19. Ryan
Ryan
In case anyone should ever ask what the best music to sharpen skates to is, it’s metal.
Getting lost in Metallica while doing repetitive motions for hours on end is its own kind of glory.
Since I’d returned from Michigan with Gideon, things had been…
well, just dark. Even though his brother was now in a really nice place getting tons of expert help, Gids still carried a lot of weight on his shoulders.
Yes, he now knew he had not caused their little brother’s death, and while that was a relief, he still had a ton of feelings to sort out and deal with.
Joe, Gids, and Noah were now doing family counseling on top of the solo counseling that Noah was getting at Horizon Ridge Care Center.
As one who had learned the benefit of talking it out during my own stint in rehab, followed by weekly meetings, there was no such thing as too much therapy.
A large shape stepped into my periphery, filling the open door of the skate sharpening room.
I was only a little sad to see that it was Arnaud in the doorway and not Gids.
He was talking with Coach about his own counseling sessions with the team psychologist, which, yeah, was a great thing.
Once more, there was no such thing as too much help.
The NYPD would have probably fished my body out of the Hudson River months ago if not for their intervention.
I popped one of my Bluetooth buds out of my ears and turned the sharpener off.
“Hello,” Arnaud said as he leaned his shoulder into the doorframe.
He was partially dressed for morning skate.
Bottom half was goalie’d up, but his top half was bare.
Our goalie was in damn fine shape. “I heard the machine and made my face stop so to see that it was you and not that imbécile Mortie-Meyer.”
“No, it’s me. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch your skates. Other than Dad.” I tugged my other earbud out.
“Good. Dad is good. Many years of knowledge.” He tipped his head slightly and smiled the most charming smile I’d ever seen, aside from the shy, quiet one that Gideon was blessed with.
“You look pretty today. Your eyes are sparkly. You look tired. May I help you out? I see the wheelie is full of skates. Let me deliver them for you.”
“Oh. Uhm, thank you, that’s nice.” He latched onto the cart with a wide smile. “I am kind of behind today. And for the makeup… I put some shadow on, not much, just a little bit.”
“I see. Well, it is magnificent. Your cheeks too? Makeup, non?”
“No, that’s metal dust.”
“Ah yes, well, it looks pretty. I like the makeup on you very much. Why should only the ladies wear the lipstick and rouge? Someday when you are in the cosmetics school, I would like to come in and be a dummy.”
“You’re already a dummy,” Bob tossed out as he walked past the skate room. Arnaud’s mouth fell open. Bob could be heard chuckling as he made his way from the ice to the locker room.
“Better a dummy than the underbelly of a turtle’s nut sack!” Arnaud leaned back out the door to bellow at his nemesis, or whatever it was those two were.
“Turtles don’t have a nut sack!” Bob shouted in reply.
“Fuck. He is right. They have the testes inside the body. Ugh, the taste of being upped by him is like the taste of licking the floor under the Copperheads’ bench.
” I nearly gagged just thinking of that.
“Well, he is right. Such is my life. I will give you a most needed break for the skate delivery. Au revoir, bonne journée!”
Off he went with a bouncy step, the wheels of the cart rattling along. Thankful for the break, I rose, pushed my stool aside with my hideous work shoe, then stretched my hands over my head and twisted to make my back pop. It did, with a snap that made me groan.
“I like that sound.” I spun back to the front to find my boyfriend in the doorway, his blue gaze sliding over me with heat that had nothing to do with the skate they’d just had. “Sounds sexy.”
“I am sexy,” I joked as I wiggled my hips.
“Yeah, you are.” Gids sounded sultry. Something I’d not heard since the incident with his brother. Something that was totally expected. No one was in the mood for fooling around when trying to deal with something that upsetting.
“You’re biased. How did it go with Coach?
” I asked as I made my way to him for a warm hug.
I didn’t care if he was sweaty and stinky.
Okay, maybe I cared a little about the stink, but I’d not let go of him over it.
Nothing would ever make me let go of Gideon.
I burrowed into his sweater, pushing my nose into the material as his hands skimmed up under his—now and forever mine—hoodie and work polo. Cool, damp fingers danced up my back.
“Okay. I’m going to start talking with the team counselor in a few days.
Coordinating with the doctors in Horizon Ridge.
Supposedly to help prevent conflicting advice and keep all of our goals aligned.
It’s a lot of talking about shit that I hate talking about, but the family counseling seems to be helping… when we’re not yelling or crying.”
He flattened his hands on my lower back to press me closer to him. There wasn’t much to feel, to be honest, what with pads, jerseys, hockey pants, and a cup.
“Crying is part of healing.” Spoken from experience.
“So they say.” He dropped a kiss under my ear. I shivered. He moaned softly. “Those sounds of yours are too hot. Why don’t we meet up at my place after I shower for lunch? You good with that?”
“Mm-hmm.” I sighed as I pulled back to stare at him. “Very fine.”
“Cool. You could bring some stuff with you.”
“Stuff? Like… stuff?” My mind was racing ahead to an incredibly hot and spicy scenario which would require lots of lube and a box of condoms. Nothing would feel better than to have Gideon slide into me with that big, fat—
“Yeah, like… clothes, your makeup and hair stuff. Maybe a toothbrush. Then you can stay over.”
“Oh.” That was not where my head had been galloping to but… “Oh. Oh.” Wow, okay, that was big. “Like for overnighters.”
“Yeah, or longer. Maybe? I just like you there. I want to wake up with you, make you coffee, watch you paint your lips and fix your hair. Bring you to work. I think that sounds really nice, don’t you?”
“I do, yes, I totally do! I’ll run home and grab some things. Should I grab all kinds of things and stuff?”
This was not the place for this conversation. Chip and Walker had just raced past, engaged in some discussion about the distance from the ice to the chicken tenders stand across the street. Chip seemed to know. Walker thought it was farther and was calling for a tape measure.
“Grab whatever you need to make the night good for you.” He kissed me on the mouth tenderly and eased away from my greedy arms. “See you at my place.”
“Yeah, see you.” I sighed dreamily as he stepped out of the room and was barraged by several players asking him what color lipstick he was wearing.
Oops. Guess that new color from the drugstore was not kiss tested.
That’s what you get from a tube of lipstick that was only two bucks.
You get what you pay for, as they say. Nothing else from the drugstore.
Well, not makeup. I was making a mad dash to the sexual wellness aisle of the nearest pharmacy as soon as I could get out the door.
Somewhere behind me, someone—Bob—was bellowing like a mad bull about shaving cream in his practice boots. I hightailed it out of the rink before Bob exploded like an atomic bomb all over our goalie.
We had three hours.
One hundred eighty minutes to run home, change from gross work clothes to something femme, grab “stuff,” race to the pharmacy for more “stuff,” and sprint to Gids’ place to use “stuff.”
He was just toeing off his sneakers in the foyer when I arrived, breathless, with a bag of sex necessities and a bag of clothes.
He glanced down at one, then the other, an eyebrow cocking up as I tossed my overnight—plus things—onto the floor and launched myself at him.
Door hanging wide open, cold air wafting in, I leaped on the man like a hungry chicken on a cricket.
He grunted softly as he caught me, big hands coming up to cradle my ass as I wrapped my legs and arms around him and ravished his mouth.
There was an awkward moment when he had to move to one side to lift a foot to kick the door shut, but after that it was smooth sailing all the way down the hall to the bedroom.
He tasted like a dark, bitter chocolate drink, most likely a sports recovery drink of some sort. It was lush combined with his natural taste. I licked in deep, whimpering softly as we bounced off a doorjamb.
“Ugh, sorry,” he mumbled, then resealed our lips as he toted me pretty effortlessly to his bed. Big, soft, unmade. Ready for love.
“Toss me… ravish me,” I whispered between long, wet kisses.
I let go. He gave me a light fling. With a tiny squeal, I hit the mattress, bounced once, and lay there like the wanton that I was.
Legs spread, I showed lots of thigh as my skirt slithered down from my knees to expose lots of tender, hot things that his sapphire gaze latched onto.
My cock pressed against a lacy thong of dark green, balls tucked tight in the little triangle of cloth.
He fixated on what lay between my legs as my eyes roamed over the gray fleece pants he was wearing.
“That tee and those bottoms have to go.”
“Bossy,” he said, but stripped with the speed of a cobra strike. Within seconds, he was naked. I wet my lips. “Your turn.”