For the fourth time this week, I skate off the ice after practice wanting to pound my fist through a wall. The sheer lack of skill and common fucking sense I’m seeing from some of the other defensemen is appalling. I’m willing to cut the freshmen recruits some slack, but there’s no excuse for the way the juniors have played this week. Brodowski literally stood motionless in the defensive zone looking for someone to pass to, and Anderson lobbed pass after pass to covered forwards instead of cross-passing to me or carrying the puck so the forwards had time to get open.
The hinge plays we ran were a disaster. The freshmen skated in slow motion. The upperclassmen made stupid mistakes. It’s becoming painfully obvious that our roster is weak. So weak that the chances of making it to the post-season are looking slimmer and slimmer—and we haven’t even played our first game yet.
As I strip my gear in the locker room, I realize I’m not the only one who’s frustrated. Far too many surly faces surround me, and even Garrett is surprisingly silent. As team captain, he tries to offer encouragement after every practice, but he’s clearly starting to get discouraged by the dismal state of our team.
The only guy who’s actually smiling is the new kid Hunter, who received so much praise from Coach for his performance today that he’s going to be shitting out lollipops and kittens for weeks to come. I have no clue how Dean managed to convince the guy to join the team—all I know is that my buddy dragged Hunter to the bar one night after tryouts, and the next morning, the kid was on board. Must’ve been some night out.
“Logan.” Coach appears in front of me. “Come talk to me after your shower.”
Shit. I quickly search my brain for anything I could’ve done wrong on the ice, but I’m not being arrogant when I say I played well. Dean and I were the only ones even trying out there.
When I enter Coach’s office thirty minutes later, he’s at his desk, wearing a somber look that heightens my agitation. Fuck. Was it the dropped pass at the start of practice? No. Can’t be. Not even Gretzky himself could have held on to the puck with two hundred pounds of Mike Hollis ramming him into the boards.
“What’s up?” I sit down, trying not to reveal how rattled I am.
“Let’s cut right to the chase. You know I don’t like to waste time on preamble.” Coach Jensen leans back in his chair. “I spoke to a friend in the Bruins organization this morning.”
Every muscle in my body freezes up. “Oh. Who?”
“The assistant GM.”
My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. I knew Coach had connections—of course he does, he was in Pittsburg for seven seasons, for fuck’s sake—but when he said “friend” I assumed he meant a lower-level minion in the head office. Not the assistant general manager.
“Look, it’s no secret you’ve been on the radar of every scout since your high school career. And you already know I’ve had inquiries about you before. Anyway, if you’re interested, they want you to come in and practice with the Providence Bruins.”
Jesus Christ.
They want me to practice with the development team for the Boston fucking Bruins?
I can barely wrap my head around it. All I can do is stare at Coach. “They’d want me for Providence?”
“Maybe. When they’re interested in taking a look at you, they don’t usually put you on the ice with the big boys. They test you out with the minor team first, see how you do.” His voice rings with intensity I rarely hear off the ice. “You’re good, John. You’re really fucking good. Even if they choose to develop you in Providence first, it won’t be long before you’re called up and playing on the roster you deserve to be on.”
Christ. This can’t be happening. I’m in the Garden of fucking Eden, salivating over that goddamn apple. The temptation is so strong I can taste the victory. This isn’t just a pro team holding out the apple—it’s the team. The one I grew up rooting for, the one I’ve fantasized about playing for since I was seven years old.
Coach studies my face. “With that said, I wanted to check if you’ve reconsidered your plans after graduation.”
My throat goes drier than dust. My heart races. I want to shout Yes! I’ve reconsidered! But I can’t. I made a promise to my brother. And as big of an opportunity as this is, it’s not big enough. Jeff won’t be impressed if I announce I’m going to be playing for a farm team. Nothing short of a plum contract with the Bruins will convince him to let me have this, and even then, he’d probably still balk.
“No, I haven’t.” It kills me to say it. It kills me.
From the frustration shadowing Coach’s eyes, I can tell he senses that. “Look. John.” He speaks in a measured tone. “I understand why you didn’t opt in. I really do.”
Other than my brother, and now Garrett, Coach is the only other person who knows I didn’t enter the draft. In that first eligible year, I pretended I’d missed the deadline to declare, which led to Coach dragging me into this very office and screaming at me for forty-five minutes about what an irresponsible idiot I am and how I’m wasting my God given talents. Once he calmed down, he started muttering about calling in favors to try to make me eligible, at which point I had no choice but to tell him the truth. Well, some of the truth. I told him about my dad’s accident, but not the drinking.
Since then, he hasn’t harassed me about it—until now.
“But this is your future we’re talking about,” he finishes gruffly. “If you pass this up, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, kid. I guarantee it.”
Yeah, no guarantee needed. I know I’ll regret it. Hell, I already regret a lot of things. But family comes first, and my word means something. To me, to Jeff. I can’t go back on it now, no matter how tempting this is.
“Thanks for letting me know, Coach. And please thank your friend for me.” I swallow a lump of despair as I slowly rise to my feet. “But my answer is no.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Grace’s soft voice and timid expression make my chest ache. I don’t know why she bothered asking me that, because obviously this is the last thing I want to do. It’s what I have to do.
Although I went straight to her dorm after practice and wasted no time telling her about my talk with Coach, now I’m kinda wishing I kept it to myself. I told her about my plans for the future a few days after we started dating, but even though she hasn’t said it out loud, I know she disagrees with them.
“I didn’t want to say no,” I say roughly. “But I have to. My brother expects me to move back home the moment I graduate.”
“What about your dad? What does he expect?”
I lean my head against the stack of decorative pillows on her bed. They smell like her. Sweet and feminine, a soothing fragrance that relaxes some of the tension wedged in my chest.
“He expects us to help him run his business because he can’t do it himself. That’s what family does. You pitch in when you’re needed. You take care of each other.”
She frowns. “At the expense of your dreams?”
“If it comes down to that, yes.” This entire conversation is too dismal, so I tug her toward me. “Come on, let’s put on the movie. I need some explosions and gunfights to distract me from my misery.”
Grace grabs her laptop and gets the movie ready, but when she tries to place the computer between us, I shift it to my lap so there’s no barrier to keep her from snuggling beside me. I love holding her. And playing with her hair. And leaning in to kiss her neck whenever the urge strikes.
I haven’t been in a relationship since high school, but being with Grace is different than it was with my old girlfriends. It feels…more mature, I guess. Back then we just talked about trivial bullshit, and filled in the silences by fooling around. But Grace and I actually talk. We talk about our days and our classes, our childhoods, our futures.
Talking isn’t all we do, though. I’ve seen her almost every day since our first date, and we’ve messed around every single time. Christ, that bathroom hook-up at Beau’s party? Out of this fucking world—and she hadn’t even touched me. I’d jerked off when I was down on my knees eating her pussy, and sweet Jesus, I can’t remember ever coming that hard from my own hand.
But we haven’t had sex yet, and I don’t even care. It used to be all about the quick gratification for me—flirt, fuck, get out. Like a game of ball hockey back in middle school, hurriedly played between the time school let out and when my mother would call me in for supper.
With Grace, it’s like three periods of real hockey. The anticipation and excitement of the first period, the escalating buildup of the second, and then the sheer intensity of the third that results in that euphoric knowledge of having achieved something. A win, a loss, a tie. Doesn’t matter. It’s still the most powerful feeling in the world.
If I had to identify it, I’d say we’re in the second period now. The buildup. Hot hook-up sessions that leave me aching, but none of the third-period pressure to seal the deal.
Twenty minutes into the film, she turns to me suddenly. “Hey. Question.”
I click the track pad to press pause. “Hit me.”
“Am I your girlfriend?”
I give her my creepiest leer. “I don’t know, baby, do you want to be?”
Amusement dances in her brown eyes. “Well, now I don’t.”
Grinning, I lean over the edge of the bed to set the laptop on the floor, then shift around and pounce on her. She squeals as I get her on her back, my body pressed to her side as I prop up on one elbow and peer down at her.
“Liar,” I accuse. “Of course you want to be my girlfriend. And FYI? You are.”
Her expression grows pensive for a moment, and then she nods. “I can live with that.”
“Aw, how generous of you, baby. We should silkscreen it on matching T-shirts—‘I can live with that.’”
Her laughter floats up and tickles my chin. I love her laugh. It’s so fucking genuine. Everything about her is genuine. I’ve hooked up with too many chicks who play games, who say one thing and mean another, who lie or manipulate to get what they want. But not Grace. She’s open and sincere, and when she’s pissed off or annoyed, she tells me. I appreciate that.
I dip my head to kiss her, and when our tongues meet, a jolt of pleasure zips down to my cock, which thickens against her leg. I nudge my hips forward, and just that tiny amount of friction makes me groan. God. I want to come. She’s gotten me there twice this week. Once jacking me off, the other time using her mouth. On the nights that orgasms weren’t on the table, I jerked it in the shower, imagining I was fucking her instead of my fist, but self-gratification is nothing compared to what she’s doing right now, when she unzips my pants and wraps her fingers around me.
My eyes roll to the top of my head at that first gentle stroke. “When is Daisy coming home?” I mumble.
“At least not for another hour.” She rubs a slow circle around the head of my dick. Precome coats her fingers, making it easy to glide her fist up and down my shaft.
I thrust my hips and kiss her, one hand traveling up her stomach to cup a small, firm breast. She’s not wearing a bra, and her nipples strain against the soft cotton of her tank top. I rub my palm over the tight bud, tease it with the pad of my thumb, then press down on it, drawing a breathy noise from her lips.
I’m so hard I can’t think straight. It’s unbearable, this need for release. My breathing becomes shallow as I let go of her breast and slide my hand lower, inching toward the waistband of her yoga pants.
She breaks the kiss, stiffening beneath my touch. “Uh…” Color stains her cheeks. “I’m closed for business tonight. It’s my moon time.”
I choke out a laugh. “Your moon time?”
“What?” she says defensively. “It sounds a lot more whimsical than I’m menstruating.”
I cringe, instantly transported back to those awkward moments in sex ed class.
“See?” she gloats. “My way is better.” Then she swats my hand away from her crotch and plants both hands on my chest, giving me a gentle shove. “Lie back. I want to tease you a little.”
Christ. Tease me she does. She drags my shirt up and explores every inch of my chest with her mouth. Soft lips plant fleeting kisses along my collarbone, then dance over my left pec, hovering above my nipple and bringing goose bumps to my flesh. Her tongue darts out for a taste, and I feel that tiny flick on my nipple all the way down in my cock. It throbs painfully, and I’m damn near squirming. I want her mouth on me again. I want her to suck on the tip, just a hint of suction and then the swirl of her tongue. I want—
Jesus, she’s kissing her way down my stomach, giving me exactly what I want. I swear, this girl can read my mind. Her lips close around me, her tongue executing that sexy swirl I was fantasizing about.
I must have made some kind of noise, because she peers up with a satisfied smile. “You okay up there?”
“Fuck. Yes. I’m more than okay.”
“Question,” she says, and now I’m smiling too, because I love it when she does that. Announces she’s about to ask a question instead of just asking it.
I answer with my standard, “Hit me.”
“How do you feel about your ass?”
My brow furrows. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, if I do this—” Her finger slides over a spot I was not expecting her to touch “—are you going to freak out, or go with it?”
She does it again, and I’m stunned when a shock of pleasure skates up my spine. “Go with it,” I croak. “Definitely go with it.”
Grace’s eyes flicker with equal parts surprise and intrigue. Then she lowers her head and sucks me deep in her mouth, another unexpected move that blurs my vision. Sweet Jesus. I’m completely surrounded by tight, wet heat. My blunt head pokes the back of her throat, and my hips move before I can stop them, retreating an inch, two, before sliding back in.
Her moan reverberates around me. Her finger continues to torment me. Gentle and exploratory, coaxing a strange ache of pleasure I hadn’t bargained for.
Jesus, this is fucking intense. And it doesn’t stop. She tortures me with her tongue, licking my shaft, slowly, thoroughly, like she’s a goddamn cartographer who’s planning to map it out later. And that finger. Rubbing, teasing.
My balls tighten, my throat so dry I can barely get a word out. But I manage two. “I’m close.” Then two more. “Really close.”
The last time she did this, she didn’t stay with me until the end. This time, she clamps her lips around me, her long hair tickling my thighs as her head moves over me. Release is imminent. Pulsing in my blood. But still out of reach, a taunting throb of tension that makes me groan with impatience. I want it. I need it. I—she slips her finger inside, and holy shit, I ain’t gonna lie. It feels so fucking good. She gives my dick a long, hard suck, pushes her finger deeper, and I go off like a grenade.
I gasp for air, my hips shooting off the bed as I come to the sounds of her moans and my ragged pants. Her throat works as she swallows, each tiny contraction milking more pleasure from my body until I’m nothing but a heaving, mindless mess on the bed.
Grace crawls up and nestles beside me, placing her hand on my stomach, a small, warm anchor that keeps me from floating away.
“That was…” I suck in a breath. “Phenomenal.”
Her laughter warms the crook of my neck. “I’ll make a note of that. Ass shenanigans, phenomenal. Regular shenanigans…what did you call it last time? Just amazing, I think.”
“Everything you do to me is both amazing and phenomenal,” I correct, threading my fingers through her hair. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so content in my life. “Hey. Question.”
“Hit me.”
I grin at the role reversal, then say, “My first pre-season game is tomorrow night. I know you don’t like hockey, but…will you come?”
“Aw, I would if I could,” she answers, sounding genuinely regretful. “But I’m meeting up with this guy from my psych class.”
I shift to my side and narrow my eyes at her. Something strange and unfamiliar slinks through me.
I’m startled to realize it’s jealousy.
“What guy?”
She snickers. “Down, boy. He’s just a classmate. We’re paired up on an assignment together, this case study thing. I’m going to be seeing him a whole bunch the next couple of weeks.”
“A whole bunch, huh?” I pause. “Is he good-looking?”
“He’s all right, I guess. Really skinny, but some girls are into that.”
Some girls? Or one in particular?
When she notices my expression, she laughs even harder. “Ha. Who’s jealous now?”
“Not me,” I lie.
“You totally are.” She inches closer and plants a loud kiss on my lips. “Don’t be. I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“Damn right you do.”
Fuck, now I know how she felt at the party the other night. The possessive clench in my chest is…new. I don’t like it, but I can’t stop it, either. I’ve been playing the field since I started at Briar, but there were a few hook-ups that lasted more than one night. Girls I saw on and off, not seriously, but often enough to develop some feelings for them. None of those arrangements were exclusive, though. I was well aware that they were seeing other guys, too. And I didn’t care.
This time I do care. The idea of Grace with another guy is unacceptable. I won’t go as far as to say she’s mine, but…well, she’s mine. Mine to hold and mine to kiss and mine to laugh with.
Yup, mine.
“What time is it?” she asks. “I’m too lazy to lift my head.”
I crane my neck to get a better look at the alarm clock. “Ten thirty-two.”
“Should we finish watching the movie?”
“Sure.” I lean over to grab the laptop, which chimes loudly the moment I pick it up. “Uh…someone’s Skyping you, I think.”
She peeks at the screen, then shoots up in a panic. “Oh no. Put your pants on!”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Why?”
“Because that’s my mother!”
If I’d still had an erection, it would be deflating like a balloon right now. I hurriedly yank my pants to my hips and zip them up as Grace sets the computer in her lap. Her fingers hover over the track pad, and then she looks over at me. “Move ten inches to the left if you don’t want her to see you.”
“Do you not want her to see me?”
Grace rolls her eyes. “I’m cool if she does. Actually, she knows all about you, so you should totally say hi. But I understand if you don’t want to do the whole meet-the-parents thing right now.”
I shrug. “I’m cool with it.”
“Okay then. Brace yourself. She’s about to deafen us both with—”
A shriek of delight. The loudest frickin’ shriek on the planet.
Fortunately, her voice lowers to a manageable decibel when she speaks. “Sweetie! Yay! You answered!”
The video chat box fills the screen, revealing a very attractive blonde who seems way too young to be the mother of a nineteen-year-old. Seriously, Grace’s mother looks like she’s thirty. If that.
“Hey, Mom,” Grace says. “Do I even want to know why you’re awake at five-thirty in the morning?”
Her mother’s answering grin is downright devilish. “Who says I even went to bed?”
Grace told me that her mother is bubbly and impulsive and pretty much acts like a teenager, and I can see now that she hadn’t exaggerated.
My girlfriend groans. “Please tell me you stayed up painting and not…doing other things.”
“I take the Fifth.”
“Mom.”
“I’m forty-four years old, sweetie. Do you expect me to live like a monk?”
Forty-four? Wow. Totally doesn’t look it. Also, I can’t stop the snicker that pops out at her breezy response, which causes her brown eyes to narrow.
“Grace Elizabeth Ivers, is there a man sitting beside you? I thought that big lump was your blanket, but that’s someone’s shoulder!” Her mom gasps. “Identify yourself, sir.”
Grinning, I scoot closer so the camera can see my face. “Evening, Mrs. Ivers. Or morning, I guess.”
“Mrs. Ivers lives in Florida. Call me Josie.”
I swallow a laugh. “Josie. I’m Logan.”
Another gasp. “The Logan?”
“Yes, Mom. The Logan,” Grace confirms with a sigh.
Josie looks from me to Grace, then puts on a stern face. “Sweetie, I’d like a moment alone with Mr. Logan. Go take a walk or something.”
My alarmed gaze flies to Grace, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hey, you said it was cool,” she murmurs. Then she plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve gotta pee, anyway. You two go nuts.”
Panic fills my gut as my girlfriend hops off the bed and literally abandons me. Leaving me at her mother’s mercy. Fucking hell. I should have hid when I had the chance.
The moment Grace leaves the room, Josie says, “Is she gone?”
“Yup.” I gulp.
“Good. Don’t worry, kid, I’ll be quick. And I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen carefully. Gracie told me she was giving you another chance, and I fully supported that decision.” Josie peers into the camera, her expression glittering with menace. “With that said, if you break my daughter’s heart, I will hop on the first plane out of here, show up at your door, and beat you to death with a pillowcase full of soap bars.”
Despite the terrified shiver evoked by the threat, I can’t stop the laugh that flies out of my throat. Jesus. That’s a very specific form of violence.
But when I answer, the humor is gone and my voice is gruff. “I won’t break her heart,” I promise.
“Good. Glad that’s settled.”
And I swear, this woman has multiple personalities, because in the blink of an eye she’s Suzie Sunshine again. “Now tell me all about yourself, Logan. What’s your major? When’s your birthday? What’s your favorite color?”
Swallowing another wave of laughter, I indulge her random questions, which she spits out in rapid fire. I don’t mind, though. Grace’s mother is hilarious, and it only takes a few seconds to figure out where Grace got her sense of humor and tendency to babble incoherently.
Three minutes into the chat, Josie’s phone rings. She says she needs to take it and promises she’ll ping us right back, and then the screen goes black. I’m about to put down the laptop, but when I hear footsteps nearing the door, I suddenly have an idea.
AKA the perfect payback for Grace’s desertion.
Just as the door opens, I look intently at the screen and act like I’m still chatting with her mother. “—And she stuck her finger in my ass when she was blowing me, which was fucking incredible. I never thought I’d enjoy having anything up there, but—”
Grace screams in horror.
“Oh my God!” She dives onto the bed and grabs the laptop. “Mom, don’t listen to him! He’s just joking—” She stops abruptly, blinking at the screen before turning to glare at me. “You are such an asshole.”
I curl over with laughter, which only makes her angrier, and soon she’s batting at me with her teeny fists, as if they’ll actually do any damage.
“You’re the worst!” she yells, but she’s giggling even as she pounds those futile fists at me. “I actually thought you told her that!”
“That was the point.” I howl in laughter, then roll us both over so she’s on her back and I’m looming over her. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
Grace reaches up and flicks my forehead. “Jerk.”
My jaw drops. “Did you just flick me?”
She flicks me again.
“Did you just flick me again?”
Now she’s the one howling, because I’m tickling the shit out of her. And as she squirms on the bed and tries to escape my relentless fingers, I reach several conclusions.
One, I’ve never had more fun with a girl in my entire life.
Two, I never want this to end.
And three…
I think I might be falling in love with her.
