27. Violet
Chapter 27
Violet
“ I know you’re missing and worried about Crosby, but I’m not going to complain about having some one-on-one time with my best friend.” Obie bumps my shoulder as we sit at the hotel bar in Kansas City, numbing our post-game depression with the Old Fashioneds sitting on the counter before us.
Crosby wasn’t cleared by Doc, who expressed concerns about flying with his continued headaches. It was hard to leave him behind so I could complete my work assignment, but I’m glad he wasn’t here to watch the 3-0 loss The Midnight endured. When the team made it back to the hotel, Dad gave me a quick hug as he grumbled about new drills for practice once they got back to Connecticut and asked me to run my own stats report on tonight’s performance.
“We eat lunch together at least once a week!” I look at Obie, assessing if I’ve let my closeness with him lapse in favor of my relationship with Crosby. Obie gives a tight smile, and I wrap my arm around him in silent apology before resting my chin on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Obie tilts his head, looking sideways at me kindly before he puts his own arm around me. A little press of a kiss on my forehead tells me I’m forgiven.
“Not all of us get to be dick drunk, so I suppose I can let it go and be happy for you,” Obie whispers in the small space between us. My shoulders shake with laughter.
“It’s more than dick drunk, Obie. I love him. Crosby isn’t like anyone I know. He makes me feel so safe and so seen. I’ve never felt like this, and it should scare me a little, but it doesn’t.”
“I’m so glad you gave him a chance.” He pulls us apart, a genuine smile on his face. “I’ve just missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I love the warm, comfortable feeling of being with my oldest friend as we pick up our glasses toasting to each other. I slowly sip down the smoky, bitter alcohol, swallowing thickly around the less-than-pleasant taste, and make a mental note not to let Obie pick my drink next time. Surreptitiously, I push the tumbler a little farther away before brightly looking back at Obie. “Give me an update. How’s life?”
Obie considers my question, running his fingers through his black hair. It dried at funny little angles after his shower at the arena, it reminds me of when we were kids. His green eyes catch the light reflecting off the bottles behind the bar, giving him a mischievous look, even though the words he says are serious.
“I’m really glad I came back here to play. Having Cal at my back is something I didn’t know I needed. And the team—these guys feel like home.” I love the way he reflects on the last six months, positive memories overriding years of professional but distant interactions with his team in Los Angeles.
“I love that. I’m so happy for you.” I grip his hand with mine, his larger fingers squeezing in return. Next to my glass, my phone lights up with a text notification.
“That Crosby?” Obie gestures with his chin. I glance to confirm, my smile growing.
“He can wait.” I flip my phone over. “I promised him I’d call once I was getting into bed, but I’m sure he’ll be asleep.”
Obie smirks. “God bless technology, right?”
I shove at him, joining in with my own laugh, even if some heat rises in my cheeks.
“He’s injured. I just wanted to tell him good night!”
“Letty. The man’s hands work just fine. He won’t want to just say good night,” Obie deadpans. “Besides, a side effect of concussions can be increased libido. You want to take care of him, right?”
“Oh my God.” I smother my face in my hands as Obie continues laughing loudly next to me.
“What’s so funny?” I look up to see Gus standing in the open spot on Obie’s other side. His hair is down, brushing at the top of his shoulders, and he’s swapped his suit for jeans and a long sleeve. He has his hands buried in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “Hi, little flower.”
“I was explaining to Letty one of the less reported side effects of a concussion.” Obie waggles his eyebrows. Gus’ face scrunches as he considers what Obie isn’t saying out loud, then his own eyes widen, and he gives a few enthusiastic nods.
“Oh, yeah. The sex thing. It’s wild; you can become completely disinterested in it for a while, or you suddenly want nothing but.” He climbs on the empty barstool, leaning comfortably on the counter toward me. “Best threesome of my life came in the wake of my last one. Probably not worth the headaches again, though.”
Obie’s shoulders shake with laughter as he regards his teammate. Gus just shrugs but gives me a playful wink. Sometimes, I think Gus plays up the carefree playboy image fans have cultivated for him online, when really he’s pretty low-key and sweet.
“I think that’s all for me tonight,” I announce as I hop off my barstool. I lean in and kiss Obie’s cheek before leaning forward to blow an air kiss at Gus. He catches it and presses a palm to his own cheek, batting his eyelashes.
“You didn’t finish your drink,” he says, pointing down at the nearly full tumbler.
“All yours, big guy.” I slide it down the bar. Obie gives me a flat look, trying to hide his offense at my rejection of his preferred drink. I lift a shoulder. “You two behave yourselves.”
“Only if you do,” Obie answers.
“I’m going to my room.” I pop a hip, securing my hand on it, feigning an attitude I don’t really have.
“To FaceTime your boyfriend goodnight.” Obie lifts his wrist, consulting his watch. “When it’s nearly 1:00 a.m. for him.”
“I promised. I’ll be surprised if he’s even up.” I know it’s a lie as soon as I say it.
“Oh, he’s up.” Gus chuckles into the glass he raises to his lips. Obie smirks again. I spin on my heel, throwing a hand in the air and an exasperated goodnight over my shoulder.
Me
I’m heading up to my room. Are you still awake?
I send the text after hitting the button for my floor. The answer comes before the elevator doors close.
More Than a Hockey Player
Yes
Me
I thought you’d be asleep. You’re supposed to be resting. Just because you have your screen privileges back doesn’t mean you should stay awake all night rewatching Lord of the Rings for the twentieth time.
More Than a Hockey Player
It’s a comfort movie. It’s soothing.
Me
Oh, yeah. The screams of the Nazg?l are such an amazing lullaby.
More Than a Hockey Player
You say all the sexy things, baby.
Me
But seriously, you’re not tired?
More Than a Hockey Player
Honestly, if anything, I feel really awake. Kind of restless. Been this way for a day or so.
The elevator chimes. I walk down the hall, pulling my keycard from the front pouch of my purse. As soon as the door closes, I secure the deadbolt and flip the swing bar before throwing my purse on the desk next to my laptop. My conversation with Obie and Gus replays through my head as I brush my teeth and wash off my makeup.
Me
Still want me to call?
More Than a Hockey Player
Of course I do. I’m not too proud to admit I’ve been a mopey son of a bitch today without being able to touch you.
I laugh as I pull on the oversized Midnight shirt I swiped from Crosby’s closet and open my laptop, settling it on the bed next to me. I initiate the FaceTime call, not surprised when Crosby connects barely a second after the chime starts.
“Hey, you,” he says. His camera is sitting on the nightstand, but he’s moved down from the headboard to be more directly in front of it, propped up on his elbows, leaning off his uninjured side. The curls of his hair are a little more haphazard, as though they dried after a shower while he was napping. The weary dark circles that had been under his multicolored eyes have waned, and I love how there’s a little crinkle at the corner of them as he smiles at me.
“Hi,” I answer. With my laptop near the foot of the bed, I lean back against the pillows comfortably. I like how his eyes move, clearly tracing the expanse of my bare legs, and the heat behind them makes it feel like a caress.
“No wonder I couldn’t find my favorite shirt to sleep in tonight. You look good in it, Sparks.”
“This old thing?” I toy with the hem, letting it ride up over my hip. I trace my fingers along the seam of my panties, barely flashing the pale blue lace.
Crosby groans, his gaze intensifying, as he flips fully over to his side. It gives me a beautiful view of his trimmed and defined torso, left bare by my thievery. His favorite black joggers rest low along his hips, untied and gaping away from his skin where the faint cut of his Adonis belt directs my eyes lower to the bulge of where his cock rests.
I let out a breathy sigh. I guess I’ve missed touching him today, too.
“See something you like?” His voice, pitched low and gravelly, pulls me from my wayward thoughts, refocusing my attention on his face. There’s a teasing smirk on his lips, but his eyes are full of mirth.
“Not anything I can’t be patient for,” I tell him, rolling to my side to mirror him, dragging the computer up the bed.
“I have headaches and a bruised side. You want me, you can still have me, baby.” Crosby skims his hand down his abs over his sweats to grip himself and rub his cock. His pupils expand, the black blotting out his hazel and green, desire eclipsing the usual warmth. I follow his hand as it lifts, fingertips dipping just below the waistband, moving back and forth. My nipples tighten below the fabric of the soft shirt, every movement creating sweet friction as I weigh the choice before me.
“Are you sure you feel okay?” My own hands are rubbing up and down my thighs, skating closer and closer to the trim on the bottom of my panties.
“I’m about to feel a hell of a lot better.” He laughs, the sound jagged as he reaches inside his sweats to stroke himself. “Now show me, Violet. I want to see how wet this is making you.”
With a little quick thinking, the laptop is set on a pillow near the foot of the bed, lifting Crosby’s view higher and in between my legs. I sit straighter against the headboard before spreading my legs apart to show the damp spot that has formed in the center of my panties.
“So pretty,” Crosby purrs through the screen. He adjusts the camera, setting it so that I have a broader view of him from his face to his thighs. He lays back against his own pillows, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and pulling down, kicking them off at the ankles. “Are you going to pull the lace to the side so I can watch that pussy glisten while I stroke my cock?”
“Jesus, Crosby.” I’m frozen in place while his words burn under my skin. Crosby’s a vocal lover but never like this, and something about it fills me with the confidence to do what he asks. I drift a hand down to my heated center, applying slight pressure as I glide past my clit, and let a finger pull the fabric over to one side, exposing myself to him.
“That’s good, baby,” he says, his hand working up and down his hard shaft in long, firm passes. His other arm hooks up behind his head, elongating his body to show off every ridge and valley of his hard work. I moan, dipping a finger into my wetness before dragging it up to circle around my clit. The light touch already has me building quickly to release. “Yes, just like that.” His wrist twists a little on the downstroke, drawing a pleasured grunt from his parted lips. “Wish those were my fingers right now. Or my tongue. Miss how you taste.”
Matching his movements, I push two fingers inside, breath catching at the slight stretch. To ease it, I use my other hand to tweak my hard nipples, distracting me as I begin to thrust in and out. I throw my head back as the familiar tendrils of my release begin to coil deep in my center.
“No, no, no, let me see your face,” Crosby’s command comes out rough, strained, as he leans closer to the camera. “Want to watch.”
My rhythm increases, and I keep my eyes on Crosby’s. His hand is a blur near the side of the screen, and his breathing becomes harder. Seeing him close to the edge brings mine within reach.
“Crosby,” I gasp, abandoning my breasts to rub circles around my clit. “I’m close.”
“Fuck, baby.” Another moan. Longer. Louder. “Going to make me come seeing you like this.”
His words are my undoing. A final few thrusts of my drenched fingers and the sharp pressure to my sensitive clit has my pulse pounding in my ears, just as Crosby’s body goes rigid with a strangled noise parting his lips. My own gasp dwindles into a loud groan at the sight of his cum shooting up over his hand to paint his lower abdomen. The sound of my name repeats in a reverent chant as he works himself through it.
Slowly, I draw my fingers out, chest heaving from the aftershocks. I strip my ruined panties off, wiping my fingers on them before tossing them aside. My legs shake as I twist around and settle on my side, moving the laptop closer to my face. Crosby reaches beyond his camera for a few tissues to clean up and find his sweats. Tucking my hand under my head, I curl toward him, noticing the wince cross his face as he pulls the joggers back into place.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” He brings his camera close to his face so I can see him. His pupils have receded, and the hazel and green halves of his eyes sparkle with love. “Was that all right? You’re okay, too?”
“Yeah.” I smile, bliss floating through my veins. “I’ve never done something like that before.”
“Me neither, but I’m putting it into rotation the next time I’m away without you.” The chuckle that rumbles from his chest is a warm, comforting sound. I release an airy laugh in return.
“I’d be okay with that. Maybe I’ll finally buy some toys. Pretend one of them is you.” I lift my eyebrows at him, and he looks up to the ceiling.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me want to go again.”
“Then it will be a solo mission. I’m spent.” I wiggle down into the comforter. “But if you really have that kind of drive, I think you settled a debate I was having with Obie and Gus earlier.”
“Oh?” he asks, a yawn breaking across his face, a sleepy smile falling into place in its wake. “What was it about?”
“They said sometimes concussions result in higher libidos.” I lift the corner of my mouth in a prompting smirk.
“Can’t say this had anything to do with a hit to the head, Sparks. This had everything to do with how much I love you and how much it’s killing me to be here and have you there.”
The bliss I’ve been resting in skyrockets to euphoria at his words. Being with Crosby is more than I ever believed I was allowed to want. My cheeks heat with a blush I’m surprised he still brings out of me.
“I love you, too. I can’t wait to come home.”
“I’ll be waiting for you this time,” he tells me, clicking off his bedside lamp and setting the camera down again. His face is painted in a bluish glow, and he sighs happily as he gets comfortable against the pillows. I roll over to shut off my own lamp and just gaze into the face of the man I love.
I wake to a laptop with a dead battery and a text on my phone.
More Than a Hockey Player
You sound like the Nazg?l when you snore. It was the perfect way to fall asleep.