CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Aspen
With her jaw on the floor, River sits next to me, watching Carter, who is positioned in our direct view, no less. “Oh. My. God. They do this at every game, and I’ve been missing it?”
I burst out laughing. “They have to stretch their hip flexors, so they don’t pull something. They do this at every game, River, where have you been?” The cold air coming off the ice hits me; I shiver and huddle closer to River to steal some of her body heat.
Tilting her head to one side, she studies Carter’s movements and answers, “Obviously not in the right place at the right time. Jesus. If his hips can move like that . . .” She nods toward him. “I can’t even imagine what he’s like . . .” She trails off.
“In bed?” I laugh, finishing for her. I cast a glance around, finding a couple sitting a few seats over and a row back. I lean in, cup River’s ear, and whisper low, “I can’t speak for Carter; all I know is Cal did this hip roll thing last night that had me chanting God’s name like a priest at an exorcism.”
“That good, huh?” She doesn’t take her eyes off of Carter as he tilts and rolls his hips in a thrusting motion.
Carter changes up his routine, first stretching out one leg and then the other, before bringing them back in and moving them from side to side. And just when I think he’s about to wrap up this little show of exhibitionism, he does something I would never expect: He settles into middle splits.
“Wow.” River’s eyes flash wide.
“Wow, is right. You have no idea. Those stretches aren’t just good for the ice.” I turn my body to face her. “I thought you didn’t like Carter.”
“I didn’t.” Her head swivels my way. “I don’t.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” I giggle and toss her a wink.
Carter skates over to the glass and taps on it, attracting River’s attention. “Did you like the show, Kitten? That was all for you.” His voice is muffled through the plexi, but he speaks loud enough so we can understand him. He places his fist over his heart. “I’m playing this game for you, baby. See you at home.”
He blows her a kiss.
She rolls her eyes.
He points at her. “Keep practicing that for later,” he calls out.
River sands up and cups her hand around her mouth, “In your dreams, Fight Club,” she yells.
“Uh. Want to tell me what that’s all about? What’s going on between you two?” I look from her back to Carter as he skates off.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Mmhmm. That didn’t look like nothing.”
Mom and Tucker catch my periphery when they walk down the last two steps and make their way to their seats. I usually sit in the owner's suite, but Tucker wanted to be closer to the action tonight. Mom and Tucker plop down beside me, each with a popcorn and drink in hand. “Oh good, we didn’t miss anything,” Mom says.
River and I look at each other; both of us bark out a laugh. Mom raises a brow. I lean over, keeping my voice low so Tucker doesn’t hear me. “Carter was stretching and doing hip thrusts for River. I think they have a thing.”
“We DO NOT have a thing. Like, at all. It was just entertaining.” She throws her hands up in defense.
“See you at home, Kitten ,” I mock in my most masculine voice. “I’m playing this game for you, baby.”
“We bumped into each other on the elevator. Thanks for the warning, by the way.” She changes the subject, rolling her eyes.
“Ooh, practicing already,” I tease.
“Did you know?” She leans over me and steals a handful of popcorn from Mom.
“Know what? That you have the hots for Carter, but you won’t admit it? Yep, hit my radar.”
“No, you idiot.” She laughs. “That he lives in my building,” she says, tossing a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth.
My eyes widen. “I’m sorry. What?”
“You heard me,” she says with a mouthful, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes squint at me in accusation. If I knew Carter lived in her building, I would have told her. Though, I wish I could’ve seen her expression when she found out.
“Wow! Okay. I did not see that coming. Um. No. I didn’t know that.” I stumble over my words. “Why wasn’t that the first thing out of your mouth today? Actually, why didn’t you immediately call me? When did this happen?”
“I found out this morning.”
I want to continue this conversation, but seats begin to fill around us. The players have finished their warmups and are back in the locker room until time for introductions. The atmosphere is a mixture of excitement and tension—our section overflows with spectators wearing black and red jerseys.
Die-hard fans stand to the left of us with beers in hand. All five of their faces are painted black and red. Whoops and cheers climb to a deafening decibel as the lights dim and rock music blares from the speakers surrounding the arena. Suddenly, the music stops, and the jumbotron begins to play a new hype video for The New York Blaze.
At first the video is distorted: white noise scratches and a static screen scrambles in and out with a silhouetted man. Flames ignite in the background as the person finally comes into focus. Standing with his arms crossed against his chest is a tall, intimidating man wearing an old-style white goalie mask with a thin red strip on each cheek. A black hoodie is pulled up over his head, concealing his hair. He tilts his head this way and that, tauntingly.
“You forgot your manners the last time we met. I’m here for retribution, and rest assured, you will be punished.” The distorted voice says menacingly as the crowd screams. The video flips from the masked man to highlight reels before switching back to the masked man. I know it’s one of my players, but with the voice changer, I can’t tell which one—at least, not until the real voice for the masked man says, “Now, it’s time to turn up the heat.”My heart stops, and my core throbs.
Realization dawns that the fans are not the only ones he’s trying to hype up, and our opponent is not the only one who he’s promising punishment to—it’s me. I swallow thickly.The crowd goes berserk, oblivious to his little polysemantic speech.
River bumps her shoulder against mine. “What did you think?”
My head shakes in disbelief at Cal’s very public display of promising retribution for the backtalk I did last night. I school my expression and turn to her, “Holy shit, River, I’m in shock. You did that?” I yell over the chanting and cheering, pointing at the Jumbotron.
River has been stepping into a more vital marketing role here recently.
“It was a joint effort,” she yells back, “That was all for you, and it wasCal’s idea.” She laughs. “He said you would love it.”
I bet he did. She rambles on excitedly, not realizing Cal’s intentions or his fucked-up type of foreplay, but I do. Holy shit.
I force my focus back in front of me. Pictures of each player are projected below onto the ice as they are announced and skate to the center of the arena. This is the last game, and if we win this, we make it into the playoffs.
Once the introductions are made, the starters line up to face off while the other players skate to the bench. The puck drops. Our opponent wins the faceoff. Their center passes the puck back to a winger. Carter is on him in a millisecond and plucks the puck from him, then makes a long pass to Cal. Cal passes to Aiden. Aiden passes it back to Cal. He passes to Carter, who shoots it right between the goalie’s legs and into the goal.
Carter skates past us, blows River a kiss, pats his heart, and points to her.
“Oh my God.” A girl in front of us squeals to her friend, “Did you see that?”
River rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t for you, fucking puck bunny,” she mumbles under her breath.
I rear my head back. “What the—? River! What has gotten into you?” I frown.
River has never been the possessive and jealous type. I have a sneaking suspicion that something is going on between those two. She’s never kept secrets from me. “You gotta give me something,” I say over the roaring crowd and eye her curiously.
She bursts out, “We almost kissed. Okay? God, I can’t hold it in any longer." She huffs a sigh. “Actually, I almost kissed him.” River palms her forehead. “God, he’s just so . . . urgh . . . so persistent . . . and . . . and . . . and”
“And hot?” I finish for her.
“Yes, and hot . . .” She trails off, waving her hand around, unable to form a coherent sentence.“I mean, look at him: with his sexy-ass dimples and his hot-as-sin body—”
“Okaaaay. How about we talk about this when we don’t have networks, gossip rags, and fans milling around the facility?”
“Can we just not? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It almost happened, but it didn’t, and it will never happen again. We can just forget I even said anything.” A blonde lock falls into her face. She huffs a breath of air, blowing the hair from her eyes. If she thinks I’m going to drop this, she’s wrong; dead wrong.
I’m reeling even though Cal called it a long time ago. We made a bet, and that six-month mark is quickly approaching. Instead of concentrating on the game, my eyes are trained on Cal, both on and off the ice. His skates slice through the ice in graceful movements. He’s hypnotizing.
Even though we gained an easy goal within seconds, the other team has held us off the rest of the time. The game is minutes away from being over; we’re only up by one point. Cal skates up the center. One of the opponents tries to check him, but he ducks away, passing the puck to Trevor.
As Cal passes, another guy slashes the stick across Cal’s stomach. It looks like an accident, as if the guy was just trying to reach for the puck. A penalty is called, and we go into a power play. We’re only minutes away from victory. If they can hold them off from scoring for just three more minutes, we’ll have it in the bag.
Our guys move into umbrella formation, and Cal faces off again in the circle. Sticks clash as he pushes the puck to the left side to Aiden. For the next couple of minutes, the puck passes back and forth between us and the opposing team. The damn thing is moving so fast, my eyes can’t stay trained on who has possession until it comes over to our side against the boards directly in front of us. Trevor and another guy are fighting for the puck against the boards, their sticks clacking as they tangle with each other. Everything happens so fast. Carter comes in to assist and checks the other player. The guy shoves Carter. Carter rears back his fist. River stands to leave. Carter suddenly drops his fist and backs away with his hands up. River sits back down.
“Um. Can anyone fill me in on what’s going on?”
River shrugs. “He asked me why I wouldn’t give him a chance.” She points to the ice, “I told him that was why.”
A frown pulls at my brows. “River, that’s not fair. He’s not Jax. Just because he’s what you would consider to be violent on the ice doesn’t mean he is like that when he is off the ice. Fighting is part of the game. You know he would never hurt you, right?”
She stands and looks down at me. “Of course, I know that . . . because I’ll never give him the chance to.” I watch her as she climbs the stairs.
Just as those words fly from her mouth, the game ends and the buzzer sounds. Our fans go nuts, screaming and jumping up and down. We’re in the playoffs, and everyone is losing their shit.I can’t even enjoy the celebration because I’ve just upset my best friend.
We all stand up and make our way toward the locker room entrance to wait for the players to emerge. They usually head to the gym for a postgame workout. With this win under our belt and playoff games on the horizon, I’m sure Luke will release all the guys so they can celebrate. While we wait, I chat with our fans and sign autographs. It isn’t long until Luke appears from the locker room.
“Katherine?” Luke says to Mom, and her attention is immediately drawn from the conversation she’s having to him.
“Excuse me,” she says to the lady and takes the few steps in his direction. “Luke, it’s so good to see you again.”
Luke gives my mom a hug. “It’s good to see you too.”
Uh, what? Wait! Hold the damn phone! They have only met a couple of times, and now they are familiar enough to hug each other? I mean, my mom is a hugger, but Luke? My head volleys back and forth between them as they stare at each other, and an awkward silence lingers in the air.
I break the tension I feel coming off them in waves. “Good game tonight, Coach.”
“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “Have you seen Hannah around?”
I try to peek over the crowd surrounding us to look for her. “I haven’t seen her. Want me to text her real fast?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That's okay. She’s around here somewhere. I’ll go find her.” He returns his attention to my mom. “So how long are you in town?”
“Oh, I live here now.” She moves her purse up on her shoulder, cuts a glance my way, then focuses back on Luke.
He raises his arm and looks at his watch. “Well, I better go find Hannah. We have dinner reservations.”
“Be safe,” I call out just as Mom says, “It was good to see you again, Luke,” with a flirtatious smirk.
I roll my eyes. Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Mom,” I scold.
She playfully bumps against me and whispers. “What?” She dramatically shrugs one shoulder.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, looking for Cal.
“I’m starving, Mom. Can we go now?” Tucker interrupts and pulls at my sleeve.
Mom ruffles his hair. “How about I take you? We’ll grab the greasiest burger we can find on our way home while your mom finishes up here.” Her eyes meet mine. “You good with that?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Thanks, Mom.”
I tell them goodbye and try to call Cal but receive no answer.
I pace back and forth in front of the locker room doors.I wait . . . and I wait . . . and I wait. An hour has passed, and the players have all trickled out of the building—gone out to celebrate, no doubt. The arena is mostly empty, aside from the janitor, Aaron, who is packing up, and Liam, the Zamboni driver, who has just resurfaced the ice and is putting the machine away. I tap my foot impatiently, checking the time on my cell. I try calling Cal again to no avail. I swear to God, if he left me . . . I shake my head. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me here stranded.
All the facility lights click off, and the ambient lights kick on. My heart kicks up to hyper-speed. “Hey!” I yell, stepping out of the little alcove concealing me and back into the arena. “Hey!” I call out again, trying to garner someone’s attention. My voice echoes through the empty space, but all I’m met with is silence. Fuck! What did Cal do? Go out the back? And why the fuck would he leave me here?
Pissed off, I stomp back to the locker room and sling the door open. I’m greeted with pitch black. Okay, now I’m creeped out. I blame it on all those horror movies River and I would marathon-watch as teenagers. This is exactly how they start. I shiver at the thought.
Trekking up the stairs toward the exit, I catch sight of a figure standing in the announcer’s box, backlit by a glowing red light. I start to run up the steps to get their attention. I hate the dark, and knowing I’m not alone gives me a sense of security.
That is until I close the distance between us.All the blood rushes to my head, and dizziness overtakes me when I see the hockey mask tilting to one side, looking at me, as if he’s the predator and I’m the prey. In the back of my mind, I know it’s Callan, but the way he’s staring at me unmoving is freaking me the fuck out. I walk backwards down the steps, backing away slowly.
My breaths come in rapidly as adrenaline and excitement course through my veins. He slowly stalks out of the booth and stands facing me on the steps.
“Run, Angel.”
Holy fuck! I turn and run as fast as I can down the stairs and into the hallway. I bypass the locker room. That would be the first place he would look. I try to push various doors open, only to find them locked. I don’t have time to fiddle with my keys. Fucking Aaron. Goddamnit! The gym has no door, so I can run in there. No—the space is open and offers no hiding spot. Think. Think. Think. He’s going to round that corner any minute. I have no choice but to dart inside the weight room. Slow, heavy footsteps echo down the hallway as they approach. My back hits the wall. Fuck. My heart races in excitement at the thought of what he’ll do to me once he catches me. The footsteps stop at the open doorway. I slap a hand over my mouth to conceal my rapid breathing.
His feet shuffles; then he continues walking down the hallway. I think I’m in the clear, so I sprint to the middle of the room, quickly turning around in a circle to look for someplace to hide. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Bingo. I look behind me as I head for the door to the equipment room. I don’t even care that it’s bathed in complete darkness at this point. I ease the door open and quickly close it behind me. Leaning back against the door, I take in ragged breaths.
I know it’s just a matter of—
“You know . . .”
A gasp flies out of my mouth, and my hand soars to my chest.
“I was thinking you would play a little harder to get. You made this game entirely too easy, like herding sheep to the slaughter.” Cal’s hard length presses into my hip as he crowds my space. A combination of his cologne and body wash wafts in the air around me. The woodsy smell makes me delirious. An electric current shoots right through me, causing my core to throb. An aching need builds within me.
The lights flicker on, and Cal stands in only a goalie mask and worn jeans hanging low on his hips—showing off that sexy V. He grips the hair on the back of my head and tilts my head back. My eyes lock with his through his mask. “I see the way you bite your lip and how your feet rub together when something in your smutty little book turns you on. I would have never guessed that my sweet angel would have such a dark side. Masked men, Aspen?” He tsks, “You are a filthy little whore, aren’t you?”
Cal removes the mask and tosses it to the ground. “I would keep it on, but I want you to witness what you do to me when I fuck this pretty little mouth.” He growls, then squats down, removing my shoes and socks before peeling my jeans down my legs.
His hands glide up my body as he stands. “I’m sad to see this go too, but I really want to see these gorgeous tits.” He slowly removes my Blaze jersey with his name on the back. “Did it excite you to be chased by a masked man?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He teases my lips. “Did I absolve your curiosities?”
I moan in response as he takes a nipple into his wet mouth. He moves to my other breast, biting down just enough to cause a sting before soothing it with his tongue. “Did my little adrenaline junky receive her fix?”
“Cal,” I moan, in desperation.
I never thought I would experience what the hype was all about, the thrill of being chased, of not knowing when he was going to pop up out of nowhere . . . of being caught, but my boyfriend seems to understand the assignment.
“On your knees. Take me out.”
I do exactly as he says. I go to my knees, unbutton his pants, then take him out.
“I want these red lips wrapped around my cock. I want to feel you gag and choke until the tears are running down your gorgeous face,” he demands, pulling down my bottom lip with his thumb.
“Lick,” he commands.
I lick the tip of his cock; a bead of precum hits my taste buds, and I revel in the taste of him. Cal tilts his head back and closes his eyes as I take him into my mouth. “Fuck, Angel. Your mouth is sinful.”
He grabs the back of my head and forces himself deeper. My eyes close tight as I try to open my throat, but still I gag from the obstruction. “You can do it . . . yeah, just like that . . . you’re taking my cock so well . . . don’t stop.” I pull back, relaxing the back of my throat, then swirl the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock before taking him deeper. His eyes lock with mine when I look up at him relishing in the pleasure shown on his face. “This goddamn mouth was made for me to fuck.” His hand slaps the wall, and he begins to pump into my mouth unforgivingly. I sputter and try to pull back, but he grabs the back of my head again and holds me in place. Saliva is pouring down my chin, and tears run down my cheeks.
“Touch yourself. Slip your fingers in your wet pussy and let me watch you play.”
Never having someone watch me before makes me hesitant, a bit insecure, and embarrassed. I ignore his demand and brace my hand on his thigh.
“Nuh-uh. I told you to play with yourself, Angel, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Now, stick your hand between your legs and rub your clit. Make yourself cum for me, and you better do it quickly because I’m close.”
I push my insecurities aside and do as I’m told. Knowing that I’m pleasing him—making him lose his mind—is such a turn-on; it doesn’t take me long before I’m on the brink of tumbling over the cliff. “You’re going to swallow every last drop. Now, cum for me, Angel,” he growls.
His voice tilts me over the edge. The room dims and my eyes close. Blood rushes to my head, leaving me to feel like I’m floating, as he releases into my mouth. The taste isn’t what I expect—not bad, just foreign. I do as he says and swallow, then pull back as he wipes my mouth.
“You’re a fucking goddess on your knees for me.” Cal strokes my hair. “This mouth is mine.” His thumb brushes against my bottom lip. “And these tears are mine. The only way I ever intend to make you cry is out of pleasure or happiness. No one else is allowed to have these tears, understand?” He wipes my tears away and he lifts me up.
Cal puts himself back in his pants and strolls to the cabinet containing the hockey equipment. He reaches up and grabs a plastic tube from on top of the shelf before walking back to me. He opens the clear tube and dumps a new puck with our logo into his hand. “I’m going to fuck you against this wall, but since your cleaning service will be here in . . .” He looks at his watch. “Well, any time now, you have to be quiet.” He places a kiss on my swollen lips. “Now, open your pretty mouth.”