Chapter 4 #4
“Thanks.” I move her down the hall. “This is the spare guest room that no one ever uses.” She pokes her head in, and I know she spots the comfy bed and the large, decorated, cozy space.
I feel guilt in my gut, knowing she has to move into the cold, brick-exposed dungeon where I just squished a mouse where she’s supposed to sleep.
Lucky her. “I, uh . . . I just feel like if you’re in this room?—”
“You don’t need to explain,” she says. “I get it. We have to keep things separate. I’m seriously grateful for the space you’ve given me.
Dead mouse and all.” I cringe, the feel of it under my foot still throbbing in my toes.
“Also, I love what you did with the throw pillows and the comforter. Did you design the bedding yourself?”
At least she’s good at changing the subject. And has a good eye for style. Good taste in designers. Clothes . . .
“I did.” I stick my hands in my pockets and puff my chest with pride. “Spent a lot of time in West Elm, trying to figure out what I liked.”
“You did a fantastic job . . . Levi.” Fuck, that sounds good rolling off her tongue. “You really have an eye for design and colors.”
“Thank you,” I reply, letting the compliment go straight to my head.
It’s not very often I receive the praise I deserve.
Lord knows my fucking friends don’t offer it up.
I know the fans love me and shower me with accolades, but that’s hockey.
What about the other parts of my life? Like my decorating sense.
My baking. My ability to create love connections.
What about the shit that really matters?
Hockey is a game—okay, my job and livelihood—but I’m talking about life here.
After just a few minutes with Wylie, she has me feeling like the king of the mountain.
Wait until she tries my coffee cake—what fucking dreams are made of.
She’s going to be writing sonnets in my name.
Shimmying her tits in satisfaction, moaning all over this goddamn apartment from the perfect ratio of yellow cake to crumble topping.
“And is this your bedroom down here?” she asks, moving down the hallway.
“Uh, yeah, but you don’t have to?—”
She opens my bedroom door, revealing the pitch-black room.
It’s such a contrast to the rest of the apartment.
Of course, I still have the dark tones, but instead of lightening up the space with soft cream tones and camel colors, I kept everything black—from the furniture to the walls to the curtains and the bedding. Not an ounce of color.
“Wow,” she says as she moves around my mid-century modern canopy bed. Her fingers draw along the dark wood up to the strategically placed hooks. Her eyes flash mischievously to mine. “Seems to me like someone enjoys a little kink in their lives.”
A little . . . okay.
Ignoring her statement, I say, “Not much you need to do in here.”
“I’d say, seems like the room carries its own agenda.” She drags her hand over the velvet comforter. “Soft.” She sits on the edge of my bed and crosses one leg over the other, testing the bounciness of the mattress. “Not too firm, not too soft. The perfect balance for better . . . thrusting.”
For the love of God, don’t say thrusting while you’re on my bed.
I can barely take the image of her propped up on my mattress, let alone her running her hands over my hooks or testing out my mattress.
“I assume I’m going to be doing laundry for you.” She hops off my bed and moves to my closet. “Oh, an in-closet washer and dryer. This will make it easy. Is there a certain way you want me to fold your clothes? Your underwear?”
“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I insist.” She winks. “Anything to make your life easier.”
She keeps saying that, but at the moment, she’s making things harder . . . if you know what I mean.
“And not that I was looking too much, but you did an impeccable job organizing your closet. Seems like someone has been paying attention to how to be efficient with space.”
“It bodes well for you that you’re noticing things others don’t. My friends seem to find my details in organizing pointless. I, on the other hand, find it soothing and valuable, especially when packing for an away trip.”
“Oh yes, I can see how that would be beneficial. Very smart, Levi.”
If I was wearing a suit, I’d be proudly gripping the lapels right now.
“Speaking of packing, that’s something I can do for you. Just give me a list, and I’ll throw everything together for you. We can even do a test run before your away trip so you feel comfortable with what I’m packing.”
“Yeah, that could be a good idea. I do hate packing even though I’m efficient with my organizing.”
She winks at me. “Very efficient. If you have time, we can go over that right now since we’re done with the tour.”
“Yeah, I think we can do that.”
She follows me into the closet, and I grab my suitcase.
“Oh,” she says. “I assumed you’d like a rollie bag.”
“Technically, I do,” I answer. “But now that social media has picked up and they’re using pictures and videos of us entering and leaving the arenas as well as on and off the planes, I saw one video of me with a rollie bag and nearly died of embarrassment.
Now, it’s this handheld bag. Stylish and masculine. ”
“That’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, but I get it.
” She removes her blazer, leaving her in jeans and what I can only assume is a body suit from how skintight the damn thing is.
With the blazer off, I’m reminded of just how voluptuous—to put it nicely—she is up top.
“But also, I can see what you mean because my dad uses a rollie bag and looks like a total dweeb even though it’s matte black and what he considers to be cool.
I, on the other hand, find it lame.” She examines my bag.
“This is nice, though. Surprised you don’t have a luxury designer bag. ”
“That’s because I care about animals.”
“Oh? Tell me more.” She opens the bag and looks inside, only to pull out my packing cubes. She holds them close to her heart in approval and smiles.
“You’ll be hard-pressed to find a luxury brand that doesn’t use fur, leather, down, exotic animal hair, the list goes on.
And I’m not into torturing and hurting animals for fashion.
So I found this duffel bag by Peak Design that has a sleek look but is also one hundred percent carbon neutral.
I save my image and the earth at the same time. ”
She chuckles. “Huh, who would have known the beast on the ice has a heart for animals?”
“There’s a lot people don’t know about me. Also, if I’m going on an away trip that’s more than just one game, we go for the Patagonia.” I pull down my Patagonia duffel bag, which is larger. “This one is more of a bitch to carry, but once again, it’s better than the rollie.”
“Can’t you . . . have like the equipment boys roll your suitcase to your hotel room? I know that’s what my dad does.”
“I . . .” I pause and scratch the back of my head. “You know, I’ve never thought about that.”
She laughs and lays out the black packing cubes. “And that’s why I’m here.” She then pulls out her notepad and writes something at the top. “Okay, tell me everything you need.”
“Clothes,” I say.
“Yes, but what kind of clothes are we talking about? Comfies? Suits? Casual wear? Do you have pajamas I need to worry about, or do you sleep naked?” She cutely wiggles her brows.
“Naked at home, but in hotels, I sleep in boxer briefs because something about laying my dick to rest on anything other than my sheets makes me feel disgusting.”
“Laying your dick to rest makes it sound like you’re putting it to sleep, you know . . . death.”
“If my dick dies, I die,” I say.
“Typical man.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, so extra underwear. What about spare clothes? You need a suit for game day. What do you like to wear when it’s not game day or you’re traveling?”
“I’ll take care of my airplane outfit because I have to wear it there, but just some comfy sweatsuits, joggers, or long-sleeved T-shirts that go together. And a suit with a matching top and shoes. I’ll wear a watch, but if you can make sure that every outfit has shoes, that would be awesome.”
She writes it all down. “What about toiletries?”
“I can send you a list of things.”
“Great. And then we have chargers. Computers. Gaming system for the plane.”
“I’ll pack all of that in my backpack.”
“Great.” She checks that off her list. “What about condoms?”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. “What?” I ask.
“Condoms. You’ll need them, right? Or . . . oh . . . do you go bareback? You know, that’s risky with all the venereal diseases floating around. I’d suggest we wrap you up.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “I always wrap up.”
“What a great practice to take part in,” she says. “Good job taking care of yourself and the woman.”
“Uh, thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Now, where are they?”
“Where are what?” I ask.
“The condoms, Levi. I know you’ll want them on your away trips, and I want to be able to pack them for you.
” She does? She stands from the closet and moves over to my nightstand, then opens it up before I can stop her.
Her eyes widen with a smile as she looks up at me.
“Man alive,” she says while revealing a well-organized drawer of silk ties, eye masks, vibrators .
. . and condoms. She reaches into the drawer and pulls out my Orgaster Neo G-spot vibrator.
“Do you use this? You don’t have holes, well, unless . . .”
I snatch it from her hand and accidentally press the on button in the process, causing the vibrator to start in my hand, which inevitably leads me to drop it on the floor.
We both look down as it jingle-jangles across the hardwood and right up against my foot, almost nudging me in a suggestive way to use it.
“Quite the vibration,” she says as the vibrator’s buzzing fills the silence. “Feels strong yet not too powerful where it could cause your innards to turn inward.”