“Did it hurt?”
“Of course. So much. You had me kicking and begging for it to be done pretty quick. You didn’t let me up, no matter how much I begged—you can consider that all part of my fantasy. My ass was on fire, and you kept smacking away with total confidence, lecturing me to death. It was so fucking hot.”
That image of him over my knee, getting a good spanking. God, it does something to me. Flip-flops my stomach. To my dick, yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s a something special that furrows into my belly. Magic within our combined energies around us.
“You showed me my ass in the mirror after. It was fire engine red.”
“Did it work? Did you learn your lesson?” I say, staring. I can’t take my eyes off him. Specifically, his plump lips.
“I learned it, all right.”
I lick the back of my teeth. I need him. I need him so fucking badly. I break all the vows I’ve made to myself. He’s a juicy steak and I’m a salivating monster. “You wanna … you wanna come up to my place, trouble?”
“That get you hot, Merc?”
“Yes.”
“You need to get off? Right … Now?”
“Yeah. Fuck, Ineedyou, buttercup.”
He lifts my hand so it’s in front of my face. “Mercy, meet right hand. Use it. Have fucking fun.”
He leans in to kiss my stunned face on the cheek. Nothing more than a peck. Then he exits the car, which is smart, or I might decide to enact part of his fantasy. He won’t be able to resist saying no to that and then I’d make him sorry.
“Jack! You fucking brat!”
He hears, even though I have the windows up, and turns to cackle like a hyena and point and then sprints toward the entrance to the condo, while I’m stuck waiting for the world’s most uncomfortable hard-on to go away.
Chapter10
Spark & Chemistry
JACK
Merc and I are even now and that can’t stand. I have to win. I’m built to win. A bunch of us are in a hotel in Calgary before the game. I’m lying on the uncomfortable hotel couch at an odd angle, bending the shit out of my hat’s brim, trying to concoct a plan.
“Can someone help me make Coach insanely jealous so I can not-fuck him again?” I shout to the room. People are in various places. Some eating. Some getting ready for the game by performing their lucky rituals. Some kicking it like I am.
“See, that’s already a faulty plan. I think you should fuck him again,” Casey says. He’s at the stove, making mac ‘n’ cheese. The dietary restrictions have been hardest on Casey who has the metabolism of a hummingbird and is used to eating whatever the fuck he wants. Is mac ‘n’ cheese allowed? No, of course not. Does he give a fuck? Also, no. There are many things he’s given up for the season, but mac ‘n’ cheese won’t be one of them.
“Yeah, me too,” Dash says while he wobbles around in tree pose. We’ve won every game where he did some yoga beforehand so now he thinks it’s lucky.
“I too vote to go for the fucking,” Stacey says from his place on one of the bar stools at the counter, across from Dash.
“I fourth the motion … and carried,” Dirk says.
“It wasn’t a vote. I’m not fucking him ever again.”
“You said you weren’t drinking ever again the last time you got fucked up and yet last Saturday there you were with the tequila in your hand,” Dirk points out.
Dash smiles, remembering that night. “I might see Syd again. We’ve been texting.”
Stacey’s eyes flash to Dash. He frowns, removes his hat—which I’m pretty sure is actually Dash’s—to smooth his curls back and replace the cap, giving the brim an extra tug. Casey takes the time to look over to his brother, scowl and then shake his head as he returns to his macaroni making.
“The silver fox? Way to go,” I say and bend my brim severely as my mind races with more ideas about Mercy I can’t see working out.
“Yeah, he might come to a home game. Y’know, on second thought,” he says. “Your obsession with Coach has Rhett extracted from your mind. I’m gonna support it more no matter how asinine. If you’re not getting back together, it’s time you moved on.”
