When it was finally quiet enough that he could talk in that Texan twang of his, he flashed us all a smile. “You boys did good tonight. Keep going like that, and we’ll be adding a Stanley Cup pennant to that roof right there.” He pointed up, and we erupted again.
My heart thrummed in my chest, the blood zipping through my veins like it was effervescent. It was like an out-of-body experience, the renewed backslaps and shoulder squeezes alongside the accidental elbows to the head as the guys jumped around celebrating, reminding me I was actually here for real.
When I felt his hand low on my back, then possessively squeeze my ass, I barely held back the moan. That private celebration was calling my name even louder.
“We were only one win away from making it through to the post-season this year, Seals,” Coach reminded us. That knowledge was a fucking trip. “You have that championship in you. In all of you.”
He wasn’t wrong—we had the potential. We could actually pull it off. There was no doubt in my mind that this team would get there.
“Fuck yeah,” I yelled, my arms up in the air Rocky-style, and the ruckus ratcheted up again.
Coach held his hands up in his cue for silence, and then he continued. “We’re not yet done for the season, boys. It doesn’t count toward rank, but it’s a question of pride. Five games to show the Kings that we’re the new royalty in town.”
If Coach wanted to keep talking, he was shit out of luck. The whoops, whistles, and “fuck yeahs” drowned out everything. My ears were ringing, and my throat was hoarse from shouting. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried.
I looked sideways at Minns, and we stared at each other a beat longer than we’d ever dared to before. Heat flared low in my belly as I eye-fucked my travel roomie. I was looking forward to this trip—two weeks of touring around the East Coast of Australia. Five games, four cities, three arenas, and a couple of days in each city to look around and do fan meet-and-greets. The best part was fourteen uninterrupted nights. Kamirah wouldn’t be in the room with us, but there were ways we could include her.
I wanted our relationship to go to the next level. This was my chance to make it happen. Kamirah would agree if Minns did—he was the one who had the strict rules about how we handled things. I had two weeks to work on him. Persuading him that we could make a real go of something more serious than fuck buddies was never going to be easy, but I wanted to. They were worth it. So was I.
I wanted to be happy and feel a part of something bigger than me. I had that with the Seals—these boys were my brothers—but I wanted more. I wanted to wake up with my partners and know they’d have my back when I was having a shitty day. I wanted to do the same for them. It was time. Minns hadn’t wanted any of us to catch feelings when we’d started this arrangement, but how could I not? We’d been together for well over a year. Chris and Kamirah knew how they felt about me. All I needed to do was get them to open up and tell me.
I just hoped it matched what was going on in my head.
three
Cara
Early April
The email from the team’s PR person, Keeley Fisher, sat staring at me in my inbox. I’d been eagerly awaiting that email from the moment Dad told me about securing the sponsorship. Well, right up until a week ago, anyway. Now I was dreading it.
The email was the only reason I hadn’t cut off all contact with Dad and was still working at Delaware’s Warehouse. If I quit, I’d blow my chance to experience this trip. But I was torn. I couldn’t stand the sight of him right now, and this trip meant that we’d be in close quarters for two weeks.
That’sifI was even still invited. He was probably going to go with his new squeeze.
But I couldn’t think like that. I had to believe he wouldn’t do that.
My trust in him had been shattered, though. He’d promised he would end things with her, but hours after his and Mum’s conversation, the doorbell camera had alerted Mum to a visitor. Dad hadn’t even bothered getting dressed after his shower. He’d opened the door in a towel, and it had been promptly whisked away. They’d left it on the front step, not even bothering to close the door before they were going at it. Mum had the soundtrack recorded as proof, and it turned my stomach knowing she’d had to listen to them.
Instead of breaking it off, Dad was apparently now doing it with Danielle both at work and at home.
I sighed and closed my eyes. They were burning—I’d hardly slept this last week, but my manuscript was flying along. I’d punched out twenty thousand words since I’d caught Dad.
Even through closed eyelids, I could sense the email sitting there, taunting me. It was waiting, still unread, and I needed to get onto it. I knew what it would contain—flight confirmations and the list of personal touches that the team would appreciate—but I still couldn’t bring myself to look.
The sponsorship deal was an unusual setup. Normally sponsors weren’t as hands-on as detailed in the deal we’d inked. It was an anomaly, but Dad had done it for me. He knew how much I loved hockey. He knew I wanted to watch all five games from behind the plexiglass rather than on a television. I wanted to immerse myself in the game for a few wonderous weeks and eek out every piece of inspiration that I could.
I had a job; I still had a few hours here and there with Professor Reid to go with it. But I wanted something different. I dreamed of being an author. I had characters in my head demanding an audience. I wanted to pen stories that left people begging for more. I wanted curvy girls to read about characters they could relate to who find their great loves. I didn’t want their stinking husbands to have cheated on them either.
I had a dozen finished manuscripts that were sweet and fun, but they were missing something. They were missing heat. I wanted steam-up-the-bathroom-mirror level steam. No, I wanted volcanoes-venting levels of steam. I needed to get it out, to burn the proverbial pages with scorching, sublime sex.
I could picture lying on my back, my men kissing and licking every part of my body, worshipping me. My imagination ran wild as my mind’s eye played reel after reel of my guys touching each other too. I wanted to write about my man licking a bead of sweat off his lover’s stubbled throat. I wanted him to reciprocate, moving inside their woman until she was a puddle of sated jellylike limbs. I could feel the stretch and burn and the shiver of ecstasy as the pain morphed into licks of heat as my guys sank into my woman, her feeling every inch of them as they took her to nirvana.
I wanted my readers to fan themselves. I wanted them to need to touch themselves so bad while they were reading my words. I wanted them to dream of it for themselves.
Sex and seduction.
Escapism and orgasms.
