Chapter 11 #2
Giving her an empathetic glance, I grab my stuff and lead her down to the tunnel.
The arena's packed to the gills with roiling, raging fans.
I'll never understand how someone can get that excited for a game.
People here take hockey so seriously. Mollie splits off, waving, and I head to hand off the coffees and the t-shirts to the very grateful promo team.
Then I walk into the tunnel, where I look for Silas.
Silas is back on the bench tonight. Not playing, just dressed in his suit, helmet sitting in his lap, shoulder heavily taped under his jacket.
His dirty blond hair's pulled back in a low bun, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face.
That tailored charcoal suit fits him perfectly, stretched across broad shoulders even with the bandaging underneath.
He looks every inch the professional athlete.
Polished, controlled, impossibly handsome.
But I can see past the Ice Man facade everyone buys into.
The stiffness when he shifts positions gives him away.
The way he rolls his shoulder like it's bothering him makes me wince.
People call him Ice Man like it's who he is.
Cold. Unfeeling. A machine built for defense.
I watch the micro-expressions that flash across his face when he thinks no one's looking.
The way his jaw tightens when a teammate takes a hard hit.
How his left hand flexes against his thigh when he can't be on the ice helping.
He's not cold at all. He's burning with the need to be out there, to protect his team, to do what he does best. The ice is just a defense.
I make a mental note to corner the team trainer later. Someone needs to know. Someone needs to make sure he's not making it worse by pretending he's fine.
Just as they're about to drop the puck, the arena signage system crashes.
Sponsors are scrambled, logos in the wrong sections, names misspelled on the jumbotron.
My phone lights up with angry messages from Juliet and the sponsorship coordinator.
Corporate sponsors are threatening to pull money if they don't get the visibility they paid for.
I bolt across the concourse, heart pounding.
This happened once, when I was first married to Enzo.
Thankfully, I watched how they fixed the system carefully.
So now, I can jump into action. First, I reroute display tables.
Then I hustle the PA announcer to swap out copy.
Finally, I physically climb onto a table to adjust a banner that's hanging crooked.
By the time I'm done, gasping for breath, I've missed puck drop by fifteen minutes.
Everything's fixed. Everyone got what they needed. That's all that matters.
Juliet finds me in the tunnel and catches my arm. Her voice is low and warm. "Invoice for overtime. You earned it. That was a disaster."
My cheeks flush hot. "I'm just doing my job."
"You're doing more than your job." She squeezes once and walks away.
I stand there for a second, breathing hard, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest. Pride, maybe. Or just relief I didn't completely screw everything up.
Jessa appears at my elbow, smirking. "Your face always does that when someone compliments you."
I bat her away, cheeks flaming hotter. "Shut up. How's the apartment? I hope it's not too lonely."
"The apartment wants you back. So do I." She follows me back to the staff area, still grinning. "So when are you going to tell me about your mystery man on the dating app?"
I mentioned StatMan to Jessa over text yesterday, but I didn't give her any details. Hell, I don't know any details. I shrug.
"There's nothing to tell."
"Liar. I saw you texting him last week. You get this look on your face when your phone buzzes. All flushed and distracted. It's adorable."
I do my best imitation of a scowl. "It's not adorable. It's pathetic."
"It's progress," Jessa says firmly. "You're allowed to have fun, Scout. You're allowed to want things. That's what the Naughty List is all about."
I don't answer. How can I explain wanting things feels dangerous? Every time I let myself want something, it gets taken away or used against me. It's turned into proof I'm too much or not enough.
Luckily, the Havoc scores a goal. Jessa's eyes light up. "Ooooh, I have to catch the replay!"
She's out the door before I can even say anything. My heart wants nothing more than to follow her, make sure Silas is still sitting and looking like a grumpy cave troll in a hot as fuck suit. But I know he is.
What, is he going to jump over the boards and start defending the goal in that sleek Armani getup? No. Instead, I start worrying about other things.
My very first Mobility Monday is tomorrow.
In order to be prepared, I've gone a little bit overboard.
I print individualized mobility cards for Monday's launch.
Each one has a QR code linking to short demonstration videos I filmed in Silas's living room last night while he was locked in his bedroom.
Leading the players through the process, talking about the upsides of what I hope to add to their routines. Even some basic yoga poses.
I also add a stack of Mobility Mondays paperwork.
Basically, it's a syllabus of what we're going to be doing and a simple survey to establish a baseline for each player.
I get caught up in my work and don't even realize the game's over until Coach Cross and Coach Ryan come in, talking about what they could've done differently to win the game.
The team lost, then. I frown. Heading outside into the tunnel, I realize not only did I lose track of time, but I didn't talk to Silas about taking a rideshare home together. Damn.
He's gone by the time I track down my coat and purse. When I get in the door, his bedroom door's closed, the light off. It must've been a tiring game for him.
I curl up in my room with my phone and my lists spread out on the bed beside me. The Naughty List stares back at me, all those filthy things I told Jessa I wanted but have never been brave enough to actually do.
My thumbs fly across the screen before I can talk myself out of it.
Yoga4Lyfe
I had a long day. My roommate's an ass. The only bright spot is talking to you.
The reply comes fast.
StatMan12
That sucks. You live with a guy or a girl?
Yoga4Lyfe
A guy. And he's impossible. He’s needy and cold at the same time. He always seems like he doesn't know what he wants.
StatMan12
I know what I want. You.
My breath catches. Heat floods through me, settling low in my belly.
StatMan12
Tell me what you want most. Don't lie to me.
I type before fear can stop me.
Yoga4Lyfe
I want you to get me off. Talk me through it. Tell me exactly what to do.
The reply is instant.
StatMan12
Lie back. Don't rush this. Drag your fingers slow over your clit until you're shaking.
Yoga4Lyfe
You're insane. I can't just...
But my hand's already sliding under the waistband of my sleep shorts.
StatMan12
Keep your legs spread. Use two fingers. Circle, don't press hard. Not yet.
Yoga4Lyfe
Oh god. I'm already wet.
My breath hitches as I follow his instructions. My thighs tremble with the effort of going slow when everything in me wants to rush.
StatMan12
Good girl. Now spit on your fingers. I want you wet and messy before you even slide inside.
Yoga4Lyfe
Fuck. You're ruining me.
I do it anyway, cheeks burning hot, shocked at myself for following orders from a stranger. For trusting him to know what I need better than I know myself.
StatMan12
Imagine it's my tongue. Every stroke, every circle. Pretend I'm there holding you down so you can't squirm away.
Yoga4Lyfe
I can feel it. I can feel you.
My hips buck against my palm. I bite my lip hard enough to hurt while I try to stay quiet. If I make sounds, they might carry through the walls to where Silas is probably working or watching film or doing whatever he does in his dark bedroom.
StatMan12
When you can't stand it anymore, push two fingers inside. Curl them up. Think about how I'd fill you.
Yoga4Lyfe
Ohhhhhh. Fuck.
My body arches off the bed, needy and raw. I can't believe I'm typing through the shaking. Honestly, I can't believe I'm doing this at all.
StatMan12
Don't come yet. Edge yourself. Hold it right there. I want you whimpering before you let go.
Yoga4Lyfe
You're cruel. I can't... please.
Please?
My thighs are quivering. My stomach's tight with the ache of holding back. Everything in me wants to tip over the edge but I force myself to wait. I can obey this man.
I want to. I keep picturing StatMan as a big, bulky hockey player. One who happens to look a lot like my current roommate. Big body, blond hair, intense broody expression.
Oh yeah. That does it for me. I whimper.
StatMan12
When I say so, rub harder. Faster. Grind into your palm. Say my name when you break.
Yoga4Lyfe
Oh my god oh my god... please...
My moans spill into the quiet room. I grab a pillow and press it to my face, muffling the sounds.
StatMan12
Now.
Permission crashes over me like a wave. My body seizes, back arching, fingers working frantically as the orgasm rips through me. Unstoppable. Humiliating. Glorious.
I drop the phone, chest heaving. My whole body shakes with aftershocks.
Another buzz.
StatMan12
After you come, don't close your legs. Stay open. Stay wet. Imagine me licking you clean.
I gasp into the dark, reaching for my phone with trembling hands.
Yoga4Lyfe
That was... I can't even...
StatMan12
You're perfect. I wish I could see you right now.
Yoga4Lyfe
I'm a mess.
StatMan12
The best kind of mess.
I lie there in the dark, phone clutched to my chest, trying to catch my breath. Trying to process what just happened. I’m not going to think about the fact Silas is right next door and I just came thinking about hands that might be his.
Off limits, I tell myself. He's completely off limits. All men are supposed to be off limits this year. That was the deal I made with myself. Focus on work. Focus on building something that's mine. No distractions.
My body doesn't care about deals or rules or the fact that getting involved with anyone right now would be a terrible idea.
I roll over and close my eyes. My body hums with the afterglow, warm and sated and impossibly alive.