Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
BLAKE
If Charlie was giving me shit for how distracted I was during prelims, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking as she watches me from the stands now. I know she’s just itching to dig into me about where my head is at for the USA’s quarterfinal game against Switzerland.
Let’s clarify that I, personally, think I’m beasting on this ice right now.
Hockey is in my blood—I was raised by an NHL superstar, after all—but even if I hadn’t honed this machine through 28 years of studied practice, that wouldn’t be enough to close all the browser tabs in my mind.
I’m never more focused than when multiple things are stimulating me.
If you know, you know—my ADHD lovelies know what I’m talking about.
It’s only the first period, but I’m determined to take Switzerland the fuck down.
It’s not like they’re going to make this an easy win for us, but I am determined to meet Charlie in the final.
One bite at a time, we will defeat our opponents, until I can get the ability to beat the fuck out of my best fucking friend.
It’s called bestie bonding. I don’t want to hear it.
I hop over the boards and onto the ice, letting the sex with Imani play in the background of my mind as a movie. As I corner Switzerland’s center forward and block her in, taunting her with the bulk of my body, I picture Imani’s beautiful face as she was tortured by orgasm.
And make no mistake, she was tortured. Every slide of my fingers inside of her was a pleasurable pain as she tried to hold herself together in the middle of a crowded church where our actions were a forbidden and illicit treat.
I didn’t just fuck her body last night, I fucked her mind. And Christ, was it beautiful.
For me, that’s the incredible intersection between sex and kink.
Why would I not worship my partner in their entirety?
I don’t just want someone’s body or their moans; I want to elevate their spirit to the highest plane of existence they’ve ever been on.
I want my very essence to bite into the rawest part of my subject—the parts of themselves they’ve never let anyone else see, nevertheless have been treasured for.
Everyone deserves to be held, and I mean that in all the ways: metaphorically, spiritually, and physically.
When I release a submissive from my care, I want their standards to have been raised by their experience with me.
Is it the Dominant or lesbian in me? Well.
I finally steal the puck from the forward I’ve been babysitting, and pass it to Saint, skating away from the Swiss girl, and into a better position in case the shot goes wide. Unfortunately, it does, but we quickly rally.
The first period standings have given us more SOG (shots on goal), but our opponent is up, the score sitting at two-to-zero. I guess it’s going to be one of those games.
The first period can set the tone for the game.
Still, it’s just as likely to galvanize the losing team into getting their shit together and absolutely decimating their competition in the two remaining periods.
As the team captain, you can bet your ass I’m going to make the latter option viable after I get my say during intermission.
I wind up right next to the goalposts, so Saint surprises me with a pass to me. Despite my daydreaming, I’m incredibly tuned in to this game, so I flick my wrist and try to sink the biscuit, but the Swiss goalie deftly catches the shot in her glove while the buzzer sounds.
All of my team groans and stomps their way to the locker room while I shake out that dreadful first period and try to get myself hype. My duty to the team is to get them somehow hype so we can win this game.
Standing right beside the door, I allow every woman to pass me as I give them all high fives upon entry, waiting to be the last one in. Their responses range from grimaces to shaky smiles, but I take none of it personally. I’ve got my girls' backs.
When everyone is inside, I transition my mental shakes to physical ones, hopping on the knife-edge of my blades to get the remnants of bad vibes out, cracking my spine and neck. This next part is on me.
I walk in, meeting every eye that raises to mine. Some of my teammates display openness, while others are visibly angry. All of their looks reflect a burning desire for me to give them the hope they’re lacking right now.
“My bros. We can all agree that we just had a rough first period. This is not what we want our quarterfinal game to look like,” I begin, and receive grunts, nods, and scoffs.
“Every person on this team is playing their best game, I promise you that.” At this, I receive some surprise with a smattering of outright disbelief.
“No, no, hear me out. Every time you get onto that ice, you give this team 100% of yourself. I trust y’all as my teammates, because I know you’re putting your whole body and soul into this game every time you play next to me.
But here’s what we’re not doing: we’re playing 100% as individuals, and not 100% as a team. ”
The reaction I receive now is an outpouring of curiosity.
I meet every eye once again. “The Olympics are always a hard time for team sports. We train the whole year with one team, only to be shuffled into a composite where we haven’t intuited each other while playing together.
Here’s the thing. I know y’all know each other’s nuances.
You’ve played together for every year you’ve been in the PWHL.
I need you to look around at your teammates.
Think of their weaknesses, think of their strengths.
If you’ll trust yourselves to remember, you’ll realize that instead of targeting those weaknesses, you can protect them.
Instead of handicapping their strengths, you can beef those up. ”
Every eye in the room openly assesses everyone else, and I imagine little dossiers popping up in every one of my teammates’ minds.
“We’ve been keeping our shit together until this game, but now things get harder.
There’s more on the line. I get that. Do you not think I want to bite into that medal just like you do?
” I hear some scattered laughter at this.
Good, they’re taking my words to heart if they’re no longer on the defensive.
“Only together, as a whole, can we play as Team USA. I know, in my heart of hearts, that we can not only win this game, but bring that gold medal home. We can make our community proud. We can make each other proud.”
I stand there, body vibrating with energy, as I await their response.
The team seems to ponder my words, then someone starts banging their stick onto the locker room floor, and before I know it, every USA player is wailing their excitement as they thrash their sticks into the slip-resistant surface, the chant of “Team USA” beating in my ears.
After we win the game with a second-period comeback, I run around the room smacking asses and kissing foreheads, receiving good-natured laughter in response. Charlie watches with an annoyed expression under the doorframe.
After stripping, I stare her down while I walk my shower beer into the other room, ready to scrub the game sweat off of me. Whatever good energy gave us that win will hopefully stay, though.
When I return from the stall, she’s taping her stick, geared up from the waist down.
I throw my towel onto the bench, then sit next to my best friend, leaning back on my hands and making myself cozy.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Blake,” Charlie gripes, referring to my naked body on full display for the whole of the locker room. “Is that figure skater not doing enough for you? You have to flaunt it for the team, too?”
“Well, that’s a trick question, Char. I’m always ready to showcase the goods,” I reply, looking down to watch as I make my abs flex in the fluorescent light.
“I came all the way to Milan for a vacation from you. Unfortunately, you came with me,” she mutters.
I grin at her. “How do you feel about your game?”
“Better than you felt about the game you just played,” Charlie retorts.
“Oh my fuck, not this again,” I whine, putting my head on her shoulder.
She squirms away from my touch, pushing my face further away from her body. “Yes, this again. You’re distracted.”
“I’m always distracted. It’s a mental health condition,” I inform her, smirking.
“Your ADHD aside, I’m referring to the fact that your play is different. No one knows how you play better than you and I do, and you know I’m right,” Charlie brushes me off and goes straight to the point.
“Are you saying you know my body better than anyone else, best friend?” I waggle my eyebrows lasciviously at her.
“Will you shut the fuck up and listen?” Charlie huffs.
“Ugh. You’re so boring. I hear you, and I’m not paying you any attention because I think I’m playing like hot shit, Char,” I tell her mostly seriously.
She cocks her head at me, studying me for a beat.
I make eye contact and hold it until she looks away.
“Can I just say I’m worried about you?” She huffs.
“I knew you fucking loved me. Gaaaaay,” I taunt her.
Charlie’s face screws up with anger.
“All right, all right. But I’m worried about you, too! You’ve been totally absent these whole games, ever since you… I don’t know… met a girl in a bar?” I look pointedly at her.
“This isn’t about me. I’ve got it handled. Do you have Imani handled?” Charlie asks sternly, using the voice I know she uses when she wants me to stop acting like a twat and actually be real with her.
“Imani isn’t someone to be ‘handled.’ But the situationship with Imani is being handled. We’ve negotiated a brief D/s interlude,” I explain, wondering where the hell my stash of beer is.
“Thank you for the correction. I don’t know if I can talk shit about that when I’m making some choices with a capital ‘c,’ but I hope you know what you’re doing,” Charlie presses.
“I never know what the fuck I’m doing. I just play an adult on television, you know that. But I know you got my back, just like I got your back. Whatever bullshit we’re fucking up to right now, we’ll figure it out now, or it’ll come out later in the wash,” I remind her.
Charlie raises an eyebrow at my cavalier attitude.
“I love you,” I end the conversation.
“You’re an idiot,” she responds, and I know that all is well.
But as I settle in to watch Team Canada’s quarterfinal game in support of my BFF, I think about Charlie’s warning. I don’t know her side of things. Right now, we are living at breakneck speed as both of us Captain our teams and fuck two pretty girls we just met a week ago.
I meant what I said. Imani doesn’t need to be handled.
She might, actually, be under the false impression that she does.
She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
No one gets where she has without grit and fortitude, plus she lives with her personal perfectionist standards crippling her every single day of her life.
I’m pretty sure that Imani’s biggest obstacle is Imani.
Charlie is worried about me, but I’m concerned for Imani.
I can bribe her to eat in as many crafty ways as I can think of, but that’s not a sustainable solution.
I’m beginning to believe that Imani has bigger issues than winning a gold medal at her first Olympics, and I don’t have enough of an ego or a God complex to think that I can solve them.