Baby
GISELE:
How are you doing after that hit you took last night? All bruised up?
ME:
Black and blue.
GISELE:
Yeah, it looked nasty. They should’ve thrown that guy out of the game instead of giving him a 5-minute major.
GISELE:
On the bright side, that penalty got you guys your first win of the season. Is it my turn to bring you flowers?
UNLIKE OUR LAST SEXUAL ENCOUNTER, GIGI AND I REMAIN IN constant contact after our library hookup. We haven’t seen each other all week because our schedules have been hectic, and midterms are in full swing. But she’s a constant presence in my phone. We’re always texting. To the point that if I don’t wake up and see a message from her, I’m genuinely disappointed. And my dick aches to be inside her again. Hopefully we manage to make something work tonight.
Beckett and I walk into the training facility, our gym bags slung over our shoulders. He taps his key card at the scanner by the front doors, which automatically buzz open for us. All the athletes have access to the facility, and every off-hour visit is logged in. Someone told me the precautions started after a drunken incident in the weight room a couple of years ago.
We’re both engrossed with our phones as we enter the building.
ME:
I’ll take a blowjob instead. I mean, as long you’re offering a reward.
GISELE:
Maybe later. Right now I have a date with an ice bath. Just pulled up to the arena.
I laugh out loud when I read her message. Great minds think alike, it appears. Or rather, dedicated hockey players do. The doors buzz behind us, and then Gigi strides into the lobby.
She stops in her tracks at the sight of us, but recovers quickly, eyeing us in humor. “Is this really how you’re spending your Sunday morning? You losers.”
I snort. “You’re literally doing the same thing.”
“Morning, Graham.” Beckett lifts his head to smile at her before his attention returns to his phone. He keeps snickering to himself.
“What’s that all about?” I ask suspiciously.
He clicks his lock screen on. “What?”
“You dating someone?”
“Of course not. I’m a free bird, mate. Can’t be caged.” He winks at Gigi.
“Are you guys lifting today?” she asks.
“That’ll be me, solo,” Beckett answers. “This brave fucker is all about the cold immersion.”
The three of us head down the wide hallway toward the locker rooms. Halfway there, I say, “Hold on,” and duck into the team kitchen to grab an apple. I usually carbo load the day after a game, and I’m already hungry again despite the huge breakfast we ate at the house and the two muffins I scarfed down in the Jeep on the way here. My stomach is insatiable this morning. Since the facility doesn’t stock any junk, I have to settle for fruit.
“Nice wins this weekend,” Beckett is telling Gigi when I return.
“Thanks. We’re killing it so far. Got our second shutout in two weeks.” She pats him on the arm. “And look at you guys, squeaking out your first win! How adorable.”
He snickers, while I roll my eyes. Though I must say, that win did feel nice. It wasn’t pretty. It sure wasn’t anything I’d want on a highlight reel. But the fact that I was able to score on net…after two and a half periods of dropped passes, lousy communication, and festering animosity between my own teammates…well, it was not only a much-needed ego boost, but a bona fide miracle.
The win didn’t come without a price. The bruise on my right side sends pain skittering through me any time so much as a breeze hits it. Nothing a good ice bath won’t fix, though.
“So, you’re crashing my tub time?” Gigi says to me, eyes narrowed. “Because I’ll have you know, ice baths are my thing.”
“That so? Are you sure you can handle it?” I look her up and down. “Because there’s not a lot of meat on those bones. The chill will go right to them.”
“I do this after every game.” She plants one hand on her slender hip. “I might even do twenty minutes today.”
“You rebel,” I drawl.
“You think I won’t? Because I could stay in there for an hour if I wanted to,” she declares, but I think she’s only playing.
“Hypothermia is hot.” Beckett gives her another wink.
“I highly advise you don’t stay in there for an hour, Gisele,” I say politely.
“Stop trying to curb my dreams, prom king.”
“Look at you two, with your cute little nicknames.” Beckett grins at us. “You should hook up.”
Gigi coughs into her hand. “Yeah, not going to happen,” she replies, and I smirk at her when Beck’s not looking.
“Seriously, why not?” he insists. “Now that you’ve decided not to ride the Dunne train—”
“Don’t refer to yourself as that,” she orders.
“—this guy’s the next best thing. Plus you’d have good-looking children.” Beckett pauses in thought. “Colson would shit a brick, though, so… Probably a good call not to drink from that well.”
He wanders into the men’s locker room, oblivious to Gigi’s troubled face.
“Does he know?” she hisses when he’s gone.
“I don’t think so. It’s just Beckett being Beckett,” I assure her.
“Whatever. I’m going to change.”
I do the same, changing into a pair of swim trunks while devouring my apple in five bites. I toss the core into the trash can, then slide my feet into flip-flops and head for the tub room. I’m all about cold-water immersion therapy, although it’s not for the fainthearted. The first time you sink into the chilled water, you almost stop breathing. But eventually you build up a tolerance for it. They’re still not pleasant, but a short ice bath works miracles on aching postgame muscles and speeds up recovery times.
Gigi’s already in the therapy room, wearing a one-piece black Speedo that’s modest and shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. The way my body reacts, you’d think she was naked.
Approval flares in her gray eyes as they sweep over my bare chest. But when I turn to set my sports drink on the ledge across the room, she gasps.
“What?” I glance over my shoulder and realize her attention is on my bruise. “Yeah, it’s not great,” I agree.
She sips her water before setting down her own bottle down.
“How does fifteen minutes sound?” I suggest, drifting toward the timer at the door. “I know you’d prefer an hour, but I think fifteen is a solid start.”
“Good call.” Her voice is distracted.
I turn to see her fussing with her phone and a small external speaker.
“Just setting up my playlist,” she tells me.
Dread rises inside me. “No,” I say instantly.
“Yes,” she confirms with a broad smile. “Horizons. Trust me, it’s the best thing to listen to when you’re shivering your ass off in that tub.”
“I don’t trust you and I believe that to be a lie.”
“I’ve narrowed it down to two tracks. I’ll even be nice and let you choose. What’ll it be? The African bushveld or the reeds of North Carolina?”
“I fucking hate North Carolina.”
“Africa, it is.”
A moment later, we’re both sliding into our respective cold tubs. Gigi lets out a shriek of despair the moment her body is submerged.
“Confession,” she wheezes out.
I look over in amusement, resting my arms on the edges of the tub.
“As much as I like to brag about my cold-water proficiency, I hate ice baths with the chill of a thousand glaciers.”
I wholly agree. But the things that make you great don’t always feel great.
“In my early twenties, the African bushveld came calling. She welcomed me on a provocative journey, promising an unfiltered feast for my ears. Even now, decades later, I have never forgotten her raw, distinctive chorus.”
“Oh God,” I groan. “Why.”
“…I remember the trumpeting of an elephant mother, calling to her calf across the savanna. The relentless buzz of the African cicada as I smoked my pipe around the campfire. That night I learned that the hadeda ibis gets its name from the very sound it makes. The haa-haahaa-de-dah…so penetrating and distinct. Making it one of the rare birds to earn itself an onomatopoetic name. I cannot begin to describe the unforgettable symphony I discovered in the African bush. And now…let me take you there.”
We sit there for several silent seconds, the African bush serving as the backdrop for our cold therapy.
“Why do you hate North Carolina?” Gigi finally asks, curious.
I shrug. “I got stranded there once.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Nah.”
She laughs. “Man, you really hate talking.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“Sweetie. That wasn’t a compliment. You know who else doesn’t talk? Serial killers.”
“I disagree… Seems like a lot of those crazy fuckers love to hear themselves talk.”
The water laps the sides of the tub as she sinks lower. Her face is pained. Pale from the cold. “Did you see my dad’s show last night?”
I flick her a dark look. “Yes.”
“What’s with the grumpy face? He complimented you.”
“He did not.”
“He said you were effective and praised your stickhandling.”
“No, that was Jake Connelly. Your dad looked like he was holding his nose and forcing himself to go along with it.”
“I promise you, if Jake thinks you’re good, my dad thinks it too. You just need to find a way to make him overlook what happened at Worlds. He has a thing about fighting.” She quiets for a moment. “I don’t know how much you know about his past, but one of the reasons his foundation works with so many domestic abuse charities is because he was a victim of it.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I did know that.” A lot of articles were written about that situation, particularly since Graham himself hailed from hockey royalty. His father, the abuser in question, was a legend in his own right.
“I think where his concern lies is that you weren’t fighting on the ice,” Gigi tells me, her expression serious. “It wasn’t part of the game, where you’re dealing with…controlled aggression. Athletes can let out their aggression within the confines of rules, you know? But you did it in the locker room.”
“Yeah, I did.” I keep talking before she can push for details, which I know she’s clamoring to do. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me with Connelly instead,” I say dryly. “’Cause I’m starting to think your dad is a lost cause.”
“Sure thing, kid. I’ll be seeing his family for the holidays, so I’ll make sure to talk about nothing but you.”
Hearing it brings a rush of envy that I try to ignore. Not because she’s surrounded by famous people. It’s the family part that activates something painful deep inside me. I didn’t have any of that shit growing up. Always wondered what it’d be like to have a real family.
It sounds nice.
She shifts in the tub. The water sloshes over her, and she shudders.
“God, this is cold,” she gripes.
“One might think it’s an ice bath.”
“Listen, as much as I’m digging the sarcasm. Can it.”
“I can’t win with you. If I don’t say anything, I’m a serial killer. If I do say something, you tell me to can it.”
“By the way, it’s your turn. I want to hear the North Carolina story.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Come on. Humor me.”
“I don’t know how much humor you’ll find in it.” I give her a sidelong look. “You sure you want to hear it?”
Gigi nods.
So I shrug and give her the bare bones. “One of my foster families in Phoenix decided it would be fun to rent a minivan, pile all the kids into it, and go on a road trip to Myrtle Beach. The mom had a sister there. We’d just crossed over the state line into North Carolina when we had to stop for gas, and—I think they made a movie about this, where they forget the kid at home? Well, they forgot me at the gas station.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Poor little buddy.”
“At first, I figured they’d be back in a few minutes. They’d get on the road and then realize I wasn’t in the van. So I just sat there by the door, playing a video game that their real son lent me.”
“Real son?”
“Yeah. Most of the foster parents had their own biological kids too. They just tacked on a whole slew of other children to get the money from the government. But the foster kids were always second-class citizens. Real kids come first.” I see Gigi’s features soften and hurry on before she showers me with sympathy. “Anyway, I’m playing his video game, waiting around. An hour passes. Then two, three. Eventually, the gas station clerk comes out for a smoke break, notices me there, and calls the police. Tells them there’s some abandoned kid out there.”
“Damn.”
“The cops showed up and took me to the station, where I waited there for two more hours. They couldn’t track Marlene down. Her cell phone was dead, and I didn’t know the sister’s name because it wasn’t actually my family, you know? Finally, seven hours after they drove off, Marlene and Tony noticed I was gone. And the only reason they noticed was because their kid was crying and complaining that I took his handheld video game. They returned to the gas station, and the clerk was like, The cops took him. They came to the precinct to pick me up, and Marlene started yelling at me for making her son cry.” I laugh to myself. “I got in trouble for taking his video game.”
“You got in trouble,” Gigi echoes in astonishment.
“Pretty bad too.” I keep my gaze straight ahead. “Her husband liked to use the belt.”
“Oh God. And you were only ten?”
“Yeah.” I lean my head back, closing my eyes.
“There’s no scenario where my parents wouldn’t notice if I was gone for hours and hours. One hour, tops, and they’d freak out and send the entire neighborhood on the hunt for me. I can’t even imagine how awful it would feel being completely forgotten by people who are supposed to take care of you.”
There’s a slight break in Gigi’s voice.
I open my eyes and look over. “Don’t,” I warn.
“What?”
“You don’t have to feel bad for me. It’s over and done. I’m an adult.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for the child you used to be.”
“Trust me. That was one of his better experiences. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. The family I lived with after that is pretty much the reason why I’m going to be playing professional hockey. The dad was a huge hockey guy, and when he realized how good I was, he basically took it upon himself to foster that, no pun intended. Bought all my gear, drove me to all my practices and games.”
“How long did you live with them?”
“Three years. But after I had to move again, my coach was already invested, so he took over and filled that mentor role.”
The conversation is suddenly derailed by a series of grunts from the speakers. Followed by snorting noises, then a cry that sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
“What the fuck is that?” I demand.
“That, I believe, is a hippopotamus.” Gigi flashes a big smile.
“You smile too much,” I accuse.
“Oh no. Arrest me, officer.”
I roll my eyes.
“I think the real issue is—you don’t smile enough.”
“It makes my face hurt.”
“But you’re hot when you smile. And it makes you look more approachable.”
I blanch. “Baby, I don’t want people approaching me. That sounds awful.”
Her mouth falls open in awe. “Did you just call me baby?”
“Did I?” I didn’t even notice.
“You did.”
Well…shit. I need to watch myself.
A brief silence falls. Well, not quite. The symphony of Dan Grebbs’s field recorder fills the therapy room. The timer should be going off any second.
“So, this thing we’re doing,” Gigi starts.
A chuckle slips out.
“What?” she says defensively.
“Nothing, I was just waiting for it. I called you baby. This was bound to happen.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For the what-are-we talk. I swear it’s encoded into chick DNA. Always need to know where they stand.”
“Is that such a bad thing, knowing where we stand? I mean, I know we only had sex once—”
“Does it count as once when the first night involved about a hundred rounds?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You’re right. It’s like a dog years thing. One night was the equivalent of two years of dating.”
I snort like one of the hippos in the African bushveld.
“But…there’s no feelings involved, right? It’s just a physical release.” She waves a hand between us, then winces when the water laps over her chest. “Another tool in our training arsenal to keep ourselves loose. Right?”
When I don’t respond, she pushes the issue.
“Well?”
“You want to know if there’s feelings involved?” I offer a shrug. “I mean, it felt really good when I was inside you.”
“That’s not what I mean.” But I succeed in bringing a blush to her cheeks.
“It felt really good when you were coming on my face,” I continue.
She’s squirming in the tub now. It’s cute.
“Oh, stop that,” she grumbles. “We’re in an ice bath.”
“So?” I reach my hand beneath the water and rest it on my groin.
Her gaze doesn’t miss that. “Don’t tell me you’re capable of having an erection while submerged in ice water. Is your dick actually hard right now?”
“No,” I answer with a chuckle. Then I get serious again because I know she’ll take us right back here if I don’t. “Look. I don’t do feelings.”
“Ohhh. He doesn’t do feelings,” she says sarcastically. “Gosh, Ryder. You’re so cool and tough.”
“I’m baring my soul and you’re making fun of me?”
“Baring your soul, my ass. All I’m saying is, you can’t ‘do’ feelings or not do feelings. Sometimes feelings just sneak up on you.”
“Not on me.” Although lately I’ve been wondering.
She’s quiet for a beat before heaving a sigh. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way. I can’t see feelings developing either.”
There is no conceivable explanation for the disappointment that hits me.
I should be thrilled to hear those words.
So why the hell does it feel like a switchblade to the gut?
“We’re too different. For example, my favorite thing to listen to is this—” She gestures to the speaker on the ledge. “These beautiful, soothing nature sounds. Meanwhile, you probably listen to death metal songs.”
The timer goes off.
“Thank God,” she cries, shooting to her feet a nanosecond later. A full-body shiver visibly rolls through her as she races to grab her towel.
I get out of the tub and find my own towel.
“I usually do five minutes in the sauna now,” Gigi tells me.
Her gaze meets mine, and I can’t control my lips from tugging upward.
“Lead the way,” I say.
We go two doors down to the dry sauna. The heat feels like pure heaven on my face when we step inside. Gigi sets the timer for five minutes, then gives me a curious look.
“Have you ever had sex in a sauna?”
Damned if my dick doesn’t jump at the idea.
I play it cool, though. “Very presumptuous of you to think I’m going to have sex with you in here.”
Her jaw drops.
With a mocking grin, I walk past her and sit on the top bench. This heat is perfect after the cold tub. My pores burst open and it’s a fantastic feeling. I’m still sore from last night’s hits, but not as much as before. The body is an incredible machine.
As if to punish me, Gigi sits on the other bench. We face each other in the small space. My gaze focuses on the firm thighs emerging from the sides of her black one-piece.
“I like that suit,” I say.
“Bullshit. It’s downright Puritan.”
“That’s what I like about it. It completely covers you up. Makes me imagine everything underneath.”
“You’ve seen everything underneath.”
I smirk. “Damn right I have.”
“What are you doing after this?” She pauses. “Wait, let me guess. I bet you’re going home to write sad poetry and then listen to your death metal.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m working on a paper for British history and that’s about it. I’d ask you to come over, but the guys will be home.” One eyebrow quirks up. “I could come to your dorm if you want.”
“Maybe later tonight? I have plans after this.”
“Yeah, what are you up to?”
She looks at me for a second. And then, “I don’t want to say.”
Which, of course, piques every shred of curiosity in my body.
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
“Nope. Because you’re going to make some kind of snarky comment about it, and it’s one of my favorite things in the world, and I will not have you besmirch it.”
“Look at you, using fancy words.”
“You think besmirch is a fancy word? Do you need help with your vocabulary? If so, I’ll make you a list of words. I can lend you some non-picture books too, assuming you can read.”
I snort. “I read a ton.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do. You came over to my place. There were books on my desk.”
“Those all looked like textbooks.”
“Some of them were. The others were nonfiction books. History stuff.”
“History! Okay,” she says, nodding in encouragement. “There you go. That’s how you get in with my dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s such a history buff. He makes us watch these boring-ass documentaries all the time. Like this summer in Tahoe he forced everyone, even the guests, to watch a two-part series on old aircraft carriers.”
I sit up straighter. “Holy shit. That was such a good—”
“Oh my God,” she interrupts. “See? You two would be best friends.”
“I’m not talking to Garrett Graham about history. Only hockey.”
“That’s your problem. Next time you see him, I want you to be like, Hey, so about those female ambulance drivers in World War One.”
I can’t control a sharp bark of laughter. I don’t think I ever laughed this much with anybody else.
“I’m not doing that,” I inform her.
“Just throwing it out there.”
Our timer goes off and we both get up. When she turns toward the door, I admire her ass, unable to stop myself from stepping up behind her.
I cup those perky cheeks, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I love your ass.”
She twists her head to smile at me. I can’t help but kiss the perfect curve of her mouth while I cup the sweet curve of her ass.
Gigi tries to face me, but I keep her in place. “No. Stay just like that.”
I hear her breath shudder when I inch even closer. My groin presses against her ass now, and she squirms against it. I slip a finger under the strip of fabric covering her, stroking it along one plump ass cheek. So smooth. Perfect.
I guide her back toward to the benches. Grab my towel and stretch it over the wood-slatted seat.
“Bend over,” I whisper. “Hands on the towel.”
“What if someone…?” Her gaze darts to the door.
“Then we’ll have to be very, very fast, won’t we?”
Which likely won’t be a problem for my throbbing cock.
I’m raring to go, and I know she feels it straining against her ass. An erection I couldn’t hide even if I tried. I thrust forward, a gentle push against the barrier of her swimsuit. She tries to turn again, and I expect her to tell me to stop. To say it’s too dangerous. Yes, it’s Sunday and the building is mostly empty. But it’s not completely empty. There are people here, and any one of them could walk in at any moment.
But she surprises me. When she twists around, her eyes are on fire.
She licks a bead of sweat off her lips and says, “Use me.”
A smile spreads across my face, because it’s the same thing I said to her before we had sex. And then again during it.
There’s something so primal about hearing those two words escape her lips.
Use me.
I draw a breath and no oxygen gets in. But it’s not the hazy air in the sauna that’s suffocating me. It’s the unadulterated lust clogging my throat.
I rub myself over the front of my trunks. The thick ridge strains against the material. I’m as hard as granite. Then I push aside the crotch of her swimsuit and drag a single finger along her slit. She’s wet for me.
Gigi inhales sharply. Droplets cling to her collarbone, sliding down her face. With her ass jutted out, she’s all but presenting her sculpted body to me. At my mercy. I want to fucking maul her.
I pull my cock out and drag the heavy length of it between her ass cheeks.
“You want to be used?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Yeah? You want me to take what I want from this hot, tight body? You’re going to bend over like a good girl while I get off inside you?” I let out a heated breath. “Maybe I won’t even let you come. Maybe this one’s all about me.”
She releases an anguished whimper.
“That might be a problem,” she chokes out.
“Yeah?” I rub my cockhead along her slit. She’s dripping wet, and not just from sweat. Her arousal pools at her opening, soaking the tip of my cock. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to come the second you get inside me.”
I make a low urgent sound and thrust inside her. It’s such a perfect fit that a shudder overtakes me.
Christ. It only seems to get better with this girl. And I didn’t think anything could be better than the first time, the night I lost myself in her over and over and over again.
But it’s happening again. I’m losing myself again. So is she. She bites her knuckles to keep from crying out. I’ve forgotten where we are and stopped caring if anyone walks in. Let them.
I pull back, then slide back in. Once, twice, three times, and Gigi is gone. Gasping from an orgasm, riding the throes of it while I keep thrusting into her. Hard and fast. Gripping her hips, pulling her ass up against me. It’s a true definition of a quickie. Not even ten seconds later and I let out a strangled moan, my balls drawing up tight.
I’m about to come when I realize I’m not wearing a condom.
Holy shit.
This has never happened to me before. Not ever in my life. Even when I was a teenager banging anything in my path, I would remember to use a condom.
Gigi Graham makes me lose my head.
It’s too late to stop the climax, but I manage to pull out in time. Pleasure explodes inside me and then erupts as I shoot all over her ass. Getting it on her bathing suit too.
Panting heavily, I manage to get the words out. “We didn’t use a condom.” I curse to myself, reaching for the towel to wipe her up.
Her chest rises on a deep breath. “Oh, no. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. On me.”
She takes the towel from me and finishes cleaning herself. “If you’re worried about me, I’m on birth control,” she assures me, her tone slightly awkward. “And no STIs. You?”
“I get tested after every partner,” I admit.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m very good about that. I’m a cautious person, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I got tested at the beginning of the summer. So it’s been a while. But I also haven’t had any partners since then.”
I believe her. And I hope she believes me because I really don’t mess around regarding sexual health.
Gigi chews on her bottom lip, as if she wants to say more. Then she walks toward the door. “I should go. Need to shower and change before I head out.”
I secure the waistband of my trunks before following her out of the sauna. “Are you really not going to tell me where you’re going?” I complain.
She hesitates. Then she shrugs. “Fine. Why don’t you come with me?”
