The Goddess, chapter 1

While the guests waited for the wedding of Jerry Duffy to begin, they sipped from fluted champagne glasses and speculated as to how long the May-December marriage would last. Not long was the general consensus.

Tre Cool ignored the buzz of gossip around him. He had more pressing concerns. Raising a crystal tumbler to his lips, he drained the hundred-year-old scotch like it was water. An incessant thud pounded his head. He must have had a hell of a good night lasy night.

He just wished he could remember.

Tre's gaze moved to that of his teammates looking out of place and uncomfortable in their matching navy blazers and scuffed loafers. They didn't look like they wanted to be stuck in the middle of Seattle society any more than he did.

To his left, a skinny woman in a flowing lavender dress sat down at her harp and began to pluck the strings lightly. She looked up at him and gave him a warm smile he instantly recognized. He wasn't surprised by the woman's interest. He slowly looked down her body and back up. At the tender age of 28, Tre had been with woman of all shapes and sizes and economic backgrounds. He wasn't averse to taking a swim in the groupie pool, but he didn't particulary like boney women. Tre preffered to soft curves. When he touched a woman, he wanted to feel flesh, not bone.

The harpist's smile grew more flirtatious, and Tre quickly looked away. He hated weddings. He'd been through one of his own and neither have been blissful. In fact, the last time he was hitched, he had been hungover in Vegas and he'd woken up in a honeymoon suit suddenly married to a stripper named DeeDee Delight. The marriage hadn't lasted much longer than the wedding night.

"Thanks for coming, son," The owner of the Seattle Chinooks approached Tre form behind and patted him on the shoulder.
"I didn't think any of us had a choice," he said, looking down at Jerry Duffy's lined face.

Jerry laughed and continued down the wide brick steps, the picture of wealth in his silver-grey tuxedo. Beneath the early afternoon sun, Jerry's appeared to be exactly what he was: a member of the Fortune 500, owner of a professional hockey team, and a man who could buy himself a nice, young trophy wife.