No Pucks (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #1)

25. Anthony

TWENTY-FIVE

ANTHONY

L ogan dominates on the ice more every week. He’s actually listening to me, and the sex is even better, which I didn’t think possible. I don’t want to tell him, but I’m excited the rest of the team is gone for the holidays. We’ll still practice, but we get a whole week to ourselves and don’t have to practice late at night or early in the morning, with much less risk of anyone sharing the ice.

I step on the ice, testing out the feel. On bad days, I avoid it, but my leg has been good this week, especially after getting used to the cane, and the prospect of having him all alone out here is too great to turn down.

Logan comes out a few minutes later, lifting his brows. “You finally going to show me how sexy you are on the ice?”

“If making you suffer is sexy.”

He grins. “Big promises today, Ice Daddy.”

“Don’t fucking start, or you’ll regret it.”

“Will I?” He pulls his helmet on. “Try me.”

“Suicides. Start at the goal line.”

“Fuck,” he mutters but stakes to the line. “Puck or no?”

“We’re working on your handling. With the puck.”

“We’re working on my handling against an opponent.” He steals one of the pucks near the goal and starts without me telling him to.

He’s breathing hard when he gets back to the line after his last one. I check my watch and, after thirty seconds, tell him to go again.

When I can tell he’s fading, I toss him a bottle of water. He squirts it into his mouth between gulps of air.

“Your breathing is all wrong.”

“What the fuck do you have to say about my breathing?” he says on staggering breaths.

“Slow in through your nose, then blow it out through your mouth. I can’t believe no one taught you this.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. It’s going to slow your heart down and help you recover faster. It fills your lungs fuller too. Try it.” I do a couple of breaths with him.

He gets the hang of it. “How the fuck can you do that in the middle of a game?”

“Practice. It helps, and you’ll be even better than you are now.” I size him up, deciding on a whim to push his buttons. “Are you done acting up?”

“Never, Ice Daddy. Do your worst.”

“Crawl.”

“On the ice?” Logan asks, skeptical.

“You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to learn to trust me and do everything I say,” I throw back, but he has been, so it’s a bit of a bluff.

He looks me right in the eyes, lowering down to one knee and then the other. Gloved hands meet the ice, and he crawls. Granted, it’s a bit awkward, but he keeps his form.

I exhale heavily. “We’re done. Go shower.”

He arches his back, tugging off his helmet. “We not going to wax on wax off on the ice?”

I glance around. “You know we can’t.”

He gets back on his skates, brushing his hip against my dick. “If you say so.”

I watch his perfect ass as he skates away. The second he’s off the ice, he starts shedding his gear.

“Fucking tease,” I mutter under my breath.

His shoulder muscles flex as he pulls off his shoulder pads, dropping them in the hall. He at least waits until he kicks open the door to the locker room, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I’m following.

He sits on the first bench, leaning over to untie his skates. “It’s not really sexy to take my skates off.”

“I have to do mine too.” I sit next to him and rub my thigh absentmindedly.

But he doesn’t let me even get started. His are off in under twenty seconds, and then he’s on his knees in front of me. “Let me help you with that.”

I sit back, letting him. Once he has them off, he holds out his hand, helping me to my feet. I take it, and our chests meet.

“Kiss me,” he says softly.

I give him this one, but then I force myself back. “Just the jock.”

He strips down to it without question, and I groan.

“Turn around and bend over. I want your ass.”

“No one’s home. They all get here tomorrow.” I hang up my coat. It feels weird to be in Logan’s house.

“Why is no one here?”

“Mother was skiing and then picking up Evander on her way home.” Logan toes off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the hall.

I reluctantly take off my coat, handing it to him when he holds out a hand. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep here. What if they get home early?”

“It’s an eight-hour flight, and my tracking app tells me my mother is still at the resort.” He blows up the map and turns it around. “I can even tell which mountain she’s on.”

“Why are you tracking your mom with an app? Isn’t it usually the other way around?” I take off my shoes.

“No, it has totally flipped in the last ten years. I don’t think my mother has ever looked at my location. But I’ll check hers when she’s not answering me. Evander is worse. He checks hers all the time, nosy bastard. He even checks mine. He’d ask who’s place I was at. Hell, he texted me a few days ago to ask me if I ever went back to my place. Like, he’s checked so much, he knows I’ve basically spent every night at your place for weeks.”

“Your brother is quite?—”

“A bitch? Yes.”

“I was going to say an interesting guy.” I almost smile, and my cheeks already hurt. The more time I spend with Logan, the happier I am. It’s a strange feeling. “You have me here. Now, tell me why.”

“Because I want you here? It’s nice to change our scenery. I like my house and my room. We can get dinner away from school, and no one will look twice at us.” He takes my hands, lacing our fingers.

I’m still not sold, but I like how happy he seems about doing this. It’s adorable. “Lead the way.”

His family brownstone is sprawling, at least seven thousand square feet spread over five floors with a roof top terrace. Logan has the entire fifth floor as his space, and it’s basically his own apartment. His ‘floor’ is nicer than my first apartment while playing in the NHL. He leads me through a brief tour—bedroom with private ensuite, balcony, and back into the sitting room with a huge, beautiful skylight and a private staircase to the rooftop.

“Want me to put on some oldies?” Logan stops in front of a massive shelf of records spanning half the wall.

“Don’t you dare call music from twenty years ago oldies.” I step in beside him to flip through the records. “You have some good stuff in here.”

“As if I’d have bad taste.” He shoots me an exasperated side-glance.

“You never know. Some of the hottest people have the worst taste in music.”

He scoffs and pulls out a record, setting it on the player. “Let’s raid the wine cellar and take it up to the roof.”

“You just put a record on.”

“There are speakers up there I’ll turn on.”

“Of course there are.” I laugh, not reminding him someone is going to have to come down to flip the record.

He grabs extra blankets on the way up to a couple’s lounge next to a fire. Logan gets the fire going while I pour the wine. When I lay back onto the lounge, he slips in next to me, putting blankets over us before laying his head on my shoulder.

“Would you be skiing if not for me?” I ask.

“Possibly. Or maybe somewhere with friends. We do a lot of that on breaks. There’s always someone with a house someplace.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” It comes out before I realize what I’ve said.

He glances up at me. “I’m glad too.”

I let out a breath and smile.

“You’re fucking hot when you smile.”

“Do you have to point it out?” I grumble, but the smile doesn’t fade.

“Yes, I like it. I want you to keep smiling.”

“I’ll try.” I pull him closer.

He settles in. “Under all that grump, you are a cinnamon roll.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Soft and gooey at the center.” He’s holding back a laugh.

“I don’t want to be soft and gooey.”

“But you are.” He’s almost taunting.

“Can’t I be like lava cake?”

“What?” he asks, the laugh slipping through the cracks.

I ignore it. “Cake on the outside, searing hot gooey center.”

“I mean that ass is cake, but no, sorry. I don’t need to be burned.” Logan bites my shoulder.

I think through other things I could be to not let him win this one. “Then how about a dragon fruit?”

“You’re a fruit alright,” Logan mutters.

I glare at him, choosing not to indulge him. “Prickly and hard on the outside, sweet on the inside.”

“Still no. I’m sticking with cinnamon roll.”

“There has got to be something sexier!”

“If you think dragon fruit is it, you’re wrong.” He makes a face, but then he settles back in.

“Logan?” a voice calls from downstairs, and my blood runs cold.