets me 1/6th of the way to the parlay. I've got this. I know it.

7:25 PM — The Blues lose to the Panthers and the parlay is dead. It is at this time I'd like to apologize to everyone at VICE, especially Shane Smith, about threatening to buy the company and transforming it into an Eli Manning fan site. That was irresponsible of me and should never have happened. VICE does great work and I'm glad to be part of it in this small capacity.

7:36 PM — I am now out of the tournament. Turns out the guy I knew was bluffing was not. All I have left at this time are the prop bets.

7:49 PM — Kelvin Benjamin gets to over 55 yards, another win for me.

8:00 PM — I've left Caesars to go to Aria, because for some reason I have this uncontrollable urge for pizza and that casino has the best casino pizza in the world. I just don't get why I want pizza so badly or why it feels so weird when I run my teeth over my tongue.

8:30 PM — In the interest of time, here are the results of my other prop bets:

LOSSES Panthers -10.5 over the Eagles (not even close!) That Bryant vs. Murphy total bases bet (stupid Bryant)

WINS Cam Newton under 1.5 touchdown passes Carson Wentz under 251.5 passing yards

PUSH Eagles-Panthers 5 sacks total

PARLAY WINS Lightning over Penguins Wild over Blackhawks Cubs over Nationals Eagles-Panthers Over 44

PARLAY LOSSES Stupid dumbass overrated Blues Stupid dumbass overrated Panthers

DRUG WINS Me

When this adventure began, I handed $150 to a teller at Westgate. When it ends, I cash $125 in prop tickets, so that's a loss of $25 on that stupid adventure that could have made me CEO of VICE.

Although, while I was playing poker at Caesars, I won $150 playing cash and lost $125 on the dumb tournament, which means after six hours of gambling, I finished...

Even.

Well, the weed bar cost $11, but I feel like I came out ahead on that.

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets

On Tuesday, the Vegas Golden Knights won their first home game in franchise history, 5-2 against the Arizona Coyotes. The Knights’ second game wasn’t until Friday, leaving me an extra day in Las Vegas to get in trouble. In the interest of creating content and winning thousands of dollars, I finally did the most VICE thing possible—I partook in marijuana and documented my attempt to turn $150 into $3,100, the exact amount I require to retire.

I chronicled my Thursday night as best I could. (All times Pacific)

3:00 PM — I head to the Westgate Superbook. I imagine this room is what heaven looks like. Westgate boasts the most prop bets in Vegas, and the plan is to do a six-team parlay for $50 and 10 silly prop bets for $10 each. Unfortunately, the only games with prop bets are the Eagles-Panthers game and Game 5 of Cubs-Nationals but there are enough things to blow money on.

The parlay pays $3,000; the props are $100, give or take a few bucks. I’m going to be rich but I promise not to get all power-hungry once I’m a wealthy gambling magnate.

3:30 PM — Bets are placed. In the interest of drama, I won’t reveal the actual bets, just the games I bet on.

3:45 PM — I walk to Essence, a marijuana dispensary. I imagine this room is what heaven smells like. I buy a gram of the Ghost Train Haze, a sativa that offers a lucid high with notes of lemon zest. I spark it up behind the building in a marijuana pipe made from the mahogany of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar from Woodstock.

OK, fine. I bought an $11 Reese’s Pieces cereal bar.

4:00 PM — I try to get a Lyft from the dispensary to Caesars Palace but they only pick up in casino parking lots, so I walk over to Stratosphere carrying this giant white envelope with my hardcore weed drugs inside. I think to myself, “Doesn’t this white envelope signal to people that I’m carrying drugs so they should kick my ass and take them?”

4:15 PM — My Lyft driver informs me, unprompted, that people get their asses kicked all the time because they’re walking with a giant white envelope that everyone knows has weed in it.

4:18 PM — We nearly die in the car because some other person swerves. I realize that if that was the moment I died, with an uneaten marijuana cereal bar in one hand and a bus with Brad Garrett’s face resting on my crushed body, that would have been a really funny way to go.

4:25 PM — I take my drugs into the bathroom at Caesars. I’m pretty sure I can just open this giant envelope in the lobby and eat my drugs, but I’m pre-paranoid. So I sit on the toilet, crack the envelope (that’s not a euphemism for farting), rip open the bag (again, not a euphemism), and stuff my face with drugs. It’s less a cereal bar and more just individual Reese’s Pieces cereal bites, and one falls out of my hand and onto the bathroom floor.

4:26 PM — I stare at the fallen piece.

4:26 PM — I consider eating it.

4:26 PM — “Don’t drugs cancel out germs?”

4:27 PM — I decide to cut my losses and throw away the fallen piece of drugs.

4:30 PM — Penguins at Lightning and Blues at Panthers are underway. Riches are not far behind.

5:00 PM — After eating a chicken Caesar salad, the thing that passes as healthy when it’s Day 3 in Vegas even though it’s probably worse for you than a cheeseburger, I decide to sit in the poker room, play cards and watch sports. The poker room is right next to the sports book so there’s a good energy. Cubs-Nationals is about to start.

5:10 PM — I’m very aware of the fact I am not high yet.

5:15 PM — Lightning are up 1-0.

5:17 PM — I mean, I asked the woman behind the counter if I needed to buy a second weed bar and she insisted this would be enough. I’m worried I wasted money.

5:18 PM — Are anyone else’s teeth vibrating? Why is my face so warm all of a sudden? God, have you ever just run your hands over a felt table? It’s incredible. Why is everyone at the poker table staring at me? What? Do they know I’m high? Is it illegal to be high? Just be cool, be cool… oh, there are cards in front of me and it’s my turn to act.

5:30 PM — Eagles-Panthers has begun. I can no longer focus on cards.

5:42 PM — That jerk who kicked that 80-yard FG against the Giants opens the scoring against the Panthers, giving me my first victory of the night. At +142, I’ve already got $24.20 back in my pocket. I’m going to win enough money to buy VICE Sports and turn it into an Eli Manning fan site. Prepare to lose your stake in the company, Shane Smith! I’m going to be your boss!

5:43 PM — Lightning are still up 1 and the Panthers are leading the Blues 1-0.

5:45 PM — Bryce Harper and Kris Bryant are both 0-for-1, so my total bases prop bet is even. I’ve got Bryant so I feel pretty good.

5:49 PM — Daniel Murphy homers. The casino is rocking. I’m indifferent.

5:55 PM — Michael Taylor hits a three-run homer off Kyle Hendricks, who earlier that day I said was, “the most underrated pitcher in baseball.”

5:59 PM — Lightning still winning, Panthers still winning, Wild-Blackhawks has started and is scoreless.

6:08 PM — Bryant doubles. That’s two total bases for me. Suck it, Bryce Harper!

6:10 PM — After revisiting my betting slips, I realize that my prop bet is actually Bryant vs. Murphy, so I’m losing 4-2. I’m not handling my buzz very well.

6:21 PM — Gio Gonzalez strikes out Jason Heyward for his fifth K of the game. I bet the under on his Ks for the game, which was four, so there’s $10 I’ll never see again. Heyward almost single-handedly lost this bet for me.

6:45 PM — Panthers are now up 4-1 on the Blues. I have now added alcohol to this evening. I’m also playing in a two-table poker tournament I was told would have 45-50 entrants and am not happy about it. I’m gambling angry and distracted by all the sports. I can also feel the inside of my tongue. Everything is pretty great actually.

7:02 PM — There is a lot of passion in the room and people are truly appreciating the tense moments in this Cubs-Nationals game and showing respect for athletes at the peak of their lives.

7:03 PM — “Eat fucking shit, Max Scherzer!” some dork in a tracksuit screams at the TV as he gives up the lead to the Cubs. He probably had $9 on the under or something.

7:04 PM — I’m pretty sure I saw the Cash Cab guy in the stands. I can’t believe how high I am. I’m bad at this.

7:10 PM — Panthers are up 5-1.

7:15 PM — I notice the Cubs and Nationals have combined for 28 runs/hits/errors in like the sixth inning, so that’s another prop bet win on the over 24 runs/hits/errors. That’s another $19.10 coming back to me for a total of $43.30. I’m so rich. I will host VICE News on HBO. I’m going to run this place.

7:24 PM — Lightning win. That gets me 1/6th of the way to the parlay. I’ve got this. I know it.

7:25 PM — The Blues lose to the Panthers and the parlay is dead. It is at this time I’d like to apologize to everyone at VICE, especially Shane Smith, about threatening to buy the company and transforming it into an Eli Manning fan site. That was irresponsible of me and should never have happened. VICE does great work and I’m glad to be part of it in this small capacity.

7:36 PM — I am now out of the tournament. Turns out the guy I knew was bluffing was not. All I have left at this time are the prop bets.

7:49 PM — Kelvin Benjamin gets to over 55 yards, another win for me.

8:00 PM — I’ve left Caesars to go to Aria, because for some reason I have this uncontrollable urge for pizza and that casino has the best casino pizza in the world. I just don’t get why I want pizza so badly or why it feels so weird when I run my teeth over my tongue.

8:30 PM — In the interest of time, here are the results of my other prop bets:

LOSSES Panthers -10.5 over the Eagles (not even close!) That Bryant vs. Murphy total bases bet (stupid Bryant)

WINS Cam Newton under 1.5 touchdown passes Carson Wentz under 251.5 passing yards

PUSH Eagles-Panthers 5 sacks total

PARLAY WINS Lightning over Penguins Wild over Blackhawks Cubs over Nationals Eagles-Panthers Over 44

PARLAY LOSSES Stupid dumbass overrated Blues Stupid dumbass overrated Panthers

DRUG WINS Me

When this adventure began, I handed $150 to a teller at Westgate. When it ends, I cash $125 in prop tickets, so that’s a loss of $25 on that stupid adventure that could have made me CEO of VICE.

Although, while I was playing poker at Caesars, I won $150 playing cash and lost $125 on the dumb tournament, which means after six hours of gambling, I finished…

Even.

Well, the weed bar cost $11, but I feel like I came out ahead on that.

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[davewakeman]

Mayweather vs. McGregor! Golden Knights Hockey! A Few Lessons On Selling Sports To The Masses!

Lots of things are going on in the desert:

There’s the Mayweather and McGregor fight at the end of the month.

There’s NHL hockey coming to the Strip.

There’s NFL football coming to somewhere near the Strip.

And, the usual amount of things that happen in Vegas.

Having just spent a week out in Vegas learning about the situations around their new arena, new teams, and big events, I wanted to take a few minutes to write up a few ideas that might help drive sales for these events in Las Vegas and that might also be helpful for all of you.

Marketing Matters: 

In many places, the idea that publicity or general sports awareness is going to drive the sales of your event is pretty much a given, or, in a lot of places, a best practice.

Unfortunately, it is this mindset that has put most of what constitutes sports and entertainment marketing into a rut!

Why do I say that?

Because in far too many instances, what ends up being called “the marketing” of an event or a sport is little more than a bunch of ill planned advertising that worked in the day, but that isn’t nearly as effective now.

You know the things:

Full page ads in the newspapers

Banners posted

Billboards

Flyers or posters

Those may have worked once. They may still work in some places for some things, but they have become static, not active.

The key is that marketing matters and as Las Vegas becomes a full fledged major league sports city, outside of just boxing, the need to market is going to become more and more important.

Just look at the uphill fight that the NHL has faced in all of its’ sunbelt cities.

To set the right tone, if I were the Golden Knights, I would work on expanding my base and educating my market: ASAP.

I’d do that by teaching everyone in area about hockey. I’d be opening practices.

I’d created opportunities for fans to mingle and connect with the players, to learn, to see the sport live.

I’d expand my base by looking at the entire market and figuring out how the live sports experience can create value for all of the residents.

This might include making a lot of seats available at really reduced rates at the box office with local ID.

This might be working with partners in the area to get their employees to games.

It might include working on ways to change the schedule around to enable people that work at odd hours a chance to watch the games in person.

The big key here would be a focus on putting the game in people’s lives in a meaningful way in as many ways as possible because the best way to build your brand is to be new: so with hockey, new is now. The second best way to get people to fall in love with the sport is to have them actually experience it.

I’ve got more thoughts on the Golden Knights, but I’ll put them in their own separate post.

Price Is Important:

The big idea that is getting thrown around about the next “Fight of the Century” is that the pricing is off.

That is debatable.

There’s one school of thought that says that if you sell out immediately, you are leaving money on the table and set the secondary market up to take a lot of “your” profits.

There’s another school that says not having instant sell outs is good because it means that you are more likely to have priced right and are likely to capture a higher box office take.

The truth is that despite the hype of dynamic pricing, algorithms, and other tools, the pricing of events is an art as much as a science.

I’ve always felt like I want to keep my prices a little lower, if I can because I know that if I can get you into my venue, I can get a higher dollar value out of you at the concessions, merchandise, and other in-venue points of purchase while making you feel like your experience was much better.

Others don’t feel that way, I mean there’s whole consulting arms of the leagues that are built on spreadsheets that tell you how to maximize each touch point on each day, never really taking into account the idea that you might want to build a long term relationship with that buyer.

That’s a bit of a run on, but the key is that pricing is important.

In the case of hockey, boxing, and football, you have to make sure that you don’t play to tons of empty seats while never capturing enough of the revenue.

In my mind, the big thing is going to be more partnerships between the primary and secondary going forward.

But the takeaway here is that you don’t ever want price to get in the way in a way where you event comes off as overpriced, not hot, or meh.

Your Experience Will Be Different, But Will It Be Amazing: 

Just by the fact that you are in Las Vegas, sports is going to be new and different. This sets you up for an experience that is unique.

But the thing is, different isn’t enough.

You are going to have to work even harder to make your experience amazing.

Think about the way that the casinos are always working to outdo their competition.

One casino gets Britney Spears, another gets J Lo.

One casino has a volcano, the other gets a river.

The arms race is never ending.

That makes the challenge of sports really difficult because there are going to be games that have less cache than others.

I’m sure that first Golden Knights & Florida Panthers game is circled on everyone’s calendar. (I use the Panthers because they are the team I grew up near, no other reason…and the fact I don’t think there are a ton of Floridians moving to the desert.)

Which sets a really high bar for experience.

But the only hope is to make sure that you create a mind-blowing experience for your fans and guests.

Knowing what the competition is, reinvention is going to be a constant part of that.

But what about some other keys to outstanding experiences?

Like partnering with local businesses to create a feeling of locality?

Creating opportunities for locals to connect, network, congregate in a way that isn’t work or forced.

How about partnering with some of the premier hotel and casino partners to add a little of the Vegas flair to the arrival or departure?

Can you use technology to make the seating experience VIP worthy?

Is there a piece or pieces of old Vegas that you can incorporate like the Sydney Opera House uses old stage props?

The key in making the experience standout and exception is creativity.

Creativity and a will to fight complacency.

All told, sports in Vegas has great potential.

The key is not falling into the trap of the paint-by-numbers ideas of entertainment business and embracing some of the unique cultural, societal, and experiential aspects of Las Vegas.

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Mayweather vs. McGregor! Golden Knights Hockey! A Few Lessons On Selling Sports To The Masses! was originally published on Wakeman Consulting Group

[flauntpage]

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets

On Tuesday, the Vegas Golden Knights won their first home game in franchise history, 5-2 against the Arizona Coyotes. The Knights' second game wasn't until Friday, leaving me an extra day in Las Vegas to get in trouble. In the interest of creating content and winning thousands of dollars, I finally did the most VICE thing possible—I partook in marijuana and documented my attempt to turn $150 into $3,100, the exact amount I require to retire.

I chronicled my Thursday night as best I could. (All times Pacific)

3:00 PM — I head to the Westgate Superbook. I imagine this room is what heaven looks like. Westgate boasts the most prop bets in Vegas, and the plan is to do a six-team parlay for $50 and 10 silly prop bets for $10 each. Unfortunately, the only games with prop bets are the Eagles-Panthers game and Game 5 of Cubs-Nationals but there are enough things to blow money on.

The parlay pays $3,000; the props are $100, give or take a few bucks. I'm going to be rich but I promise not to get all power-hungry once I'm a wealthy gambling magnate.

3:30 PM — Bets are placed. In the interest of drama, I won't reveal the actual bets, just the games I bet on.

3:45 PM — I walk to Essence, a marijuana dispensary. I imagine this room is what heaven smells like. I buy a gram of the Ghost Train Haze, a sativa that offers a lucid high with notes of lemon zest. I spark it up behind the building in a marijuana pipe made from the mahogany of Jimi Hendrix's guitar from Woodstock.

OK, fine. I bought an $11 Reese's Pieces cereal bar.

4:00 PM — I try to get a Lyft from the dispensary to Caesars Palace but they only pick up in casino parking lots, so I walk over to Stratosphere carrying this giant white envelope with my hardcore weed drugs inside. I think to myself, "Doesn't this white envelope signal to people that I'm carrying drugs so they should kick my ass and take them?"

4:15 PM — My Lyft driver informs me, unprompted, that people get their asses kicked all the time because they're walking with a giant white envelope that everyone knows has weed in it.

4:18 PM — We nearly die in the car because some other person swerves. I realize that if that was the moment I died, with an uneaten marijuana cereal bar in one hand and a bus with Brad Garrett's face resting on my crushed body, that would have been a really funny way to go.

4:25 PM — I take my drugs into the bathroom at Caesars. I'm pretty sure I can just open this giant envelope in the lobby and eat my drugs, but I'm pre-paranoid. So I sit on the toilet, crack the envelope (that's not a euphemism for farting), rip open the bag (again, not a euphemism), and stuff my face with drugs. It's less a cereal bar and more just individual Reese's Pieces cereal bites, and one falls out of my hand and onto the bathroom floor.

4:26 PM — I stare at the fallen piece.

4:26 PM — I consider eating it.

4:26 PM — "Don't drugs cancel out germs?"

4:27 PM — I decide to cut my losses and throw away the fallen piece of drugs.

4:30 PM — Penguins at Lightning and Blues at Panthers are underway. Riches are not far behind.

5:00 PM — After eating a chicken Caesar salad, the thing that passes as healthy when it's Day 3 in Vegas even though it's probably worse for you than a cheeseburger, I decide to sit in the poker room, play cards and watch sports. The poker room is right next to the sports book so there's a good energy. Cubs-Nationals is about to start.

5:10 PM — I'm very aware of the fact I am not high yet.

5:15 PM — Lightning are up 1-0.

5:17 PM — I mean, I asked the woman behind the counter if I needed to buy a second weed bar and she insisted this would be enough. I'm worried I wasted money.

5:18 PM — Are anyone else's teeth vibrating? Why is my face so warm all of a sudden? God, have you ever just run your hands over a felt table? It's incredible. Why is everyone at the poker table staring at me? What? Do they know I'm high? Is it illegal to be high? Just be cool, be cool... oh, there are cards in front of me and it's my turn to act.

5:30 PM — Eagles-Panthers has begun. I can no longer focus on cards.

5:42 PM — That jerk who kicked that 80-yard FG against the Giants opens the scoring against the Panthers, giving me my first victory of the night. At +142, I've already got $24.20 back in my pocket. I'm going to win enough money to buy VICE Sports and turn it into an Eli Manning fan site. Prepare to lose your stake in the company, Shane Smith! I'm going to be your boss!

5:43 PM — Lightning are still up 1 and the Panthers are leading the Blues 1-0.

5:45 PM — Bryce Harper and Kris Bryant are both 0-for-1, so my total bases prop bet is even. I've got Bryant so I feel pretty good.

5:49 PM — Daniel Murphy homers. The casino is rocking. I'm indifferent.

5:55 PM — Michael Taylor hits a three-run homer off Kyle Hendricks, who earlier that day I said was, "the most underrated pitcher in baseball."

5:59 PM — Lightning still winning, Panthers still winning, Wild-Blackhawks has started and is scoreless.

6:08 PM — Bryant doubles. That's two total bases for me. Suck it, Bryce Harper!

6:10 PM — After revisiting my betting slips, I realize that my prop bet is actually Bryant vs. Murphy, so I'm losing 4-2. I'm not handling my buzz very well.

6:21 PM — Gio Gonzalez strikes out Jason Heyward for his fifth K of the game. I bet the under on his Ks for the game, which was four, so there's $10 I'll never see again. Heyward almost single-handedly lost this bet for me.

6:45 PM — Panthers are now up 4-1 on the Blues. I have now added alcohol to this evening. I'm also playing in a two-table poker tournament I was told would have 45-50 entrants and am not happy about it. I'm gambling angry and distracted by all the sports. I can also feel the inside of my tongue. Everything is pretty great actually.

7:02 PM — There is a lot of passion in the room and people are truly appreciating the tense moments in this Cubs-Nationals game and showing respect for athletes at the peak of their lives.

7:03 PM — "Eat fucking shit, Max Scherzer!" some dork in a tracksuit screams at the TV as he gives up the lead to the Cubs. He probably had $9 on the under or something.

7:04 PM — I'm pretty sure I saw the Cash Cab guy in the stands. I can't believe how high I am. I'm bad at this.

7:10 PM — Panthers are up 5-1.

7:15 PM — I notice the Cubs and Nationals have combined for 28 runs/hits/errors in like the sixth inning, so that's another prop bet win on the over 24 runs/hits/errors. That's another $19.10 coming back to me for a total of $43.30. I'm so rich. I will host VICE News on HBO. I'm going to run this place.

7:24 PM — Lightning win. That gets me 1/6th of the way to the parlay. I've got this. I know it.

7:25 PM — The Blues lose to the Panthers and the parlay is dead. It is at this time I'd like to apologize to everyone at VICE, especially Shane Smith, about threatening to buy the company and transforming it into an Eli Manning fan site. That was irresponsible of me and should never have happened. VICE does great work and I'm glad to be part of it in this small capacity.

7:36 PM — I am now out of the tournament. Turns out the guy I knew was bluffing was not. All I have left at this time are the prop bets.

7:49 PM — Kelvin Benjamin gets to over 55 yards, another win for me.

8:00 PM — I've left Caesars to go to Aria, because for some reason I have this uncontrollable urge for pizza and that casino has the best casino pizza in the world. I just don't get why I want pizza so badly or why it feels so weird when I run my teeth over my tongue.

8:30 PM — In the interest of time, here are the results of my other prop bets:

LOSSES Panthers -10.5 over the Eagles (not even close!) That Bryant vs. Murphy total bases bet (stupid Bryant)

WINS Cam Newton under 1.5 touchdown passes Carson Wentz under 251.5 passing yards

PUSH Eagles-Panthers 5 sacks total

PARLAY WINS Lightning over Penguins Wild over Blackhawks Cubs over Nationals Eagles-Panthers Over 44

PARLAY LOSSES Stupid dumbass overrated Blues Stupid dumbass overrated Panthers

DRUG WINS Me

When this adventure began, I handed $150 to a teller at Westgate. When it ends, I cash $125 in prop tickets, so that's a loss of $25 on that stupid adventure that could have made me CEO of VICE.

Although, while I was playing poker at Caesars, I won $150 playing cash and lost $125 on the dumb tournament, which means after six hours of gambling, I finished...

Even.

Well, the weed bar cost $11, but I feel like I came out ahead on that.

I Got Stoned in Vegas and Placed a Bunch of Silly Sports Bets published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv