Chapter 6 Nox
There are exactly three things I love about Winter Classic days:
"Focus," she mumbles against my chest. We're in my private locker room, three hours before puck drop. "You have a game to play."
"I am focused." My hands slide down her back. "Very, very focused."
"On hockey?"
"On how good my name looks across your shoulders. Or should I say did.” I said as I lifted the jersey over her head, her long dark hair fanning around her as her mucky smell of arousal hits my nostrils.
“I want to taste you,” I groan as my fingers slide down and circle her clit.
She bites my collarbone in response. In the month since the blizzard, she's developed quite the appetite for marking me. Not that I'm complaining.
"Management's going to be watching," she reminds me.
"Let them." I lift her and walk us over on the massage table, pinning her beneath me. "I'm done hiding."
"Yes." But her legs wrap around my waist and I feel her heat.
"Tell me to stop." I kiss down her neck, tasting the places I've already marked. "Tell me you don't want this."
Instead of answering, she reaches between us. Her small hand wraps around my cock, and my vision goes white.
"Fuck me," I growl.
"Language," she teases, stroking slowly. "What would your fans say?"
"They'd say," I thrust into her grip, "that you're a terrible influence."
"Me?" She does something wicked with her wrist. "I'm the professional one, remember?"
I capture her mouth, swallowing her gasp as I push her hand away and slide home. A month of this, and she still feels perfect.
"Professional?" I roll my hips, making her arch. "Professionals don't wear out their star players before games."
"Maybe I'm, oh god,” she moaned before gripping my hips harder as I thrust into her. “Maybe I’m trying to wear you out." She matches my rhythm. "Make you lose."
I bite her ear. "You backing the other team, Winters?"
"Maybe I just like seeing you work for it."
Challenge accepted.
By the time I'm done with her, her glasses are fogged, and she's said every curse word I've taught her. Twice.
A knock at the door makes us jump.
"Thirty minutes, Murphy!" Coach shouts.
Reality crashes back. The Winter Classic. My contract renewal. Management's ultimatum.
Joey must read it on my face. "Hey." She cups my cheek. "You've got this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She kisses me quickly. "Now go make me look good on social media."
I catch her wrist as she moves to leave. "Stay for the game?"
"I'll be in the press box."
"No." I pull her back. "Stay here. Watch from my room."
Her eyes soften. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."
"Please." I rest my forehead against hers. "I want you here when I get back."
"Win the game first."
"Then you'll stay?"
She picks up her jersey from the floor, sliding it back on. Nothing underneath. "Win the game, and I'll let you take this off. Again."
I groan. "You fight dirty, Winters."
"I learned from the best." She heads for the door, hips swaying. "Oh, and Murphy?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
She's gone before I can respond, leaving me with zero ability to focus on hockey.
Perfect.
The game is brutal. Outdoor ice is different.
It’s slower and rougher. The wind cuts through our jerseys and I can barely feel my fingers by the second period.
Every time I look up at my private box, I see her.
Still in my jersey, hair loose, glasses catching the stadium lights.
She's got her phone out, probably documenting every save for the team's social media.
I play the best game of my life.
Overtime. Tie game. One shot could end it.
Their forward breaks away. Just him and me.
Time slows.
I think about Joey in that conference room, all prim and proper.
Joey in the equipment room, coming undone.
Joey in my jersey, saying those three words.
The puck hits my glove.
The crowd erupts.
I'm mobbed by teammates, but my eyes find her. She's pressed against the glass of my box, phone forgotten, looking at me like I'm everything.
Stuff management's rules. She is my girl and she comes first.
I skate to center ice, rip off my mask, and point straight at her.
The stadium cameras follow my gesture. Sixty thousand faces turn.
Joey freezes as her image appears on the Jumbotron, wearing my jersey in my private box. No hiding now.
I grab the nearest microphone.
"Joey Winters!" My voice echoes through the stadium. "Get down here!"
The crowd goes wild. Someone opens the box door.
She shakes her head, but the fans start chanting: "GO! GO! GO!"
Slowly, she makes her way down. The jersey hits mid-thigh, her legs now encased in skin tight jeans that hug her curves. Her cheeks are flushed and hair is still slightly messy from our earlier activities.
She's perfect.
I meet her at the bench, pulling her onto the ice. She slides a little in her boots, and I steady her against my chest.
"You're insane," she whispers.
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately."
I grin. "Say it again."
"You're insane?"
"The other part."
She grabs my jersey. "I love you, you attention-seeking asshole."
I kiss her.
The stadium explodes. Cameras flash. Somewhere, management is probably having an aneurysm.
I don't care.
"Move in with me," I say against her mouth.
"What?"
"Move in with me." I spin her on the ice. "Wake up with me. Yell at me about social media over breakfast. Wear my jersey every day."
"My job?"
"Management can figure it out. If they want to keep me they will.” " I set her down. "I love you. I don't care who knows."
She studies my face. "You're serious."
"Deadly." I drop to one knee. The crowd gasps.
"Don't you dare propose on the ice in front of sixty thousand people."
I pull off my glove, holding it out. "Move in first. We'll talk proposals after you admit you like my thirst traps."
She takes the glove, laughing. "You're impossible."
"That's not a no."
She pulls me up by my jersey and kisses me hard. "Yes, you idiot."
The crowd roars. My teammates spray us with water bottles. Cameras click.
Later, much later, my phone buzzes in my locker. Management wants a meeting. Joey's back in my jersey, stretched out on the massage table, looking at me like she wants to teach me some new vocabulary.
The meeting can wait.
"Take it off," I growl, stalking toward her.
"Make me."
I do.
Twice.