26. Lyssa #2
It’s one thing to see Benji skating from a distance, whether in person or on the screen.
I haven’t missed a game since our first date at the aquarium, and I can admire his fierceness, his athleticism, and the way he finds his teammates on the ice.
But when everyone on the ice is at roughly the same skill level, it’s hard to notice just how much more talent he has than the average person.
Skating next to him now, I can see all the strength he possesses.
Even hidden under sweats, moving slowly to keep pace with me, his graceful movements are obvious.
His toned legs stride out flawlessly, and I have no doubt he could pick me up and make endless laps around the people skating alongside us.
And when he skates ahead of me, and his strides cause his sweats to frame his ass? Well, that’s just fucking distracting.
“You’re so natural,” I manage, trying my best not to ogle his perfect ass too much in public. There are children here, after all. “I think you’re even more comfortable on skates than your own feet.”
He crosses over to face me, skating backwards – show-off – and grins. “I might have been skating before I walked. I’m not even sure.”
“Is that normal for a Minnesota boy?” I tease, attempting to catch up to him. I trip as I pick up speed, and he catches my hand again. In one swift movement, he’s pivoted to my side, skating forward once more, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Pretty common, I’d say,” he says. “Just thinking about the amount of friends that would join us in our backyard when my dad flooded the rink. We could all skate pretty young.”
His brother. I gaze up at him, wondering if I should ask more about him or not. Instead, I play it safe and ask, “What about your sister?”
“Oh, she can skate, too. She just never wanted to make a career out of it.” He pauses. “Not that there were that many opportunities back then, anyways. When she was fifteen, she basically had to decide if she wanted to try to work up to the Olympics or play it safe.”
“That early?” I ask, and he nods.
“That’s about when your life changes as an athlete. At least in hockey, anyways. That’s when you’re getting picked up for Juniors.”
“So that’s what you did?” I imagine him as a little fifteen-year-old, all gangly, with floppy hair and braces, trying his best to make the best team.
“Nah. My brother and I didn’t have to. The high school hockey scene for guys in Minnesota is already super competitive. Throw in summer camps, and you’re on the right track.” He stops and smiles to himself, but it’s a bit sad. “Then we made it work so that we ended up on the same college team.”
“That’s right,” I murmur. “You mentioned you played in college together.”
He turns that sad smile on me. “Yep. Couldn’t keep the two of us separated for too long. That’s when local news caught wind of us, and we kind of became a package deal. 'The golden brothers from Minnesota.' The headlines wrote themselves.”
He’s somehow slowed to my exact speed, our hands still intertwined and moving at the same pace. I’m amazed at his openness. Whereas I keep everything close to my chest, he offers this up to me as if it’s normal to share such vulnerabilities.
“It’s incredible you could play on the same teams for so long.”
“Yeah,” he says, but there’s a new tightness to his voice, and I tell he’s getting emotional.
I squeeze his hand. “What did you go to college for?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Business management.”
“No way.” I choke on a laugh. “You’re such a cliché. The athlete who goes to college for his sport and skates by with a business degree on the side. Pun intended.”
He laughs in earnest now, the sound deep and rich. “I’ll have you know I was an aggressively average student. B’s all the way.”
“Hmmm. I suppose that’s impressive, given how much time you probably spent flirting with women,” I tease.
He shoots me an amused look. “Little fighter, is that jealousy I see?”
“Just trying to figure out how much of the college athlete cliché you fit.”
“A lot of it,” he admits, and the candidness of his answer briefly stuns me. “But the excitement wore off quickly. I spent most of my last two years in the gym, just trying to get drafted like my brother…and then everything happened with him.”
I squeeze his hand tighter. “For what it’s worth, I can see where your business major would come in handy,” I say. “If you ever consider selling your photography.”
Benji seems to genuinely consider this. “I never thought about it that way.”
“You should. Your work is beautiful.”
“Well, that’s a compliment I never saw coming.” He shoots me a warm look, then asks, “What did you major in?”
“Computer science.”
He raises a brow. “Let me guess. Honors student?”
“Maybe,” I hedge, a flush creeping over my cheeks. “Mostly out of necessity. I needed to keep my scholarships.”
“And do you ever think about doing something in that field anymore?”
“Not really.” My answer comes so quickly, I don’t even consider hiding the truth. “I made an app and sold it off. Because of that, I’m well enough off that I don’t really need to work. I just work to stay busy."
His brow rises even higher, but the question he asks next startles me. “Why the service industries? I can’t imagine you get treated that well.”
“Some people suck,” I admit. “But it also allows me to meet so many wonderful new people, and hear so many stories. For every terrible customer, there are three more that restore my faith in humanity.”
His expression turns unreadable. Before I can question it, though, a group of kids zoom by, darting around us, whooping and hollering.
“Shit!” I stumble into Benji as I attempt to avoid a collision with the pint-sized terrors.
His arms immediately wrap around me from behind, warm and toned.
He pulls me in close, his grip just tight enough to keep me in place, but not uncomfortable.
I wobble on my skates, attempting to regain my bearings.
For a brief moment, my ass lines up with his hips, and I slow, enjoying the feel of how our bodies meld together.
I can’t help but push back into him, and I hear his sharp inhale next to my ear.
His body tenses and his arms tighten further around me, almost imperceptibly, but it’s the hard length I feel against me that tells me it’s had the effect I want.
I push my luck and grind back into him, harder, just enough that he knows it’s intentional.
He grunts and pulls himself back away from me, forcing distance between us.
My heart plummets in my chest, but when I turn to face him, I can see the strained look on his face as he shakes his head at me.
There’s desire there, mixed with amusement.
In one stride, he’s right up at my side once more, and when he leans in to murmur in my ear, one hand slides down, giving my ass a soft squeeze.
“You’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you? ” he murmurs.
Desire pools in my stomach at his touch, and I meet his mischievous gaze with one of my own. “A girl can hope.”
He pulls back with a chuckle, and we continue our skate around the arena for several more laps, making idle chatter. But the heat his one touch stoked in my core never quite goes away, and I decide that hoping isn't enough. I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands.
When we get back to the apartment, I press the button for his floor first. He shoots me a confused look, but doesn’t question it, and when the elevator doors open, I take his hand, pulling him to his apartment. He follows willingly and opens the door, inviting me in.
The second the door closes, I press myself flush against him, pushing him to the wall.
Though he could easily stand his ground, he allows me to guide him there, hitting the wall with a thud.
I pull his face down to mine and meet his lips, kissing him with enough urgency to let him know I don't want this to end with a forehead kiss.
It takes him a moment to respond, just long enough for panic to build in my mind that I've missed the mark, that I've misinterpreted the signals. But in the next second, he’s groaning into my mouth, winding his arms around my waist. My heart leaps at the small victory, and I dare to push it further.
My tongue darts out, skimming across his lips.
To my relief, he lets me in instantly, tugging me closer and responding with a sweep of his own tongue.
I kiss him back like a woman starved, my hands running over his jaw and winding into his hair, pushing his beanie off. One of his hands dips down, his thumb dragging across the waistband of my leggings. More. I need more. I arch into him, lifting a leg to wind around him.
He moans, and in a flash, I’m lifted in the air. My legs wrap fully around him on instinct, my hips lined up at the perfect angle to feel him, harder now than he was earlier. I sling my arms over his shoulder and give his silky hair a tug.
He pulls back to rest his forehead against mine. “Jesus,” he mutters. “I need you to tell me – what do you want from me?”
The air is thick with tension and desire, and I’m determined to cut through it. I don’t want to lose my nerve now.
“I want you to sleep with me.”