The universe approves
“LUKE, STOP!”
I wake up Friday morning in a cold sweat. It’s soaked through the T-shirt I fell asleep in last night, pasting it to my chest. The terrified voice still reverberates through the cobwebs of my barely alert brain. I banish it because the last thing I need is to start my day engulfed in darkness.
But the nightmare proves to be an omen. When I roll over in bed to grab my phone, there’s a missed call from a Phoenix area code and a voicemail notification.
Fuck.
I sit up and punch in my passcode.
“Luke, this is Peter Greene, Maricopa County Attorney’s office. I tried contacting you a few weeks ago. My office also reached out via email, although I’m not certain we have the correct address; the one I have on file is quite old. I understand this might be a sensitive subject for you, but we do need to discuss the hearing and—”
“Your message has been deleted.”
I toss the phone on the mattress and stumble into the hall toward the bathroom to shower. I plan to be at the performance center at 8:00 a.m. today rather than 7:00. Now that classes are officially underway, I need to cut back on the extra training and not push myself so hard.
Everyone on the hockey team has only afternoon classes this semester because of our morning skate and training schedule. Beckett catches a ride to campus with me, but Shane says he’ll take his own car. We leave him in the kitchen at the blender, preparing a protein shake.
On the drive, Beckett chats about some movie he watched yesterday, but I’m only half listening. My mind is preoccupied with the same damn thing that’s been eating away at it for three days now.
Gigi Graham.
It’s been three days since we kissed.
Or rather, since one kiss from her got my dick so hard I could barely drive home with the damn thing trying to tunnel its way out of my pants and poke the steering wheel.
I honestly thought she’d call me by now.
And I shouldn’t be as disappointed as I am that she hasn’t.
With our first game coming up, practices have taken on a greater sense of urgency. Jensen works us hard this morning. Afterward, we pile into the media room to watch Northeastern game tape. They’ll be our first opponent of the season.
While we wait for Assistant Coach Peretti to arrive, I continue to fixate on Gigi’s silence and apparent decision to pretend that wasn’t the hottest kiss either of us had ever experienced.
I didn’t imagine that heat. We were both so hot for each other we were liable to burst into flames.
I try to push it out of my mind as my teammates blabber around me. As usual, the former Eastwood guys take up most of the second row, while the original Briars comprise the first one.
“All I’m saying is, you can’t prove wormholes don’t exist,” Beckett is contending, even as he texts on his phone with some chick. He’s a solid multitasker when it comes to time travel and sex.
“And you can’t prove they do exist,” Nazzy says in exasperation.
“Naz. Bro. You’re fighting a losing battle,” Shane advises. He’s also texting. He met another cheerleader at a frat party last night. Dude’s plowing through the cheer team like he’s trying to win nationals himself.
“I need to ask a question right now, and I need you all to promise you won’t judge me,” Patrick says nervously.
“Nobody is promising that,” Rand informs him.
“Forget it then.”
Rand chortles. “Right. Like we’re letting you get away with not asking it now.”
“I said forget it.” Patrick stubbornly shakes his head.
“Captain?” someone prompts me.
“Cocaptain,” comes Trager’s snide voice from the front row, but we all ignore him.
“Ask the question,” I mutter to the Kansas Kid.
“So, ah, wormholes.” He hesitates, looking around the group. “Are there worms in them?”
He’s greeted by pure silence. Even Will Larsen has twisted around in his seat to stare at Patrick.
“Theoretical worms?” Patrick corrects. He looks utterly lost. “Am I saying it right?”
Shane takes pity on him. “It’s okay. You’re really handsome.”
He doesn’t realize he’s being insulted until after Shane has already gone back to texting his cheerleader.
“Wait. Fuck you,” Patrick growls.
“There aren’t any worms in them,” Beckett says in a shockingly kind tone. “Basically, wormholes are these warped areas in space that connect two distant points…”
I tune them out again. I already have to deal with this at home. I’m not allowing Beckett Dunne to ruin my life on campus too.
An hour later we’re dismissed, and I cross the quad toward the ancient ivy-covered building that houses all my lectures for the day.
It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it didn’t take long for me to determine that, academically, Briar is much tougher than Eastwood. I’m a business admin major with a minor in history, and already both disciplines are piling a mountain of work on me. I have two papers due next week, and then two more literally a week later. Fucking brutal. Maybe it’s an Ivy thing.
I’m walking out of my final lecture for the day when Gigi’s name pops up on my phone. My pulse quickens.
GISELE:
I know it’s last minute, but do you want to do a session in Munsen tonight?
I don’t think there’s any innuendo there. I believe she’s really asking to run drills. Yet the way my dick hardens and my ass cheeks clench, you’d think she texted me a picture of her pussy with the caption come fuck this.
I type a response as I walk to the parking lot.
ME:
I’m down.
GISELE:
9:15?
ME:
See you there.
The universe approves of us fucking.
This is confirmed when Gigi and I arrive at the rink and discover that the women’s locker rooms are out of service. A white paper taped to the door explains there’d been a flooding issue. The faint odor of sewage reaches my nostrils as we read the sign.
Gigi shrugs and heads for the men’s room, trusty keys in hand. I haven’t been able to stop checking her out since we got here. Black yoga pants cling to her shapely legs and emphasize her ass. The ass I was squeezing a few nights ago. I still remember how sweet it felt in my palms, and my fingers itch to touch her again.
“How was your week?” she asks nonchalantly.
I try not to raise an eyebrow. We’re playing the casual game, I see. Just ignoring the fact that she was ravenously sucking on my tongue the other night. Cool.
“Good. You?”
“Busy,” she admits. “It’s like every year I forget what a heavy workload it is to balance classes and hockey.”
“What’s your major?”
“Sports admin.” She shrugs. “Kinda always thought I’d make a good agent or manager, so I picked a major that could put me on that path. How about you?”
“Business admin. Not sure what I’ll do with it, though.”
When we enter the change area, she slides her jean jacket off her shoulders and drops it on the bench. For a second, I think she’s going to keep undressing—my libido wholeheartedly approves—but then she picks up her garment bag and heads for the adjacent shower area.
“I’ll change in here,” she calls over her shoulder.
Like the other times we’ve been here, we have the whole rink to ourselves and it’s eerily silent. It doesn’t feel like a real hockey arena without the soundtrack of pucks striking the boards and plexiglass. The sharp slap of a puck meeting its target can rattle the walls of a building. It’s my favorite sound in the world.
It’s almost impossible to focus on hockey tonight. Which is a thought I never imagined myself capable of thinking. I’m always focused on hockey. It’s in my blood.
But tonight, my blood is burning for something else.
Gigi seems distracted too, dropping several passes she’d normally make in her sleep.
You never realize what a truly bad idea it is to play any sport while distracted until someone gets hurt.
During our next battle for the puck, Gigi lets out a cry of pain that causes my entire body to tense. I stop in my tracks.
“You okay?” I ask immediately.
She slides her gloves off, wincing as she rotates her wrist. Concern wells up inside me. Shit. If she injured herself…this could fuck up her entire season.
“C’mere.”
I guide her toward the bench, where we sit down. I take her wrist in one hand and examine it with the other. I gently run my fingers over the tendons, watching her face for a reaction.
“Does this hurt?”
“No.” She visibly swallows. “I think it’s fine. Think I just tweaked it when we were against the boards.”
I press down on another spot, still studying her. “What about this?”
“No.”
“You sure?” I feel her pulse fluttering beneath the pad of my thumb now.
Gigi nods, looking relieved. “That twinge of pain I was feeling before is already gone.”
She rotates the wrist again but doesn’t make any move to withdraw it from my probing grasp.
“I’ve never actually broken a bone,” she admits. “Guess I’m lucky. My brother broke his arm three different times growing up. Have you ever broken anything?”
“Do ribs count?”
“Of course.”
“Then a couple different ribs, a couple different times. Other than that, it’s mostly been light sprains. Ankle, wrist.” I shrug. “Never broken anything important.”
“I mean, ribs are pretty important.” She reaches out and touches my rib cage over my sweaty jersey.
Even though she’s not touching my bare skin, I feel her fingers like a cattle brand.
“You know…” She trails off thoughtfully. Gray eyes peering into me.
It makes me uncomfortable, the way she’s looking at me. It’s as if she’s seeing something I can’t. As if she knows a secret about me that even I haven’t been able to decode.
Finally, she finishes that thought. “You’re not actually a dick.”
“Sure I am.”
“Nope. It’s an act. You care. You just don’t want anyone to know you care. I thought you had a huge chip on your shoulder, but the rudeness is a front for something.” Gigi’s lips curve slightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what. I know you won’t tell me.”
She continues to search my face, and I resist the urge to duck my head. I feel oddly exposed. It makes my skin itch.
“Tell me a misconception you had about me.”
Her request startles me. I hadn’t given it much thought, but now that I muse on it, I realize I did have some preconceived notions about her.
“I assumed you’d be cockier. Entitled,” I admit.
She nods, as if expecting that.
“But you’re more humble than I expected. You rarely brag about yourself, only when you’re joking. Every time someone compliments you, you look pleasantly surprised, like it’s the first time you’ve ever been complimented. And you always respond with gratitude.”
Her wrist remains between my clasped hands. I can’t help stroking my fingers over her pale fragile flesh.
“I’ve known kids of famous people before,” I tell her. “I thought you’d be like them. But you’re not at all like them.”
Gigi’s teeth sink into her bottom lip for a moment. Then she moistens both lips, locking her gaze with mine.
“Just to clarify, you’re not trying to date me.”
“No.” I chuckle. “If you want someone to be sweet to you and take you on dates, I’m not your man. I’m not good at that stuff.”
“What are you good at, then?”
That’s a loaded question and we both know it.
I turn her hand over, then deliberately drag my thumb along the center of her palm. I don’t miss the way she shivers.
“I’m good at making you wet,” I say, hearing the rasp in my voice. “And I’ll fuck you so good you’ll be thinking about it for days after. It’ll be the best fuck of your life.”
She bites her lip again. The hazy, needy spark in her eyes nearly does me in. I almost pull her into my lap and kiss her. But she’s the one hesitating. This needs to be her move to make.
And she doesn’t make it.
My body cries in silent disappointment when she slowly stands up on her skates.
“Let’s call it a night,” she suggests. “Our heads aren’t in it, and that’s a recipe for injury.”
I follow her back to the men’s lockers, where we sit side by side on the bench to unlace our skates. Gigi removes her gear until she’s in a tank top, sports bra, and boy shorts. I try not to stare.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she says, drifting toward the doorway across the room.
I remain on the bench, breathing through my nose. Deep, even breaths.
Christ. I want her. Never saw it coming. Totally unprepared for it. And at a loss for what to do about it.
I hear the shower start, and soon there’s a layer of steam rolling toward the change room. I need to grab a shower too, so while I wait for Gigi to finish, I strip out of my practice clothes and shove them in my backpack. I’m putting the rest of my gear away when her muffled voice breaks through the sound of rushing water.
“Ryder?”
“Yeah?” I call toward the showers.
“I forgot a towel. Can you grab one and bring it to me?”
My cock turns stiffer than the hockey stick in my hand. With another deep inhalation, I lean the stick against my bag.
“Sure. One sec.”
I make my way to the wall of cubbies where fresh towels are stored. Grab two off a shelf. Then I walk through the steamy air hanging like a canopy over the rows of showers. The majority of steam comes from the third stall.
Heart pounding, I stop in front of the white plastic curtain. I glimpse the tantalizing outline of her body, a blurry flash of curves and golden flesh.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, then bring the towels to the edge of the stall. “Here.”
The curtain rustles.
Then it parts.
Rather than take the towels from me, Gigi stands there, fully on display for me.
She’s incredible.
My breathing grows shallow as her naked body wreaks havoc on my field of vision. Perky breasts tipped with brownish-pink nipples. They’re tight and puckered despite the heat of the shower. My tongue tingles with the impulse to lick them.
I tear my gaze off her tits to curb the temptation, but it only lands between her legs. An even more tempting place. She’s completely bare, and now my tongue licks at my lips the way it wants to be licking her pussy.
There’s an invitation in her eyes.
I leave the towels on the hook. Then I step into the stall without a word, shutting the curtain behind me. She’s fully naked. I’m still in my boxer-briefs. But maybe that’s a good thing, keeping a barrier between her and my aching dick.
Her gaze travels along my body in a long, heated perusal. Resting on my pecs. My abs. The very visible outline of my cock. Appreciation darkens her eyes, and damned if that doesn’t bring a rush of satisfaction. I want her to like my body. I want her to use it as her own personal playground.
Neither of us speak for several long beats. Water sluices over her, droplets rolling down the valley between her perfect tits, sliding over her flat stomach, her sculpted thighs.
“Ryder,” she begs, and that’s all it takes.
I join her under the spray, bending down to kiss her at the same time I slip one hand between her thighs.
She gasps and I swallow the sound with my lips. Slowly backing her into the wall, I drag my knuckles over her slit. Her hips move, trying to push up against my hand. I rub her clit in a light caress, only applying pressure when she begins whimpering into my mouth.
I break the kiss and inhale a cloud of steam. It swirls all around us, droplets clinging to her full bottom lip as she stares at me beneath impossibly long eyelashes.
“More,” she begs.
“More what?” A smile tickles my lips. “More of this?”
I curl my hand over her pussy.
Gigi moans.
While she rocks herself against my hand, I bend down to kiss her again. I love the way she tastes. The way she feels grinding against my hand. I hook one of her legs on my hip, opening her up more for me so I can push two fingers inside her. Her muscles clamp around them, and I damn near keel over with lust.
I need my cock in her. Christ.
Kissing her senseless, I slide my fingers in and out of her, while the heel of my palm grinds her clit. My other hand squeezes her tits, toying with the hardened buds of her nipples.
When she tries reaching between us to touch my dick, which strains against the wet material of my underwear, I chidingly nudge her eager hand away. I’m enjoying this too fucking much, and I don’t want the distraction. Every fiber of my being is fixated on the sounds she’s making. The uneven breaths and tiny whimpers.
She fucks my fingers in earnest now, eyes closed and chest heaving.
Some other time, I plan to spend hours playing with her, teasing her, but the urgency has reached peak levels, and suddenly the only thing I want is to make her come hard and fast.
“Let go,” I whisper in her ear before dragging my tongue along the delicate tendons of her neck. “Let me feel you squeezing my fingers when you come.”
A passion-drenched cry leaves her throat as she does what I ask. Gives herself over to the orgasm. To me.
I smile as she convulses with pleasure, her breaths escaping in steamy puffs. She presses her lips to my pecs, softly biting my skin and making me jerk with desire. My fingers continue to move inside her, but slower now. Her clit is swollen against my palm, her pussy slick from orgasm.
Meanwhile, I’m so painfully hard I’m surprised I’m able to remain upright. That the heavy erection in my briefs isn’t tipping me right over.
“Hey, is someone in there?” a confused male voice suddenly rings out.
We jump apart.
“Cleaning staff,” that same voice calls out.
Gigi’s chest heaves from another deep breath. “Yeah, sorry, just finishing up in here,” she calls back. “I have permission from the building owner to be here after hours. I’ll be out shortly.”
“Oh, all right,” the cleaner says, but still sounds confused. “I’ll start in the children’s change rooms. Sorry to interrupt.”
I’m still hard, but the moment has passed. A frantic Gigi grabs the towels I hung outside the stall, throwing one at me.
“Fuck,” she mumbles under her breath. “This is so embarrassing.”
“He didn’t know I was in here with you. It’s all good.”
We towel off and hurry to the main room to get dressed. My erection hasn’t subsided, not even an inch. Her lips quirk wryly when she notices me trying to slide my jeans up over it.
“Having trouble there, prom king?”
I sigh.
She throws her hair up in a messy bun, watching me for a moment. Finally, she speaks.
“I’m going home this weekend. Driving there tomorrow morning.” She pauses. “I’ll be back Sunday afternoon.”
“My roommates will be gone all weekend too. They’re hitting up some concert in Boston, and Shane said they won’t be home until late Sunday night. So I’ll have the house to myself.”
Her eyes lower to the visible bulge in my jeans, then slide back up. “Is that your way of asking me to come over on Sunday?”
“No.” I shrug. “Come over on Sunday. There—that’s my way of doing it.”
A smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Okay.” She meets my questioning gaze. “I’ll be there.”
