29. Jack
29
JACK
D espite running on very little sleep, I powered through our game with the Overbites, and I received a free pack of floss. I made a beautiful pass to Fuentes in the second period for a goal that put us over the top. It was good practice for the big Sourwood Cup game in one week.
After the game, we went to Easter Egg but made sure to keep Miller away from the pinball machines. The owner made us promise after he almost smashed his fist through The Addams Family game. Fuentes informed the team that we’d be having two extra practices this week to prepare. The guys groaned in response.
“Do you really think we need it?” Miller asked.
“Yes!” Fuentes slammed down his beer. “The Comebacks demolished their opponents today. I heard that Griffin Harper scored two goals and barely let a forward through his line. He is on fire, and he’s barreling right into us.”
He barreled into me last night, again and again. A flush of red creeps up my back as I remember the highlights.
“All eyes are on us next week,” continued Fuentes. “People are reaching out to me every day on social media to tell me how badly they want us to lose. We’re the big, bad, younger team, not the lovable underdog. If this were an ‘80s sports movie, we’d be the villains. I don’t want to be the villains. I’m nice!”
He plunks down on his barstool and drowns his anxieties in his beer.
“We’re gonna win!” I say to the team. “This isn’t a movie. We are better, stronger, faster. Griffin and the Comebacks can barrel into us all they want, but we will push back.”
Just like a good power bottom.
We break off into different conversations as guys eventually leave. Fuentes, Miller, and I grab another drink.
“So how are you feeling about next week?” Fuentes asks me.
I take a sip of my beer and shrug. “Whatever happens, happens.”
“You sound chill,” Miller says.
“Maybe I am.”
“Really?” he asks. “Most eyes will be on you. People will want to see if the pro hockey player chokes against the locals. And on top of that, your future career prospects hinge on pulling out a win.”
“Wow, Miller. You really know how to make a guy feel calm.” Fuentes smacks him in the chest. “Excellent yogi skills, fucker.”
“I was just pointing out facts.” He turns to me, his big eyes getting even wider. “Do you want to do a breathing exercise to chill out?”
“No.”
“Okay. Do you want one of my edibles?”
I had told the guys about the potential coaching job at Hudson University earlier in the locker room. I still can’t believe it’s a real possibility, and I don’t know why it isn’t making me more nervous. This whole weekend has been a fucking blur, and it’s messing with my head.
“I want to win. I’m making no bones about it,” says Fuentes. He spins the coaster like a top. “I don’t want everyone in this town thinking we can’t beat a bunch of has-beens.”
Miller nods along with him, and for the first time, I can tell how much this game is weighing on them. I’m not the only one who should be feeling nervous. No matter the stakes, no hockey player wants to lose. We play sports not to learn good sportsmanship, but to dominate. I don’t want to let them down.
“They’re not has-beens,” I say. “They still got the goods. But so do we.”
Familiar nerves rumble in my stomach. I’m most scared about embarrassing myself in front of the whole town, proving to everyone that the NHL was right to cast me aside.
“It’s an amazing opportunity, getting to coach at the collegiate level,” says Fuentes.
“It is,” I repeat. “It would be the most logical path for me to take. All I know is hockey.” I take a swig of my beer, a curious crestfallen pang hitting my chest.
* * *
Our weekday practices are grueling. The guys are in it to win it and nothing less. I want to win this game to show them that they made the right choice in bringing me onto the team.
On Thursday night, I take an ice bath when I get home. I close my eyes and think about the coaching job. What would it be like to work with college athletes? What would it also be like to deal with administrative bureaucracy? I recall my old coaches complaining about red tape with the franchise owners. I think about the chance to live and breathe hockey again.
I try to get myself psyched up about the opportunity. Yet like a guy attempting to have sex after too many whiskey sours, I just can’t get there.
A knock at the front door startles me. Because it’s such a small apartment, the sound reverberates against the bathroom walls.
I throw a towel around my waist and run to the door.
“And here I thought I was going to have to seduce you.” Griffin arrives wearing a flannel and jeans. Does this guy ever not look drop-dead sexy?
“What are you doing here?”
“Seeing you. I was on my way home from dropping off the girls, and I realized that I drive by your apartment building every time I make the trip.”
“Don’t you love geography?”
“Not as much as I love checking you out.” He scoops me into his arms, and I’m pulled into his chest, inhaling his musky, fresh scent.
I tiptoe us backward into my apartment. The last thing my neighbors need is a free sex show. We stumble backward onto my couch. My towel falls off somewhere along the journey.
“Maybe we take this to the bedroom,” he says as he kisses down my neck.
“You’re in it.”
He looks around and clocks the minimal square footage.
“You sleep on a couch?” he asks.
“It’s a pullout.”
“Fuck, you really are twenty-four.” He laughs into my lips as he plants another deep kiss, unleashing a torrent of goosebumps across my naked flesh.
My hard cock rubs against his jeans. He gives it a gentle stroke, like a handshake for an old friend.
“You’re freezing.” He wraps his arms tighter around me.
“I was taking an ice bath. We had a tough practice tonight.” I unbutton his flannel and smooth a hand over his chest and stomach, wanting every inch of it.
“Bill’s made us practice every day this week. We finally convinced him to give us today off.”
“Good. You don’t want him overworking you guys and wearing you out before the game.”
We talk between kisses. Griffin jerks me off at a leisurely pace. It’s a very domestic situation of two lovers asking each other about their day…only with less clothes on.
“Des’s shoulder has been hurting because of all the extra shooting practice.”
“Tell him twenty minutes of icing it every other hour. The doctor on one of my teams said that when you over-ice it, it slows recovery.” I pinch his nipple, making him grunt as he tongues my ear. “That with some ibuprofen should get him healed by Sunday.”
I break my train of thought with a gasp when he lightly tugs at my sack.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. That was a good gasp.” I shove his shirt off his broad shoulders. I flick my tongue over his nipple, eliciting a pull on my cock in response. We are a tangle of arms and hunched backs trying to make this position work. We collapse onto the couch.
I straddle him, letting my bare ass writhe on his tented jeans. “So how are you feeling about the game?”
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him hard before he can answer. He gives my ass a slap and pinch. He leans back slightly so his crotch has more of a thrusting radius.
“Aside from Des’s shoulder, we’re in great shape. All of these lead-up games have been great practice.” Griffin kisses down my chest, nuzzling his beard against my abs.
“Have you worked with Hank on his positioning in goal?”
“What?”
I lift myself so I can unzip his pants. His underwear-wrapped cock shoots out. He sits me back on top of it, teasing me with the thin cotton layer separating his dick from my ass.
I bounce against his thickness, praying that his underwear rips and he can plunge inside me.
“Hank’s angle is off when he tracks a puck. He’s going for ninety degrees, but he winds up like eighty degrees. And he could move a little farther out from the goal to better cut the angle and improve coverage.”
“He stands square to the puck.” Griffin pulls me against his chest. He yanks his boxers off and thwacks his bare, hot cock against my hole. “It’s better than standing at ninety.”
“It’s not. Ninety gives you more flexibility to pivot.” I nibble at his ear, fantasizing about getting impaled on his thickness. Being in his arms instantly throws me to the brink of orgasm. “Hank is jerking around a lot in goal. Standing at ninety would let him be faster to block pucks.”
“Well, since we’re giving advice, your boy Miller is too fancy with his stick handling. Likes to show off. Makes it easy to strip the puck from him.”
Looking back, I can see his point. Miller can too often be a target of steals, and now I get why.
“I’ll let him know. You know what’s great about my couch also being my bed?” I press my forehead against his and gaze into his heavy-lidded eyes. “The lube is close by.”
I reach a hand to the side table and fish around for the lube in the drawer. I throw it against his chest, a silent plea to fuck me as fast as he can.
“Do you have any other tips for my teammates, or can I fuck the shit of you now?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. He lifts us up from the couch and presses me up against the window, the cold of the glass stinging my back. I hug my body against his big torso as his tongue ravages my mouth.
“I want you so bad, Griffin.”
“That’s fucking obvious.” His greedy finger circles my hole, making my body clench with dizzying anticipation. “I’ve only had sex with a guy once. I have a lot of catching up to do.”
I want this man to stretch me out like the collar of his favorite T-shirt.
He unlocks my legs from his waist and puts me down, then spins me around. He presses my face against the glass. I jut my ass out, wanting him to take me from behind.
“Eat my hole and then fuck me until I scream.”
“You got it.”
I close my eyes, fully embracing this heaven-sent moment. I heard if you close your eyes during sex, then it heightens your other senses. Yet I don’t feel him spread me open or flick his tongue on my hole. In fact, he hasn’t moved at all.
“What is it?” I open my eyes and crane my head back at him.
Panic takes over his right eye as he stares out the window. I follow his eyeline to the parking lot, and all at once, my body goes numb.
A man in a heavy coat glares daggers at us, his familiar scowl even more venomous. A purple apron is bunched in his fist.