Chapter 12
Nadia
With every bonein my body feeling like it’s turned to liquid, we emerge from the laundry room, back into the party.
Can they tell Axel Rakestraw just gave me the best orgasm of my life? Does a woman look different after that?
I’d asked myself a similar question after my first time, when I lost my virginity to Will Holt. I was fifteen. He was twenty and one of my older brother’s best friends. Our next door neighbor that I’d had a crush on for years. His attention felt so good, and I knew he was experienced. I’d seen the girls he had come over, and they seemed so cool and confident. Like they knew some secret I was dying to know.
Axel’s fingers tighten around mine as he leads me through the kitchen, only stopping to grab a pizza box off the island. He slides me a heated look, either ignoring or unaware of the glares coming from Chantelle and the other puck bunnies. It’s not my first public walk of shame. No, that had come after Will Holt sent me home with cum still sticky between my legs. It is the first time the guy went down on me without asking for anything in return. It’s also the first time the man didn’t ditch me. Not yet anyway.
“Come upstairs?” he asks, his mouth close to my ear.
I nod, but call out, “Wait,” stopping to grab the canvas bag I’d left in the kitchen. I keep my eyes peeled for Reese and Twyler, but they’re probably playing quarters on the back porch or left early. Good. I don’t want to deal with either of them right now.
When we reach the stairs, he takes the bag from me. It’s heavy.
“What the hell did you bring?” he asks, moving to open it.
“You sent an SOS.” I attempt to snatch it back. “That’s my bag of tricks.”
The upstairs is quiet. I’ve never been up here before. Four doors line the walls, each closed. We pass one and I hear a muffled voice. “Christ, Sunshine, sure you can take it?” A groan follows, then, “Good girl.”
My eyes widen and Axel and I exchange a look. “Good girl?” I mouth, shocked. Those two are quieter than a church mouse back at the Teal House. “You listen to this when she sleeps over?”
“Yes,” he groans, opening the door to his room. He leads me inside, turning on the light on the bedside table. “Between their quiet, lovey-dovey sex, Reid and Darla fighting and then making up all the time, and Jefferson’s wall-fucking, it’s like drought conditions over here.”
“Poor baby,” I say, flashing him a sympathetic smile, then stop short at the state of his room. If Axel’s body is a diary of his life, his walls take it to the next level. It’s an explosion of personality.
There’s the obvious posters of sexy girls, suggestively holding hockey sticks while wearing thigh high athletic socks and knotted jerseys. But there are other pictures of players I assume are his idols, messy ink drawings that look like tattoo ideas. Over the cluttered desk is a long shelf of empty beer and liquor bottles–tokens from the last three and a half years. I spot stacks of spiral bound notebooks and can’t help but wonder what he’s writing in them.
Clothes spill out of his closet and a rack of scuffed barbells sits in the corner.
“This is…” I start, but I’m at a loss for words.
“A lot, I know.” He runs his hand through his hair, making his tattooed bicep bulge. On anyone else, I’d side-eye the gray sweats and black tank at a party, but on Axel, it’s ridiculously hot. “I wasn’t allowed to really decorate my room growing up, so when I finally had my own space, I went a little overboard.”
“I like it.” I’ve been in my share of athlete’s rooms, dorms and apartments, and you can tell the guys don’t do much in there other than sleep and fuck. “It’s chaotic. Kind of like you.”
I turn, taking in the three hockey jerseys pinned to the wall near the bathroom, but the main feature, hanging over the headboard is a massive Texas state flag and a cowboy hat hanging on the bedpost.
He jumps into action, tossing items of clothing off his bed and onto the pile by the closet. “The sheets are clean,” he says, fanning a comforter over the top. “Jefferson’s mom insisted we get a cleaning lady in here twice a month.” His teeth drag over the ring in his lip. “And, you know, I haven’t had any women over.” His eyes meet mine. “Until now.”
“Right,” I say, unsure of where to go next. With other guys I would know. There was only one reason they brought me to their room. Is Axel any different? Finally, I exhale and admit, “I don’t know what the expectations are here. You just gave me an earth-shattering orgasm and–”
“First, I don’t believe in transactional sex,” he says, jaw locking tight, his eyes on mine for a long moment. He nods down at the canvas bag. “Second, I really want you to show me what you brought in that bag.”
“Oh.” I smile and lift it up. “Yes. I call it my Axel Rakestraw No More Epic Fuck-Ups SOS Kit.”
“That’s quite a mouthful, T.” He climbs onto the bed, legs crossed. He pats the empty space in front of him. “Let’s see it.”
When I got the SOS text, I packed the bag with whatever I could find in the house. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Axel being surrounded by hot puck bunnies wasn’t a stretch. What did surprise me was my reaction. I’ve been jealous before. Shanna, the woman Brent traded up for, comes to mind, but this was different. I wasn’t just jealous. I was territorial. Enough so, I didn’t hesitate staking my claim.
“Okay,” I say, settling across from him. I reach into the bag and start pulling out items. “First we have a 500-piece puzzle of the Wittmore campus.” He picks up the puzzle and studies the front. “Twyler’s mom bought that for us when she came to visit.”
“Cool. The arena’s on here,” he points out.
“I also have two decks of cards, one is normal playing cards, the other UNO.”
“Do not let Reid see those UNO cards.” He shakes his head. “Dude is fucking rabid.”
“Over UNO?”
“Yeah. Something about high stakes competition growing up. He’s got a bunch of siblings.” He smirks. “There’s even a story about someone getting stabbed with a fork during one particularly dramatic game.”
“Wow, okay.” I take the UNO cards and drop them back in the bag. In its place, I pull out a long box. “There’s also Scrabble, or…” I rummage around for my laptop, “I’ve downloaded the complete second season of Springfield.”
“You’re offering me the choice between a puzzle, some games, or soft core porn?” His eyebrow lifts. “Obviously, I’m choosing the puzzle.”
“Bullshit,” I challenge, grabbing the laptop. “You already sacrificed yourself once tonight. You deserve a little soft core porn as a reward.”
“Thank god,” he says, falling back on the pillows. “If I don’t get to see at least some sideboob tonight, I may cry.”
I set the laptop in the middle of the bed. He grunts, grabbing it and placing it on his lap while reaching for me with a strong arm. He pulls me against him and I’m engulfed in his scent. His skin is warm and he smells so good, spicy and clean. My body reacts to him even more than it did before–now I know for sure how good he can make me feel.
“You think Bryce and Tess are going to take another shower together?” he asks, breath hot on my ear.
“Brock and Jess,” I remind him, but his smirk tells me that he’s fucking with me. “And no, I don’t think they’ll take another shower, but I’m sure they’ll up the ante somehow. Maybe the hot tub? Or a threesome?”
“Awesome.” He leans over and turns off the light, shrouding us in the dark other than the screen. I lean back, marveling at how this all happened–this easy relationship with an orgasm giving, trashy-TV-watching, super star goalie.
For once in my life, I don’t want to overthink it. Wrapped in his arms I settle against him and just enjoy the moment.
The noise jolts me awake.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Ugh, not again.”
The voice is rough with sleep, and attached to a very hard, very warm body. I’d fallen asleep for the second time in Axel’s arms. This time we’re both fully clothed.
“What is that?” I whisper, cheek planted against his chest.
Another loud thud slams into the wall and a stack of notebooks slides off the shelf and onto the floor.
“Jefferson,” he mutters, hand reaching between us to adjust himself, while never letting me out of his grip.
Oh. The wall fucking. That’s what he was talking about.
Out in the hallway, I hear the sound of a door opening and then a louder, more insistent pounding.
“Uh oh, he pissed off Cap.”
“Seriously, dude?” Reese’s voice carries through the walls. “It’s three-fucking-AM. You’re waking up the whole house. We’ve got practice in the morning.”
“Shut up, man,” Jefferson retorts. “You think you and Twy are all quiet in there, but you’re not. Oh, Reese!” His voice rises into a high falsetto. “Oh, Sunshine!”
“Oh my god,” I snort, then bark out a too loud laugh. Axel brings my face to his chest, smothering my laughter.
“You’re gonna give us away,” he says, quietly. “They may be okay with us hanging out some, but I suspect this crosses the line.”
He’s right. Twyler would lose her shit if she knew I was still in here–although right now, she’s probably just dying of embarrassment that Jefferson called them out.
“Just go to bed, asshole,” Reese says. “And fuck your girl on the bed like everyone else.”
The doors slam, one then the other, and the house falls silent. Axel’s hand is on my back and there’s no mistaking the hard erection between us. It was like that while we watched three episodes of the show, but he never made a move–not once.
“Is it like this every night?” I ask, lifting my face to his.
“Only when Jeff brings chicks home. He spends a lot of time over on sorority row.”
“I’ve heard those are your stomping grounds too.”
He shrugs. “Used to be.”
“Do you miss it?”
His green eyes hold mine. “Not as much as I thought I would.”
Our bodies are close, every inch pressed against one another, including the rock hard erection he’s been sporting all night.
“Twyler is so private. She’s going to be horrified showing her face in the morning.”
“The first night she slept over, she bolted before daylight.”
“Sounds right.” I smile, before it falters. “I guess I always saw the walk of shame as this badge of honor. Like I wanted everyone to see me coming out of a football player’s dorm or apartment.” I think this comes from my first time with my neighbor, too. “Walking home in the morning was never what made me feel shitty with the football players, especially with Brent.”
“What did?” he asks.
“They didn’t want me to be seen with them, but they also wanted me to just hang around. Wait for them while they were playing or at practice. Sit and wait until they got back from a party. It was boring and never as exciting as I thought it would be.”
I was an afterthought. A quick and convenient way to get off.
“I was never good enough to be seen with them–like as their girl. No one was looking for me in the stands.” I sigh, feeling so dumb. “I thought eventually they’d realize that I was the girl they were waiting for. See how I could be more to them than a quick fuck.”
“Hey,” he says, arms circling tight, “that’s bullshit, you know that right?”
“It’s hard when you know the only value they see in you is how much money they can make from selling you.”
“Jesus.” He exhales. “You are worth so much more than you understand. Those assholes were lucky you even gave them the time of day.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Seeing your face up in the stands makes the game so much better,” he says with a harsh ferocity. “It makes the win so much sweeter.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck yeah.” He runs his hand up and down my arm. “And the jersey? I’d give you one for every day of the week, if I thought you’d wear it.”
“Stop.” I frown. “Then everyone would think we’re sleeping together.”
“Darlin’ we literally just woke up in the same bed.” He takes my face between his hands. “We are sleeping together.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you need to know that the only reason I haven’t tried to fuck you again is because you’re not ready.” My heart stutters, unsure of how to respond. Apparently he’s not finished. “I’ll be here when you are, but until then this is enough.”
“A safe space,” I say, more to myself than to him.
He nods, kissing me again, before tucking me close against his side.
It’s hard for me to accept the truth behind his words–he’s an athlete after all–I’m not stupid. He’s under pressure and I’m a steady spot in the whirlwind of chaos, but I can’t deny that the feeling of being in his arms makes it worth it.
There wasno walk of shame.
Axel waited until the guys left the next morning, brought me downstairs, and loaded me in the front seat of his black truck and drove me to work.
“You sure you don’t need anything from the house? We can swing by and get it.”
His hand is on my thigh, warm and steady.
“I have a locker there with workout clothes and an extra shirt.” He pulls the truck up to the front doors of the gym. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for coming to my rescue last night,” he says, bringing my hand to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles. “Next time you owe me a game of Scrabble.”
The morning passes by quickly. After changing, I stick to the front desk, checking students and faculty as they come in, from the cold bleary eyed to the determined. There’s always a steady stream when we unlock the doors. Most are regulars. There’s a certain type of dedicated gym-goer that consistently comes every day. Instructors clock in and head back to the workout rooms to teach spin, pilates, body pump.
“That was an awfully big truck you got out of this morning,” Abby says, leaning back against the counter with a steaming cup of tea in her hand.
I laugh. Big trucks are common back home, but up here less so. “Axel’s from Texas. I guess that tracks.”
“Axel?” Her eyes widen. “Axel Rakestraw?”
I shouldn’t be surprised she knows him. All the guys on the hockey team are pretty popular and recognizable. Axel more so with a prominent position and his dark bad boy looks.
Abby’s in her mid-twenties. She was a student at Wittmore, and a member of one of the bigger sororities, who was offered the manager role of the gym after graduation. Her next comment confirms how well she keeps up with the student gossip. “I thought you only dated football players?”
“We’re not dating. He’s a friend of a friend, who is just… well, a friend.”
You know, if friends give you amazing orgasms and snuggle in bed with you watching cheesy teen dramas.
The look she gives me over her tea tells me she sees right through my ‘just friends’ comment. But it’s true isn’t it? Sure, we’re hooking up, but he’s not asking for anything from me–just a safe place to hang while he waits for his probation to end.
God. Just friends is confusing.
“I’d have a hard time staying just friends with a guy who looks like that,” she admits. “But he’s got a reputation over in the Kappa house for being a player. Nothing scandalous, just… he’s always chasing fun. If that’s what you’re into, you probably won’t find a better guy.” She sets her drink down as a member with wet hair approaches the desk. “Can I help you?”
Apparently one of the showers in the women’s room won’t shut off, and water is backing up. “Watch the counter,” Abby says, grabbing her cell phone to call maintenance. She runs back to the locker room. The interruption allows me to drop the Axel discussion. Thankfully. What she’s describing is the reputation Axel has had for the entire time he’s been at Wittmore, but I also know that lately he’s had to shed that to keep his spot on the team.
There’s a lot more to Axel Rakestraw than sexy party boy.
“Nadia?”
I look up and see Eric standing at the counter.
“Hey,” I say, fussing with a few objects on the counter as a way to look busy. “Forget your ID?”
“No. Not here for a workout.” I realize he’s alone, not with his usual posse of frat boys and dressed in street clothes. I notice he has something in his hand. “I wanted to bring you this.” He places my scarf on the counter. “It’s cold out there and Thanksgiving is coming… thought you may need it.”
“Thanks,” I pull the handmade scarf off the counter. “I appreciate it.”
A student lines up behind Eric and I gesture for him to move so I scan his ID. Eric steps aside, but doesn’t leave.
“If this is about the project,” I tell him once the student is gone, “I got your notes. Everything will be done on time.”
“It’s not about that,” he says, leaning over the counter. “I want to apologize. What you heard that day–it was gross and inappropriate. Although I wasn’t the one that said it, I didn’t stop it. I let Austin and Rocky say that awful stuff and I should have stepped in and defended you.”
My cheeks burn at the memory of what they said. How they talk about me like I’m nothing but a body for their purposes. The real humiliation comes in because I know there’s truth to it. I allowed that to happen.
Eric’s not finished. “I understand why you thought I was trying to get you alone. And to be honest, I did want to spend more time with you. You’re nice and yeah, hot, but in the context of everything it was a boneheaded move.”
“I may have been a little hypersensitive,” I admit, “and maybe took out some of my frustration on you and not the people who deserve it. They’re pretty intimidating.”
“Fuck, right?” he laughs darkly, shoving his hand in his hair. “I let myself get caught up in the whole thing. They’re basically celebrities, you know? I’m a huge sports fan and having a class with them has been unreal.” His jaw tics and he looks down. “I guess I just wanted their approval and I did it in a super shitty way.” His eyes flick up to meet mine. “If you want to just finish the project and never speak again, I understand, but I just wanted to let you know that I really am sorry.”
“I accept,” I tell him. “And if you want, we can maybe get together after the break to run through the presentation?”
He grins. “That would be awesome.”
We agree to talk after Thanksgiving break and after he walks off I take a deep breath, a weight lifting off my shoulders. I’ve got too much fear and anger in my heart and it feels good to let a little of it go.