Falling into Rhys feels like falling into addiction, or what I imagine that might be like.
Everything with him feels easier. This isn’t the first time I’ve had some sort of friends-with-benefits agreement with someone, but it’s the first time it’s felt like this. Before, it was all just to get rid of the boiling inside of me, a form of exercise and relief. With Rhys, waiting longer than a day to see him again, to touch him feels like torture.
I’m torn between loving the way it feels to be with him, and hating how much I love the way it feels to be with him.
Not to mention, the man eats my pussy like it’s his fucking job.
Even currently, stuffed into a storage closet before all the parents of the Learn to Skate classes have vacated the building—when it would make more logistical sense for me to be on my knees for him—he’s got me half-hoisted in the air, his face pressed between my thighs as my bare ankles dig into the muscles of his back.
I’m on the cusp of it, can feel my legs starting to shake, when he pulls back and I nearly slap him as my hands grab for his silky hair to push him back where I need him most.
“What the hell, hotshot?” I gasp, voice whining as much as I try to make it harsh. “I’m so fucking close.”
“My birthday’s next week,” he says, as if now is a perfect time to have this discussion.
“Happy birthday,” I growl, gripping his scalp a little harder, which only makes him smirk.
“Thanks,” he sighs, pressing a kiss into my inner thigh that has me grappling for the wall again because I’m so close that he could breathe a little harder on my clit and I’d combust. “But I figured you could tell me that the day of.”
My stomach sours a little as I realize what he’s asking. And yet, my traitorous body is still reacting like this man isn’t holding my orgasm over my head like a carrot.
“Rhys.” I breathe.
He licks a solid, hard swipe against my pussy and I bite out another curse.
“If you want to come,” he threatens, his voice dropping as I see the darkness he’s always trying to hold back bleeding into the edges of his golden boy persona. “Then you’ll agree right now to be there, as my birthday present, if that makes it less serious for you.”
I can barely register is words because he’s fucking breathing them into my pussy, dark brown eyes glazed and half-lidded, staring up at me. That one stubborn dimple pulling his smile up lopsidedly.
“Please, Rhys.”
“Need an answer, Gray. Then you can have whatever you want.”
I close my eyes tight, trying uselessly to erase the image of him on his knees that’s forever burned into my brain. I shouldn’t. I really really fucking shouldn’t. But—
“Okay,” I whine. “Okay, okay, okay. Just please.”
He chuckles and presses one hard kiss right on my clit, before leaning back.
“That’s my girl.” He grins, before his hand that’s been resting on my thigh suddenly presses two fingers straight into my dripping center.
I moan, loud and desperately—too loud for where we are hiding, but I don’t care. It barely takes a minute of his full attention again to pull the orgasm from me, my lip bruised as I bite down hard enough to break the skin while my entire body combusts.
I come down from the high, slumped against the wall as he cares for me so gently it makes a lump form in my throat. We do this dance every time. Him, too sweet and caring and gentle. And me, shoving his embrace off with some half-hearted excuse to leave while I try to pretend I don’t see the sadness re-entering his eyes.
This time, I don’t say a word, kissing him hard and nipping lightly at his lips as I carry my discarded skates outside.
He follows quickly behind, shoving his skates off at record breaking speed, and following behind me. Tossing his bag onto his shoulder, he gets close enough to tap my shoulder.
I can’t outright ignore him. Our cars are parked right next to each other.
“So, you’ll come?” he asks, and I feel a bit like I’m throwing a puppy in the trash if I reject him now.
“Yeah.” I nod as we reach our cars in the empty lot. “Yeah, I’ll um… I’ll try.”
He smiles and nods, bouncing on his toes. For my slightly non-committal response, he’s still as excited as if I showed up with a banner and balloons.
“Seeing you will be the best part of my birthday.” He smiles a little sheepishly, like he didn’t mean to say it. Then rubs the back of his neck and bids me a quick goodbye before hopping into his car.
And, just like every time before, he waits until my car starts and drives to follow me out of the lot.
I almost don’t show at all.
But about two hours into the time of the party that he texted me earlier in the week, I show up at the Hockey House, feeling a little ridiculous with getting this dressed up—my go-to gray silk slip dress with an oversized leather jacket thrown on—to show up this late.
I checked my lipstick twice before I even got out of the car, but I do it once more now on the screen of my phone; wearing a heavier layer of makeup than I usually wear, but it’s a special occasion.
Is it? So Rhys is special?
Shaking off the conflicting thoughts about the sad hockey captain that constantly plague my brain, I walk through the half-open door and into the clustered throng of people. Some I recognize, some I don’t.
But I definitely don’t see Rhys Koteskiy.
Making my way back to the kitchen after a full sweep of the downstairs, I spot at least two familiar faces, Freddy and Bennett—both glaring at me unhappily as I saunter in.
“Matt.” I nod. “Hey, have you guys seen Rhys?”
“Look who finally decided to show.” Matt downs the rest of whatever is in his solo cup. “A little late for him, actually.”
I frown, playing with the hem of my dress a little self-consciously, feeling smaller even with the three inches of heels provided by my black boots.
Bennett doesn’t speak, but looks uncomfortable as he avoids my eyes from his perch on the barstool, massive shoulders curved inward as he slowly peels the label off the bottle of beer he’s drinking from.
“I know I’m late. But I need to talk with him.”
Matt sneers, cheeks flushed enough that I can tell he’s a little looser with his reactions. “Not happening. Get out.”
“Freddy,” Bennett snaps, his eyes flutter to me briefly before angling back to his teammates. “Back off it.”
“No.” Matt crushes the solo cup in his hands, tossing it over his shoulder in a perfect arch into the trash can which garners an ill-timed cheer from the guys gathered there.
The campus playboy looks furious—an expression I’m not used to seeing on his modelesque face, as he flattens his hands on the counter and glares at Bennett.
“You saw him, Reiner. He stared at the fucking door all night waiting for her.” Matt jerks back to me, eyes dark as he sizes me up again. “You’ve already hurt him once tonight. Considering your track record, I think it’d be better if I stop you now. You don’t give a shit about him.”
I don’t know him well enough for it to hurt as bad as it does, and maybe it’s his connection with Rhys that makes the words land like a slap.
I do wonder how much Matt Fredderic has divulged of our paths crossing last semester. How often he saw me take one of his athlete friends into a bathroom at one of the house parties, or grind into the lap of some overgrown football star just to feel nothing. I barely remember last semester, spiraling out of control and desperate not to feel so much all at once.
This year is different. Rhys is different.
“If I didn’t give a shit about him, Matt, I think you’d know. But this isn’t like last semester.” I push the words through clenched teeth, hating the vulnerability of it all. My eyes flicker to Bennett for a moment, but he’s just a stoic. “And Rhys is… different.”
“Please.” Matt snorts, rolling his eyes.
Fury ratchets up my spine. “I love sex just as much as you do, Freddy, and that’s not a fucking crime just because I’m a girl. But I guarantee I care more about Rhys than you have ever cared about a girl you put your dick in.”
Now it’s Matt that looks like he’s been slapped, a little stunned.
“He’s in his room,” Bennet cuts in, jerking his shoulder a little.
I’m gone before either of them can try to change their minds and stop me.
I’ve never been in the Hockey House, that I remember—and definitely not while Rhys Koteskiy was one of its inhabitants. Still, I find his room on the first guess, a 51 poster taped to the wall and signed by all his teammates. I look a little closer and see all of the signatures are marked with “Get well soon,” or “Thinking about you” or “You’re stronger than this.”
“O Captain, My Captain,” written the largest and signed by Matt Fredderic in a script that looks ridiculous next to the size of everyone else’s.
I raise my hand and knock a little beat against the wood.
“For the last time, Freddy…” He huffs, throwing his voice like he’s far from the door. “I knew she might not come, okay? You’re right. It was stupid of me to ask.”
My brow furrows and I knock again even as he’s still speaking.
“She’s not my—”
He throws the door open in the middle of his sentence, angry as he looks for the culprit of the knocking and only finds me. “… girlfriend.”
