Chapter 20
Twenty
Camden
January
The new year means hockey picks right back up again, and the team heads out for a small stint of away games over the first weekend of the new semester.
We played Fall River earlier this evening, and I’m damn near dead on my feet by the time we’re back at the hotel after the game.
Getting wins on the road are often the most rewarding ones—outside of kicking Blackmore ass, that is—but damn if away games don’t come at a cost. Namely, not getting to sleep in my own bed at night.
Or spending hours making out and rolling between the sheets with Logan.
But instead, here I am, God knows how many miles away from Chicago, with the wrong guy in my room for the night. Though, I could have a worse bunkmate than McGowan.
He’s currently in the shower—again, despite having taken one back at the arena—because this team and their superstitions know no bounds. But more power to him, I guess. I’m not about to risk the winning streak we’ve been on by saying something.
If anything, it gives me a bit of time to listen to the history lecture I missed this morning, thanks to our travel schedule.
But at least my professors allow me—or one of my classmates, when I’m gone—to record the lectures, thanks to my letter from the disability office.
It sure as hell makes it easier to catch up on the material, especially now that we’ve hit the second-half push portion of our season.
My phone dings where it rests on my stomach when I’m a few minutes into the lesson, and I lift my head to check the screen.
Logan: You played great tonight. Fall River didn’t stand a chance with you in the crease.
My lips curve upward, both from him trying—and slightly failing—to use hockey slang correctly, and also the dirty thoughts that enter my mind because of it. Though, it’s the latter that has me typing back my response.
Me: Too bad it isn’t the crease I wanna be in.
Three little dots appear, only to disappear a second later when he stops typing. That process happens a few times over the next couple minutes before another message finally pops through.
Logan: I’m trying to be supportive, and you’re over there throwing out innuendos.
I blink a couple times, having trouble processing the last word.
Changing my phone’s default font to the dyslexic one helps a lot with texting, but not when he uses words like that.
All the vowels jump around too much, and I’m sure the sound of my professor droning on in the background isn’t helping either.
Pausing the audio, I do a quick Google search of the word, and once I hear how it’s pronounced, my smirk turns into a full-blown grin.
I’m about to type out another dirty reply when another message from him pops up.
Logan: I saw what I did, and don’t you fucking dare.
Me: I wasn’t doing anything. You’re the one talking about creases and being in my end-o.
God, I hope I spelled that right.
A few seconds go by before his response comes through, but this time, it’s in the form of a voice message rather than a text.
I’ve noticed he does this sometimes, swapping from text to voice in the middle of a conversation.
At first, I thought it was just out of convenience, like his hands are busy and simply talking is easier.
But sometimes, I think it’s got more to do with him accommodating my dyslexia: knowing that listening is easier for me to understand what he’s saying rather than trying to read it.
That, or he’s unwittingly choosing to feed the kink I have for his voice, and in either case, I’m not gonna complain.
Unfortunately, the second I go to listen, McGowan chooses to pop out of the bathroom, finished with his dual-cleansing ritual. He’s paying me no mind, but I still try to be as inconspicuous as I can when clicking the volume buttons on my phone to the lowest setting and lifting it to my ear.
“Don’t act all innocent when you’re the one who brought up your end-o.
I’ve been over here behaving myself while your mind is rolling around in whatever filthy gutter it lives in.
” His voice drops conspiratorially before he continues, “But even if I were the one making dirty comments, could you really blame me? I mean, have you seen your ass? It’s tight enough to bounce a quarter off.
” He pauses, only for a wry laugh to float over me like a stream.
“Fuck, I just set you up again, didn’t I? ”
Christ.
The sound of his voice, his husky laugh, the hint of sex dripping from his words…
it all goes straight to my damn cock in an instant.
I glance over to where McGowan is grabbing his wallet from the dresser and attempt to adjust myself before he notices it threatening to pitch a tent beneath my sweats.
A good move on my part, too, because he glances up a couple seconds later and meets my gaze.
“I’m meeting a couple of the guys in the lobby, gonna see if the hotel bar is still serving food. You wanna come?”
Actually, yes. Coming is exactly what I want.
I shake my head and hold up my phone. “Uh, nah. I’m gonna probably listen to this lecture and call Logan.”
He smirks at me knowingly. “Right. So do I need to get a roll-away sent to Brody’s room, or…?”
There’s about half a second where I’m ready to deny his insinuation, but honestly? Why bother? My teammates know who I am, and I’m not gonna be ashamed of it.
“I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back” is what I decide on instead, smiling innocently.
A bark of laughter fills the room as he heads for the door. “All right, Steele. Just don’t go making any more home videos while I’m gone.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to film them on your bed.”
He laughs some more, flipping me off as he disappears out into the hall. The second I hear the click of the door closing behind him, I grab my phone and hit the FaceTime button on Logan’s contact.
He answers on the second ring, his face appearing in the frame. He’s on his bed, from the looks of it, and I catch the faint glow from his laptop nearby.
“Glad to know you’ve been holding out on me,” I note teasingly.
His brow lifts. “What? How?”
“Acting like Mr. Innocent when you’re a dirty little sexting voice messager.”
A blush creeps over his cheeks, and he shakes his head. “Uh, no. I stand by what I said: You’re the one making the dirty comments.”
“Yes, but you’re the one leaving me wide open for them.”
He’s still blushing as his lips quiver from him trying to bite back a smile. “We can make something wide open when you get home tomorrow.”
I sit up in my bed, pointing at him through the screen. “See, there it is.”
“All right, all right. I’ll take the blame for that one. But that’s it. The rest was all you,” he says with a laugh.
The richness of the sound warms me all over again, like tea and honey. It’s become addictively intoxicating too, with how easily I’ve been hearing it as of late—usually in the moments after we’ve been teasing each other relentlessly with coy touches and fevered kisses.
The only real issue is that my hockey schedule has been making it a little harder for those moments to happen.
Practice and scrims started almost immediately after we returned from New York, and with Lexi and Willow back for the new semester now too, our time alone at the house has dwindled significantly.
But this is better than nothing, so I’ll take what I can get.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and he arches a brow.
“Talking to you, obviously.”
“If you’re gonna be a smartass, I can just hang up,” I threaten teasingly, which has a little twinkle glittering in his dark irises as he grins.
“I watched your highlights, hence my text. But I spent most of the night drawing and watching Sword Art Online.”
He watched my highlights?
A rush of warmth floods through my body with this new information, and I really don’t know how to feel about it. With how much he hates the sport, it’s just so…unlike him. So instead, I focus on the other part of his night.
“Sword Art Online. Is that one of your anime shows?”
He nods and leans back against his pillows. “Yeah, it’s one of the first ones I ever watched. I usually put on something I’ve seen before when I’m working, just so I don’t miss anything important or whatever.”
“Makes sense,” I murmur softly. “I can let you go if you’re busy, though.”
I don’t want to, but—
“Nah, it’s all good. I can work on it after we hang up.” He arches a brow before adding, “Unless you’re still planning to follow through on that empty threat of yours.”
Yeah, so not happening.
Which he obviously knows, from the brutal call out he just made. So I shamelessly change the subject.
“So, what’s it about? The show, I mean.”
From the title, I’d assume it has something to do with art, but when Logan dives into an explanation about a video game and something to do with VR and RPGs, I become completely lost within the first minute.
Not that it matters; I’m happy to relax against the headboard and listen to him talk about the premise of his show regardless.
And boy does he yammer on about it, in the most adorable way—all full of enthusiasm and passion as he speaks.
My hand slides under my waistband, wrapping around my cock and giving it a gentle squeeze while I watch his lips move on the other end of the screen. I don’t know when or how I started sporting a half-chub, but I know his voice and watching his lips are definitely the reason.
Logan trails off after explaining the first two seasons of his show, a sheepish sort of smile appearing on his delectable lips.
“Anyway, I’m sure that’s more than you ever wanted to know about SAO.”
I shake my head, now stroking my fully erect cock. “No, no. Keep talking to me.”
“About what?” he asks with a little laugh.
“Your show. Or…anything. I don’t care.”