17. Brent
Five For Fighting
“I fucking hate playing in Canada,” Coach said during the second intermission of our game in Toronto. It was a few nights after I’d invited Berkley and Lexie to Vegas, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my dick in her mouth.
“That makes two of us,” Jordan said. As captain, he was responsible for advocating for the team with the refs, and tonight, it hadn’t been going well. “What is even happening out there? I feel like we’re all flopping around like fish out of water, and that includes the Tritons.”
“The officiating is terrible,” Grey said.
“We’re professionals, not peewees,” Rat added. “Why can’t they just let us play?”
“I wish I knew,” Coach said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But we can’t change it. I know it’s hard out there when they won’t let game play go on for longer than a few minutes without a whistle, but keep playing our game. Things will go our way if we just keep playing our game.”
Easier said than done.
Midway through the third period, I watched as Rat took a face-off and tapped the puck behind him, right onto my waiting stick. I raced through neutral ice, pausing at the entrance to our offensive zone, nudging the puck over the line right before my teammates and I crossed over. I chipped it into the corner for Grey, who quickly sent it up to the point to Mitch, who slid it across to Cole, and around and around we went. When I got the puck back, I wound up for a slapshot. It bounced off the skate of a Tritons player, but the Tritons’ goalie was waiting and easily covered it with his glove.
Back and forth we went, with Coach shifting around the lines, trying to generate offense where there had so far been none. When we finally converted on a scoring chance about five minutes into the third, I almost wasn’t even on the ice. At that point, my usual confidence in my athleticism was waning. After taking several shifts that were inadvisably longer than normal, my legs and lungs were burning. I was unsure if I could skate another five seconds much less fifteen minutes.
“Jean!” Mitch yelled from behind me. I’d been inches away from getting back on the bench, but I turned to my teammate. Mitch whipped the puck my way from the corner, and the moment it touched my stick, time slowed.
In reality, the whole sequence had taken less than ten seconds, but for me, it was as if someone had hit pause on the game. I could see the entire scene laid out with perfect clarity in front of me.
The second the puck hit my tape, two Tritons players were on me, the rest of their teammates in the midst of a change. On the far side of the neutral zone, near the Tritons’ bench, Grey skated slowly toward their offensive zone like a child tiptoeing around the house late at night, using the line change to mask his movements.
I entered the zone, puck ahead of me, and as soon as I did, Grey took off like a shot, streaking toward the net.
The Tritons never saw him coming.
Despite their goalie screaming his head off, my last-possible-second pass hit Grey’s stick perfectly, and the goalie guessed wrong, sliding my way instead of Grey’s. Grey buried the puck in the wide open net, and I was on him, crushing him in a hug against the boards a moment later.
“FUCK YEAH!” I yelled over the roar of the crowd. “Nice shot, kid!”
“Nice pass!” Grey shouted back, grinning from ear to ear. The rest of our teammates caught up to us and joined in on the celly before we skated to the bench for congratulatory fist-bumps.
During my next shift, I hopped onto the ice after a stop in play. One of the Tritons had bumped the net off its posts, so the refs paused play while it was fixed. The face-off was taking place in our end, to the left of our goalie, and as I skated mindless circles while I waited, someone said my name.
Turning, I found myself face to face with Josef Bobal, one of the dirtiest players in the league. He’d been responsible for a hit that had taken Grey out for ten games in the fall, and not a single Warrior had forgotten. I was almost grateful the refs had hardly let the game flow tonight, for it kept Bobal’s nastier instincts in check.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said.
“For winning this game? I mean, it’s not over yet, but thanks,” I said with a sneering grin.
Unperturbed, Bobal said, “I saw on Instagram that you got yourself a hot little girlfriend.” He shot me a smirk and suggestive eyebrow wiggle. “I can see the allure. But does she know about your women in other cities?”
“There are no women in other cities.”
“Sure there aren’t,” Bobal said with a wink. “Mind if I take a crack at Blondie next time we’re in Detroit?”
His use of my nickname had my blood boiling, and I skated closer, getting in his face.
“Don’t call her that,” I said, standing straighter. Although I was a couple inches taller than Bobal, the man weighed about twenty pounds more. If it came to that, it’d probably be a fair fight. “You stay the fuck away from her.”
“Or what, Jean? I’m sure she’d be happy to let me take her for a ride. She can’t be any different than every other puck bunny we know, right?”
My vision went red a moment before my fist flew out. Bobal’s head snapped back, his helmet clattering to the ice.
When Bobal brought a hand to his brow and it came away red, he launched himself at me, glancing a blow to my temple but catching mostly helmet when I dipped out of the way.
Once again, I drew my fist back and smashed it into the center of his face.
Bobal looked at me and grinned manically, teeth stained red with blood. “I bet she’s great in bed. With that tight little body? She’s probably a freak.”
My girl was a freak, always down to try new shit, always finding new ways to blow my mind. But this fucker would never know that. Not as long as I drew breath.
For the third time, I swung, and bone crunched satisfactorily under my knuckles. Bobal landed on his back, blood pouring from his nose.
Trainers raced onto the ice, and the ref grabbed me by the arm, skating me to the box.
“Five for fighting,” he announced. “Major.”
I grinned. Fucking worth it.
After that excitement, the remainder of the game was uneventful. No other goals were scored, earning us a much needed win and two points in the standings.
We celebrated with beer and pizza at a restaurant downtown, and while some of my teammates went to the bar for a “night cap”—which I knew from experience was code for finding someone to fuck—I went back to my room. I knew it was late, but I was desperate to hear Berkley’s voice after the altercation with Bobal.
“That might’ve been the most stressful game I’ve ever watched in my life,” she said when she answered. “So many fucking penalties.”
I laughed. “Imagine how it felt to play it! The entire game felt like we were in a pot waiting to boil over.”
“I can’t believe you almost knocked Bobal out,” she said. “You’re lucky I found it so sexy or I’d be a lot more angry with you. What was all that about anyway? It looked like he was taunting you.”
“Just bullshit hockey player stuff,” I said quickly. There was no point in worrying her or pissing her off by sharing his words. “Mostly retaliation for that hit on Grey.” The lie rolled easily from my tongue. I didn’t like it, but what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
And, truthfully, I owed Bobal a lot worse for what he’d done to Grey last year.
“Speaking of Grey,” Berkley said, her voice going quiet, “I know that goal is going to end up on SportsCenter. That pass was so fucking hot. If you were home right now, you’d be naked already.”
My cock twitched, but I couldn’t help razzing her a bit. “You need me to make game-winning-goal assisting passes to want to get me naked?” I asked, my hand going to my lap.
“Definitely not. I always want to get you naked. Run my hands all over those muscles, dig my fingers in your hair, bite your shoulder when you’re deep inside me…”
My mind flashed through all our moments together where she’d done everything she was describing. I hated myself for remembering Bobal’s words at this moment, but it was true: my girl was a freak in bed.
“Berkley,” I rasped.
“Yes?” she asked sweetly.
“I would kill to be able to taste you right now.”
“We could…pretend.”
That had me sitting up straighter in bed. “You mean like…phone sex?”
A moment later, my screen lit up with an incoming FaceTime call.
“Yes, phone sex,” she said when we connected.
Recognizing the wall of windows in the background behind her, I asked, “Are you…at my place?”
Her grin was sheepish. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” I said, grinning. “Now about this phone sex thing.”
“Are you into it?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m into it. I’ve just never done it before,” I said with an incredulous laugh.
Incredulous because it was insane that there was something sexual I’d never done before. I was more than happy to let Berkley take this first.
Berkley’s responding laugh was low and husky. “Neither have I. So we figure it out together.”
“Okay…” I said slowly. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to wrap your hand around your big cock and pretend it’s mine.”
“Berkley…” I groaned, but did as she asked, shucking my shorts and reaching for my shaft. Even a few minutes on the phone with this woman had me ready to come apart merely by gripping myself, but I called on years of carefully practiced self-control to hold my urges at bay. I breathed deeply through my nose, squeezing myself at the root to quell the urge to spurt my load all over.
A one minute man, I was not.
“Angle the phone better, babe,” Berkley said. “I want to watch.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“What do you want to see?”
“Everything.”
With a giggle that was more nervous than I’d like—because, truly, nothing about being with me should make my girl nervous—Berkley set the phone down, the rustle of clothing the only indication that she was stripping. When she picked it up again, she angled it above her head so I could look down at the full length of her naked body.
Berkley was tiny, yes, but her tits were the perfect size to fill my hands, her hips and where they flared out the tiniest bit were my favorite place to grab whether naked or fully clothed, her ass toned from years of yoga and strength training “to stay fit.”
Her words, not mine.
I loved every inch of her creamy skin, and when she reclined on my bed, I imagined I was there with her, running my hands over her body.
“Touch yourself.”
Berkley moved the phone lower, tipping it so I was now looking up her body instead of down.
My cock hardened further when Berkley snaked her fingers between her legs and gently circled her clit.
“That’s it, baby,” I said, lazily pumping myself. “Nice and slow to start. You know how I like to get you worked up first until you’re clawing at me.”
“Brent.” My name was a plea. Already, her chest heaved, those perfect breasts rising and falling in time with the circle of her fingers.
“Push a finger inside, Berk. Show me how wet you are for me.”
She did as I asked, her finger glistening when she held it up to the camera.
“Fucking drenched,” I growled. “If I was there, I’d lick you clean.”
“Are you touching yourself?”
I chuckled, shifting my arm so my phone was above my body. “Yeah, baby. I’ve got my cock in my hand, wishing it was yours. Wishing it was your mouth.”
“I want to give you head again,” she said, voice breathy, hand moving faster now between her legs. “I want to unravel you.”
“You always do,” I promised. “Tell me, Berk”—I squeezed myself harder, pumping faster to match Berkley’s pace—“would you deep-throat me again?”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “But I’d tease you first. I didn’t get to do that last time.”
“How so?”
“Run my tongue along your length. Play with your balls a bit. And then I’d guide my mouth over you nice and slow, taking you all the way in. I’d keep that pace for a while until your control snapped.”
Fuck. I wanted that so bad.
“Would you let me choke you with it?”
“Mhm.”
“Hold your head in place while I fucked your face?”
“God, yes.”
“Let me come all over those pretty tits?”
“Brent!” Her cry of pleasure—of my name—sent me over the edge, my release barreling down my spine and spreading along my limbs. I spilled all over my fist and stomach in long spurts. For untold moments, the only sounds from either of us were moans and whimpers as we came down from our highs.
Once we’d both recovered and faced each other on the phone again, I said, “Remind me why we haven’t been doing that every time I’m on the road?”
Berkley grinned, her skin flushed in that way I loved, the smile sleepy and sated. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something we can fix going forward.”
“It’s not as good as the real thing, but…fuck, Berk. That was so hot.”
Berkley chuckled. “I need a shower, and then I’m going to sleep like a baby.”
“I would kill to be able to shower with you right now.”
Berkley’s quiet chuckle turned into full blown laughter, and I couldn’t help but join her. When we settled, she said, “I hope we never grow out of this.”
“Out of what?”
“Wanting to rip each other’s clothes off every second of every day.”
“You and me both,” I said. “But, in case you’ve forgotten, sex isn’t all I want from you.”
“Oh, I know. You could get sex literally anywhere.”
“Berkley…” I warned.
“Sorry, couldn’t help it. But yes, I do know you’re not just with me for my pussy.”
“Berkley Daniels!” I scolded. “Have you been drinking?”
“I may have had a glass of wine…or three…at dinner.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said with a laugh. “But yes. I’m not just with you for your pussy…even if it is fantastic.”
She giggled. “And I’m not just with you for that incredible cock…or your money.”
I stiffened. We’ve had this conversation before, but her words…they struck a nerve as I remembered Bobal’s taunts earlier.
“Of course,” I said.
“And don’t you ever forget it.”
I often had to remind myself that she really didn’t give a fuck about my money. She was so smart, so talented, so personable, that once she graduated from law school, she could have her pick of jobs with firms across the country. I knew she’d make a killing as an attorney. It was a bit of a struggle for me to come to terms with the fact that, for the first time, I’d found a woman who truly was just with me for…me. Berkley wasn’t another Ashley. She wasn’t someone who only wanted me for the status it gave her, or the opportunities being my plus one provided. In fact, the opposite was true for Berkley—she neither wanted nor needed any of that from me.
“I won’t, babe,” I said. “I promise.”