I was disappointed, yes, but like Monroe, I wanted to do this right more than I wanted to do it quick. They’d given me a taste of what was possible, but they hadn’t pushed. I appreciated that more than anything.
I may love reading about all those guys who managed to raise every red flag around—the ones who’d treat you nasty, spread your legs, and take what they wanted, when they wanted it—but that wasn’t real life. I didn’t want someone who was toxic, never mind two of them. I wanted men who’d respect me enough to let me decide what happened to my body.
I certainly wouldn’t say no to either one of them throwing me over their shoulder right then and there, but now I knew that they’d put me first rather than just trying to get off.
My V-card was going to have to wait until another day to get stamped.
But I got my kiss.
And what a heck of a kiss it was.
twelve
Hux
Being on the ice again was exactly what I needed. It was the brain break I was desperate for after a night that had thrown me for a loop. I’d intended on crashing Roe and Cara’s date, but I didn’t think for a moment it would turn out like it had. There wasn’t a single second where I felt like a third wheel. There was no awkwardness and no “get the fuck out” vibe either. When Roe had told Cara we had time, I didn’t know how, but my gut told me he was including me in the equation.
We were both suffering hard by the end of the night, and I knew Roe had used the end of the movie as an excuse to put a stop to what would have otherwise been inevitable. But I didn’t regret it at all. I’d been so close to blowing just sitting there and having Cara rub up against me as she laughed that I’d had to jump up from the sofa. Getting some space hadn’t worked either, so I’d made a mad dash for the bathroom. Two strokes of my cock and their names on my lips was all it took. I’d come so hard, my vision had whited out. But by the time I was back on that sofa with them, I was raring to go again.
It blew my mind.
I sped up, pushing hard through the crossover drills. I flew along the ice, my skates carving into the surface as I flicked a wrister to Hewitt. Blocking out thoughts of Cara and Roe, I focussed on the ice and my linemates.
The puck found Hewitt’s stick, and he effortlessly slung it back to Mironov, who passed it to Minns. Our D-man slapped it to Gauthier, and he shot it lightning quick at the net. The puck was moving so fast, it was a blur, but Rune’s reflexes were faster. He stretched hard and stopped the puck from lighting up the lamp.
I dug hard into the tight turn behind goal and shot out the other side, taking the pass and leading the drill back up the ice, my teammates following closely.
Gauthier, Hewitt, and I were the inaugural starting forwards for the Seals. In my rookie year, I saw a hell of a lot more ice time than I’d ever thought possible. It was like a dream come true for both Gauthier and me—there we were, two wide-eyed rookies scoring spots on the starting line. Wilson, Kreutzmann, and Bauer were far more experienced, one in his second season and two veterans in their fourth. They should have had it, but Coach’s instincts were solid. He’d pushed us hard, and the three of us were the better line. I still couldn’t believe it sometimes. It still felt like a dream.
We’d clicked on and off the ice. Hewitt was like our big brother, taking us under his wing. His wife still cooked us dinners on the regular, and he’d made sure we weren’t living out of suitcases in empty apartments.
Apart from my mattress, the rest of my apartment was a lost cause. I’d needed everything. Hewitt had changed that, taking me furniture shopping and making sure I bought all the essentials. It wasn’t the first time I’d lived away from home, but it was the first time outside a dorm or frat house where everything was included.
Gauthier had two roommates, both his buddies from college who were working in San Diego, too, so they’d chosen a lot of stuff together, but Hewitt still made sure that Gauthier’s refrigerator was full.
After we were finished, he’d invited the starting lines to his place and supplied enough pizza to feed half the team. That was where I’d first caught Minns’s eye.
Now, I was at the other end, coming out of a relationship with that same D-man and trying to figure out whether we could still function as a team. It was completely fucked-up.
I should have known better than to sleep with Chris and Kam, but I’d been thinking with my dick, not my head. Then I’d gotten addicted, and I’d been thinking with both my dick and my heart.
Coach’s whistle blew. “Scrimmage. Let’s hustle.”
Our team split into two groups. The two assistant coaches, Lebedev and Sawchuck, were already on the opposing team’s side of the ice.
We faced up—the starting line against the second string. I waited for the puck drop, my muscles coiled and ready to launch with as much speed and power as I could. We needed to be explosive.
Gauthier was lightning fast, stealing the puck away before Wilson even got a look in. Shouldering past him, Gauthier passed to Hewitt.
Cohen intercepted.
With powerful pumps of his legs, he was in our defensive zone in a split second. I didn’t take my eye off the puck.
Minns and Mironov worked their magic, squeezing him and forcing a pass. I was in the only open spot, ready to scoop it up.
He shot, but Minns’s stick touched the puck, changing its trajectory. I spun, needing to change directions on a dime, but I was too far gone. I barely got a touch. Annoyance flared,frustration that I wasn’t in the right spot when I needed to be eating at me.
But Hewitt was there, reaching for it and saving our asses.
