Porn addiction and you
SHOWERING AROUND OTHER DUDES IS ALREADY NOT AN IDEAL situation. Showering with dudes who hate your guts is a whole other story. The epitome of discomfort. And I can’t think of anything more painful than making small talk while naked.
Colson and I were the last ones off the ice this morning because one of the skills coaches wanted to practice some passing drills with us, so now we’re the last ones in the showers. We need to be fast because we’re due in the media room in ten minutes for a last-minute meeting. At least it’s not the auditorium, which means Sheldon and Nance aren’t there to torture us today. I hope. I’m half expecting an ambush from them where they show us their wedding video and possibly home videos from their joint childhood.
We stand in our respective stalls with the waist-high partitions, so I still see him from the corner of my eye. That’s how I can sense his eyes on me as I drag both hands through my wet hair to wring the water out.
“What?” I say irritably, looking toward his stall.
“Would it kill you to be a little more complimentary during practice?”
“Toward you? What, you want me to stand there and stroke your ego?”
“No, not toward me. I don’t need that shit. I mean the other guys.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Woody and Tierney were nailing those face-off drills. And Larsen killed it during our last game with that laser beam of a shot.”
“Yeah, and how often do you compliment the Eastwood guys?” I counter.
“There is no ‘Eastwood guys’ anymore,” he says in frustration. “You’re all Briar.”
“Cool—how often do you compliment the new Briar guys? Because from where I stood, Lindley was doing the sickest moves in practice yesterday to deke you out. Were you patting him on the back for that?”
Case has the decency to look contrite. “Whatever,” he mutters.
“Just saying.” I shrug. “It goes both ways, bro.”
“Fine. I’ll make an effort too. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t want to hear shit. You’re the one who started talking.”
“All right, got it. Great chatting with you as always, Ryder.”
I turn my gaze away. I simply can’t bring myself to be amenable to this guy. The truth is, it’s his responsibility, because at the end of the day, this is his house. We’re still the trespassers. He’s the one who needs to bridge the gap, not me.
I towel off, quickly going to change into my street clothes. Case does the same, pulling a tank top over his head. He’s got a couple of tattoos on his arms. After two months sharing a locker room with him, I’ve seen them before. The one on his right bicep is a cross but doesn’t give an overly religious vibes. It’s Celtic style with lots of ornate flourishes. Case puts on a black and silver Briar hoodie, turning his back to me.
I wonder if that’s what Gigi’s into, dudes with tattoos. Although I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because she isn’t screwing him anymore, now is she?
Nope. She’s certainly not.
I lace up my shoes and grab my backpack. I sling it over my shoulder and head to the media room, Case at my heels.
Coach Jensen stands at the projector. Everyone’s already seated, chattering to each other. As Case and I take our seats, Coach starts the meeting.
He opens his laptop. “Something’s come to my attention,” he says, his gaze conducting a sweep of the room. “Normally, I wouldn’t address this because it’s none of my goddamn business.”
Okay. Curiosity piqued.
“But I was informed, because of the new rules regarding both appropriate campus conduct and potential mental health issues, we have to provide you with adequate information if something like this should arise.”
“What the hell’s happening?” Beckett sounds amused.
Jensen gives us a grim look. “Let’s begin. Firstly, I didn’t create this PowerPoint. I just want you to know that. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.”
Chuckles echo through the room.
He clicks the laptop, and the header slide comes on.
PORN ADDICTION AND YOU
Someone hoots loudly.
“The fuck is this?” Trager demands.
“I was not born yesterday,” Jensen begins. “Sex is a thing. Porn is a thing. It’s available on every phone. I get it. I can’t say I think it’s healthy, because, you know, go find a real woman. Or man,” he throws out. “Or both. Whatever you’re into. I don’t see how watching porn for hours on end is good for you, but as long as it’s in the privacy of your bedroom, fine. Go nuts.”
“Pun intended,” someone says.
“Pun not intended. I don’t make puns. To summarize—in your bedroom? Great, I don’t give a shit. But the consumption of pornography on university grounds, which includes libraries, is not something the faculty condones.”
“Dude, he’s talking about you,” Rand blurts out, his head swiveling toward Shane. Then he starts laughing his ass off, and for some reason, Coach allows it to happen.
Rand is in hysterics, curled over the tabletop, broad shoulders shuddering.
Even I can’t fight it. I hide my own laughter behind my fist.
Shane levels me with a murderous glare.
I press my lips together. Though I do feel a spark of guilt along with the humor. We both know this is my fault. Word of his library porn exploits has gotten around. Meanwhile, he was only covering for Gigi and me.
“Gonna fucking kill you,” he whispers ominously.
“With that said, a point was raised that someone who does do this on university grounds might not possess the proper impulse control and perhaps there might be a deeper issue here, so, and I’m not going to name names here—Lindley,” he says pointedly.
The room breaks out with laughter.
Coach holds up his hand and eyes Shane. “Pay close attention, son. Someone took the time to put this PowerPoint together for you, so let’s not be an inattentive asshole.”
He gestures to the team doctor, who steps forward.
“Good morning, boys. Let’s talk about dopamine, shall we?” Dr. Parminder begins in his clipped, efficient voice. “Take a look at this first slide. Dopamine is a neurotransmitter, acting as a chemical messenger between neurons in the brain. It’s also part of your internal reward system, meaning when you’re doing something that makes you feel good, dopamine is released.”
Shane drops his head in both hands. I do my best not to reach over and pat him on the shoulder. I anticipate getting a fist to the face if I attempt it.
Dr. Parminder goes on. “And when you masturbate, you feel good.”
Patrick Armstrong yowls out a laugh.
There’s no way we’re getting through this entire thing without at least one person pissing their pants.
Later that night, I’ve got Gigi in my bed, and I’m recapping the events of the day, which started off hilarious and ended up depressing. We tied our game against Boston University. Better than a flat-out loss, I suppose, but they’re not the strongest team in the conference and had no right keeping it that close. It’s infuriating. Yes, there are nearly thirty games to go, so we can still turn things around, but this season feels like such a bust already.
“I cannot believe Jensen did that.” Gigi’s cheek trembles against my chest as she shakes in quiet laughter. “Was Shane pissed?”
“Furious. You should have seen the text he sent me afterward.” I grab my phone off the nightstand because this is a message that requires reading verbatim.
Curled up beside me, Gigi watches as I open the messages app.
She suddenly stiffens as if someone poked her with a cattle prod.
“What?” I say in concern.
“Nothing.”
“Gisele.” She won’t look at me, so I pry her chin up to see her face. Hurt and anger crease her pretty features. “What’s wrong?”
After a drawn-out moment, during which the hostility in her eyes only intensifies, she finally taps the screen and mutters, “If you don’t want a woman to know you’re lying to her, maybe don’t flash the lies right in her face.”
What in the actual fuck is she talking about?
I look at my phone, trying to understand what—
Then I burst out laughing.
“You think this is funny?” she snaps.
She tries to sit up, indignantly pushing my hands away when I reach for her.
“It’s not what you think. I promise.”
“That message is pretty clear. Either you sent it and you’re aching for someone who isn’t the woman you’re supposed to be exclusive with, or some girl is aching for you and you enjoyed the message enough to save it on your phone where anyone could see.”
“It’s my group chat,” I croak. I can’t stop laughing.
“Your group chat.” Her tone hasn’t given an inch. Hard as stone.
“The Eastwood group chat,” I clarify. “All the guys are on it. And that’s our standard message before a game.” I click on the thread and show it to her. “See?”
She scrolls through the dozen identical messages.
BECK:
I’m aching for you
POPE:
I’m aching for you
KANSAS KID:
I’m aching for you
NAZZY:
I’m aching for you
She quits scrolling. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s too stupid to even explain.”
“Please try.”
“Patrick—the one we call the Kansas Kid—has this pathetic habit of falling in love after knowing a chick for, like, ten seconds. And once he falls, he does this love bombing thing with romantic messages and flowers—”
“Don’t judge him. You get me flowers all the time.”
“Twice,” I growl. “That doesn’t count as all the time.”
“It’s two times more flower-giving than I would ever expect from you.”
She’s got me there.
“Anyway, last year, it was the first round of the playoffs and not a single person expected us to pull out a win. We were playing the number one team in the conference—they were on a twenty-game winning streak at that point. So an hour before the game, Patrick accidentally sends a message meant for his new true love to our team chat. Goes without saying that we all ragged him mercilessly for it.”
“But you won the game,” she guesses.
“Yup.”
“Hockey players and their superstitions.”
She scrolls through the thread again, giggling. “Do you seriously send this message before every game?”
“Unfortunately.”
She props herself on her elbow, remorseful. “I’m sorry I accused you of lying to me.”
“I don’t lie,” I say simply. “Hell, my honesty gets me in trouble with chicks almost all of the time.”
“I’m an ass for thinking it.”
“I’m always going to be honest with you. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“I know, and I love that about you.” She sighs. “I may…have overreacted a little.”
“A little?” I smirk. “PS jealous Gigi is hot.”
“I wasn’t jealous—”
She squeaks happily when I flip her onto her back and press my lips to one bare breast. A moment later, I’m sucking on her nipple.
I swear, keeping my hands and mouth and dick off this woman is truly impossible.
I nuzzle a path down her body until I’m lying between her legs, my cock pressed against the mattress. I kiss the smooth skin of her inner thighs, leaving a trail of kisses on my way to my destination. I slide one finger inside her to test how ready she is. She whimpers in response.
“As a young lad,” I narrate, “I met a hockey player with the tightest pussy. She would make the hottest noises when I fingered her. And now… let me take you there.”
Gigi looks delighted. “Admit it. You love Horizons.”
“Nah. I love this.”
I push my finger in deep, which causes her ass to rock off the bed, sending her core directly into my face.
I waste no time capturing her clit between my lips, licking gently. My efforts are rewarded with another whimper, followed by soft, anxious moans when I start licking her in earnest. I make her come, and she barely gives herself time to recover before she grabs at my shoulders and yanks me up so I’m on top of her. Nobody’s even touched my dick and it’s ready to burst. I’m painfully hard.
“I don’t have any condoms,” I mumble, kissing her neck. “We used them up yesterday.” She’s been over a couple of times this week already. “Didn’t get a chance to restock.”
“Oooh, I bet someone is dying for my value pack now,” she teases, beaming up at me.
“Bring them over next time,” I agree, because I genuinely never expect how many times I end up inside her when we’re in the same room together.
“Or…” She bites her lip.
I wait for her to go on.
“After our sexual health talk in the sauna, maybe we can go without.”
My dick wholly approves, judging by the pre-come leaking out of it.
We spend the next hour in bed. I hold off on finishing because I’m in the mood to torture myself a little. So I fuck her nice and slow, making her come a second time before I finally reward myself. Gigi is on her back, her tits bearing a rosy flush as she gasps in pleasure. She looks so sexy that when I feel the pleasure build, I pull out and stroke myself instead, getting off to the sight of her perfect tits and gorgeous face.
Afterward, we lie there, me in my boxers, her buck naked, and discuss tonight’s respective games.
“Those were some crazy moves you did in the third,” I tell her. “Someone posted a couple clips online. Shane and I were watching them on the bus ride home.”
“Hmmm. But were they Olympic moves?” I love the way her voice sounds after sex. Drowsy. Lazy like molasses.
“You and your lofty goals.”
“Actually, my original goal—at least when I was a kid—was to win the Stanley Cup.”
I chuckle.
“I mean, I already had the nickname. Did I tell you my whole family calls me Stan? God, it’s obnoxious.”
“You got the nickname because you wanted to win the Cup?”
“No, I got it because I thought Stanley Cup was a person until I was six. I’ve been Stan ever since. But it wasn’t until I was around eight that I realized I could never actually win it.”
She snuggles closer. I run hot and she runs cold, so it’s perfect. Her body cools me down and I heat hers up. I’m not a spiritual man, but in my sex-loosened brain, I suddenly wonder if somewhere, somehow, maybe someone designed us to fit this well together.
“Boston won the Cup that year, and I was so happy. I told Dad how excited I was to get older and win it myself. And that’s when he broke the news that as a girl, that wasn’t really an option.” Gigi laughs quietly. “Man, I just started bawling. There’s a trail behind our house, and I ran off crying my eyes out. I wanted to be left alone, but I was a kid and obviously my parents weren’t going to allow it. Dad found me and sat me down on a log, wiped away my tears, and promised I’d have something even better than a Stanley Cup win: I was going to be the best female hockey player ever to walk the earth.”
I smile at the story.
She snorts. “Then he’s like, oh, and do I want to see the Cup? Turned out it was in our living room because every member of the team has the chance to take it home, and as the most valuable player that season, Dad had first dibs.”
“Goddamn, your life is incredible.”
“Anyway, having that aspiration taken away from me made me focus on the opportunities that were available. What was the highest mountain I could climb, if it wasn’t the Stanley Cup? And I decided it was Olympic gold.” She shrugs. “So that’s the most important thing now.”
“To you or to your dad?”
“He never pushed me to aim for Team USA. I did that for myself. And I want it for myself. But I guess, yeah, a part of me wants it for him too. I want to make him proud.”
“I’m sure he already is.”
“No, I know he is.” Her hand strokes my pecs, and I feel her demeanor change, grow frustrated. “I want to make that team, Ryder. And I should be able to make it! But I haven’t heard from Brad Fairlee since the beginning of the semester.”
“From what I know about that selection process, it’s vague and not always on a timeline. All you gotta do is keep playing the way you’re playing, and you’ll get your shot,” I assure her.
“What if I don’t?” Her body clenches, and I run my hand over her back. She relaxes slightly. Then her tone hardens with resolve. “No, I will. Because the alternative is unacceptable and something I refuse to allow. It will happen. I’m going to will it into fucking existence if I have to.”
Her ferocity is sexy.
Gigi sits up then, yawning. “Ack, I should go. I don’t want to be dragging at morning skate tomorrow.”
Wincing, she looks down at her chest. Her breasts are sticky with my semen.
“You came on me,” she accuses.
I snort. “Yeah, you saw it happen.”
“Can I take a quick shower? I don’t want to put my bra on over this.”
“Only if I can join you.”
“Deal. Are you sure we’re in the clear?”
“We should be. I’m pretty sure Beckett is out. Shane’s home, but he knows about this. Although I can’t say he’ll be covering for us anymore after the whole porn addiction seminar.” Another wave of laughter spills out. “Christ, I wish you were there.”
I tug her off the bed, hauling her naked body over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“No, wait,” she protests, giggling as she scrambles back to her feet. “I should put something on.”
“The bathroom is literally across the hall. We’re walking three steps.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got boxers on. You don’t have to be embarrassed if Shane pops out of his room.”
She snatches my discarded T-shirt from the desk chair and pulls it over her head.
“Oh, so you can wear my shirt and get it all sticky, but not yours?” I challenge.
“Exactly.”
I reach for the doorknob, then pause because I could’ve sworn I heard soft footsteps. But when I open the door a crack and peer out, the hall is empty. Maybe it was just Shane wandering around downstairs.
I give her a little smirk as we step into the bathroom. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll fuck you in the shower.”
“Promises—”
Gigi suddenly shrieks.
It takes me a second to register what I’m seeing.
She’s just moved the shower curtain aside to expose Will Larsen hiding in the bathtub, fully clothed.
“What the hell!” Gigi shouts at him.
“Gigi?” he says, blinking in bewilderment.
“Will? What are you doing in there?”
“Seriously, bro,” I growl. “Why are you in my house?”
“Um.” He looks at Gigi. “Why are you in his house?”
“Jesus Christ,” I snap. “Answer the question.”
But he’s too busy gaping at Gigi. His suspicious gaze lands on her oversized T-shirt, which clearly belongs to a man. To me. Climbing out of the tub, his eyes flick to her bare legs before returning to her face.
“You’re hooking up with this guy? Does Case know?”
Gigi pales. “No. And you cannot tell him.”
“Why are you in my house?” I repeat firmly. I’m getting tired of the lack of answers.
“He’s with me,” says an awkward voice.
I swivel to find Beckett in the hall.
“What do you mean he’s with you?” I ask warily.
“Uh…” Beckett hesitates.
Will hangs his head. “We’ve been hanging out.”
Silences crashes over us.
“Like dating?” Gigi asks in confusion.
Yeah, I’m confused too. As far as I was aware, neither of these dudes is gay.
“No, like hanging out. We’re watching the Timeline franchise,” Will says, as if that explains anything.
“You mean those stupid movies with the time-traveling scientists?”
“They’re only stupid on the surface,” Will mutters. “If you just forget about, like, the dinosaurs or whatever, the actual time travel theories are super solid. They adhere to the Novikov principle—”
I hold up my hand. “No.” I already suffer enough of this shit from Beckett.
“So you two are secret friends?” Gigi sounds increasingly baffled.
“Yeah.” His gaze flits toward Beckett. “I mean, it has to be secret. You really think Colson’s gonna let me hang out with him?”
“What, Case is your mommy now?” she says sarcastically.
“Oh, you’re right. I should tell him everything.” Will’s eyes are defiant. “You first.”
Another voice joins the cauldron of confusion.
“Thank God!” Shane appears in his bedroom doorway, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a look of relief. “Is it all out in the open now?”
“You knew about these two?” I grumble at Shane, pointing toward Beckett and Will.
He nods. “Oh yeah. I caught them bro-ing out together a few weeks ago. Smoking a joint and talking about quantum mechanics.”
Beckett sighs. “You make it sound so fucking nerdy.” He implores Gigi with his gray eyes. “I just need you to know—I’m a fuckboy. I get a lot of sex. A lot of it.”
As if something occurs to him, Beck’s accusatory gaze swivels back to Shane.
“Wait. Are you saying you knew that these two were boning?”
“Of course,” Shane shoots back. “Do you really think I’m jerking off in libraries like some creepy sex addict? I was covering for these assholes.”
Beckett releases a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, mate. Because I’m the one who told Coach about your porn problem.”
Shane hisses out an outraged expletive. “That was you?”
“Look, it seemed like a serious problem,” Beckett says defensively. “The fact that you’re getting off to porn in a library and then just acknowledging it to a group of people like jerking off to porn in a library is a normal occurrence—”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t doing that!”
“Cool, great. And now we all know you’re not a pervert.”
“Will.” Gigi grows tired of their exchange and refocuses her attention on Larsen. “You cannot tell Case about this.”
“Same goes for you,” Will tells her.
“You being friends with Beckett Dunne is nowhere near as catastrophic as me hooking up with Luke Ryder. You get that, right?” She stares at him. “Because I don’t think you’re grasping the gravity of this.”
“I mean, mine is kind of bad,” he insists. “Do you think I want to like an Eastwood guy?”
“Thanks,” Beckett says dryly.
“That’s not on the same level. At all,” Gigi stresses. “This could really hurt Case.” Her voice is soft now.
That sobers him up. “Okay, yeah. No, you’re right.”
Head bent, she covers her face with her palm for a moment, strands of dark hair falling onto her forehead. Then she sighs and looks up.
“Please,” she says to Larsen. “Just keep this between us.”
“Fine.”
“Will.”
“I said fine.” His mistrustful gaze shifts from Gigi to me. “It won’t leave this bathroom,” he promises.
But I don’t have a good feeling about it.
