Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Gabe Thatcher
The Bench Social Media Group
Stan: Guys, I really think they have this.
I’m glad I’m not a man of many words. It means there are fewer to fly out of my brain as Roe sinks down on me, rocking his hips as I fill him.
I meet his movements as my head spins with how good it feels, how complete I feel with him all around me, that spicy scent in my nose as my body sings with the pleasure that trails up my spine.
I’ve been inside him for a minute, and I’m addicted.
“Gabe.” He pauses, that hockey-god body spread out, looming over me, caging me in.
“You need to stop?” I ask, but I can’t read his face because it’s turned to the ceiling.
Roe Monroe riding me is a fucking beautiful sight. It makes my heart hammer in my chest as I watch the long lines of him move with his body.
“Noooo,” he breathes out, blue eyes finding mine as he lowers his head. His pupils are blown, a desperate heat behind them. “I need . . . God, you feel good.”
I pull him down for a kiss, and our bodies can’t help but continue to move.
Fuck, the feeling is almost too much.
“What do you need, Rory?” I ask, breaking the kiss.
We move together, slowly.
The push and pull is as effortless as his rhythm on the ice, as easy as seeing the shape hiding in the wood and setting it free.
Roe digs his fingers into my arms, his slow and steady movements becoming more erratic.
“Just. Fuck, Gabe. Don’t stop. Want it to last forever, but . . . shit, I don’t know—” His mouth parts, a gasp as I move my hips making his words falter. “More,” he breathes. “Just more.”
I can feel the pleasure zinging through me, building up to something I desperately want, but I don’t want it as much as I want him to feel the same thing.
I roll my hips, sliding as far into him as I can, locking us together as he freezes for just a moment before a long moan rips through him and his body clenches tight on mine. That’s all it takes to kick me into the pool of bliss I could feel waiting.
His lips find mine and we kiss between ragged breaths, as our bodies work to give each other the last bits of pleasure we can manage.
Roe collapses on top of me, and I roll us more comfortably to the side as I let myself naturally soften to slide out of him. I don’t want to miss a moment of this connection.
He gives a happy sigh, tangling his legs in mine, and we share light touches and kisses until I can drag myself away to get a towel for cleanup.
“Always the gentleman,” Roe teases as I carefully clean him.
I toss the towel in the hamper and rejoin him, the smell of sex and Roe keeping my mind spinning and me on the edge of sleep. I end up with my head on his chest, with his arms around me and his hands in my hair.
I’ve never quite felt this before, not that I can quite describe what “this” is. It’s some combination of feeling like I’m home, like I’ve found something. Like I’m seen.
Roe’s fingers still, and I scoot back up to his level.
“You should know something,” he says after a kiss, our bodies, legs, arms, and hands tangling back together.
“What’s that?” I ask, hearing the sleepy drag to my words.
“I’ve never had this before, Thatch. Not like that. Not like this.”
It’s late, and my room is dark, but I can still make out his features.
I tangle my fingers in his.
“Me either, Rory.”
His fingers squeeze mine in the dark.
“Don’t worry,” I say, burrowing into a comfortable position that allows me to pull him close. In my head, I can’t quit thinking we will figure out how to keep it, as I drift off to sleep.
“Yeah, we will,” Roe echoes. Sleep pulls me under before I can ask if I said that last part out loud.
***
The next morning Roe is up before me, and I find him in the kitchen with coffee already made as I sleepily stumble into him for a kiss.
“Big day today,” he mumbles in my ear.
“It is?”
I pull away from him and sit, and he places a bowl of yogurt, fruit, and granola in front of me. My stomach growls in response.
“Thanks. Now, what’s today?” I ask around a bite. Jamie comes down, already dressed for school, and Roe puts a similar bowl in front of him.
“Jamie’s game, and then there’s The Freeze awards thing?”
Jamie snickers beside me. “Forget that last bit. Dad never stays for the awards. The Mayor or Marge Calloway will drop it off in a few days.”
“You win the ice sculpting competition at The Freeze but don’t even get the award?”
Thatcher flushes. “People like to look at the sculptures. It brings in tourism.”
“He’s won the past four years,” Jamie pipes up.
“Well, as a new resident of Fox River Falls, I think it would be tragic for me to miss my first award ceremony from The Freeze.”
“They already gave out the skills awards, Monroe. Your’s is on our dresser,” I grumble, too unawake to care about calling it our dresser. It doesn’t seem to bother him, or he doesn’t notice.
Also, why is he so damn awake? I was tugged into a deep sleep last night after that epic orgasm, only to wake up early this morning to Roe snuggled deep beside me.
That led to a kiss, of course, and that led to a frotting session that was so sexy I can’t think about it too hard or I’ll be indecent here at the breakfast table.
Roe crosses his arms, leaning his ass against the counter on the other side of the island. My stomach swoops at the cocky smirk on his face and the flash of abs from his shirt moving with his arms. He knows what he did.
“I want to go, or in this case stay, after Jamie’s game.”
“You should stay, Dad,” Jamie singsongs, and Roe raises a sexy eyebrow at me that’s a challenge and promise of reward all in one.
“Fine,” I relent. “We stay for the whole nonsense.”
“About time,” Jamie offers proudly.
I roll my eyes at the idea of accepting an award for something I just had fun doing, and something that’s little more than advertising, but it makes Roe and Jamie happy so . . . fine.
By the time I park at The Keep that evening, I’m ready to see both of them. Jamie’s been here with Arch since after school, and Roe of course had practice. He has a three-game home series coming up, and I have tickets for Jamie and me to go, but I haven’t said anything to Roe yet.
I find him looking down at the kids as they skate their warmup. He has one leg on the railing, pushing out his ass that fills the team-logo knit joggers.
He turns back, maybe because he feels my gaze on him, and smiles when he sees me. His hair is dark—still damp from the post-workout shower—and the dark blue Iceguard pullover is molded to his muscular arms and chest. It makes his blue eyes even bluer, and for a moment I lose track of my thoughts.
He smirks but doesn’t move. Later, I’ll realize he was letting me determine how much space should be between us. But right now, all I can think is how damned lucky I am and how unbelievably gorgeous Rory Monroe is.
I pull him close for a quick kiss, loving the smell of him filling my nose as his lips brush mine.
“I like when you look at me like that,” he teases.
I push back a bit of his hair. “You made me forget words for a moment.”
Roe grins and kisses me hard on the lips.
We turn to head to our usual seats when Stan Gordon stops us. I mean literally us, because when Stan calls Roe’s name I notice that somehow our fingers had become entangled as we walked.
“Young man.” Stan greets Roe, who surprisingly seems to know the guy, a former NAPH standout in the goaltending position.
“Mr. Gordon.” Roe shakes the man’s hand. “Good to see you. What can I do for you?”
I watch as Roe steers the man over to a quieter part of the arena.
It’s only a few steps, but even I can tell the difference in the reduced background noise of the kids warming up.
Stan’s the fittest seventy-year-old I’ve ever seen, not to mention he’s on social media more than me and Jamie combined, but he is still seventy and his hearing isn’t what it once was.
“I hear you bought the Johnson brothers’ bar,” Gordon says.
“Well, I bought the place on the square, but I bought it from a Hendrix, not a Johnson.”
“Is that so? The old bakery, though, right? Before it was a bar.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Stan seems to ponder this for a moment.
“Well, I hope you do something with it, son,” he finally says. “Folks would come to a hockey bar. And you probably don’t want any of it, but I just wanted to let you know I still have a few things from the old days. If you wanted them.”
Roe smiles so bright I can’t believe people don’t stop to see it.
“Like what?”
“Oh . . .” Stan moves his hand dismissively like it’s nothing, but I see the pride in his eye, and I know Roe does too. “Maybe a jersey or a poster or a stick or two. Just thought if someone could get a use out of that old stuff, I should let you know.”
Roe puts his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Sir, I would be honored to hang anything from your time with the Knights on my wall. Maybe I can come by next week, before our travel games, and get inspired?”
Stan visibly straightens. “Well, of course. That’ll be alright.”
Roe offers him a hand and leads him to his usual seat. Stan has season tickets to the Iceguard and sits there for every event at The Keep. I follow behind as they make plans to meet.
Stan takes his seat and turns his gaze to me.
“Monroe’s been playing the best hockey of his career, Gabriel Thatcher. Not sure if that’s because of you or despite you.”
I try not to smile. As one grumpy old man to another, I like Stan’s style.
“I do my best not to get in his way.”
Stan pulls his Chicago Knights stadium blanket over his lap and nods to me.
“That’s what we’re all hoping. Good luck to you two.
” He gives us a little wink and I remind myself that he was a goalie back in the day.
A position known to draw a few quirky characters, not to mention longevity.
Goalies last longer than most positions, which would account for how long Stan’s career was.
“Jamie’s looking good too,” he says as we say our goodbyes.
“So,” Roe says, sitting down. “I guess real estate transactions are public knowledge.”
“There is a public record.”
He laughs. “Yeah, except for tracking down who owned the place for me to buy the thing. I had to call my investment guy and hire a lawyer to untangle it all.”
We take our seats and Roe gives me a quick kiss that I feel to my toes.
“Stan’s legacy would be an amazing addition to what I have in my head.”
I slide my hand up his thigh. “You can show me, you know.” Somehow that’s easier to say here than when we’re alone.
“Yeah?”
“Of course, Rory.” His hand catches mine, stilling it on his thigh.
“Any more of that and I’ll be indecent,” he warns. “You turn me the fuck on, and you know it.”
I watch the players, but I can’t help the smile on my face. It’s nice to know I can affect him too.
Liz joins us soon after, and we watch Jamie and the team collect another win, and then they all stay for me to collect my ice-sculpting award. I appreciate the cheers, although I can feel my cheeks go red at the attention when I have to walk out on the carpet they placed on the ice to collect it.
Something warm spreads in my chest, and maybe Roe and Jamie were right about this.
There’s a dinner afterward, downtown, and by the time we get home, I’m still smiling. Roe wraps me in his arms as Jamie runs up to his room to shower and hit the bed.
“Come on,” he whispers, moving me toward the bedroom. “I want to be sore from you when I play tomorrow night.”
I squeeze his tight ass over his pants. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”
“I absolutely am. Keeps me focused.”
I laugh, because that possessive streak in me likes knowing that when people are watching him on the ice, he’ll still be feeling me.
***
The next night, as Jamie and I take our seats back at The Keep, I take the few knowing looks and nods from the locals in stride. I have on Iceguard gear, but not Monroe’s jersey.
The place is dressed up for the Iceguard, even the lighting brighter than it normally is for Jamie’s games or even a practice. And the crowd is bigger, of course.
When the team comes out for the warmup skate, a few of the guys who were out at the house give me and Jamie some waves as they come around.
Benji is still playing with the Knights, but the team looks good.
Roe throws us a bright smile as he skates in a smooth arc, like he was born to be right where he is.
The closer the clock ticks down to game time, though, the more focused he becomes.
Roe told Jamie once that he has a very specific rotation for his warmup, a little bit of knowing what gets him loose for a game and a bit of superstition as well. We watch as he stretches and skates the ice, taking a few shots on goal too.
Then, with only a little fanfare of calling out the first line and the national anthem, the puck drops.
I’m not sure if this is better or worse than watching Jamie play. At one point, Jamie squeezes my leg when Roe goes to the boards, but he comes off with his trademark smirk and a bit of trash talk I can’t hear.
The game is too short. I only just get adjusted to seeing how Roe flows over the ice; all that grace and power is heady.
It’s also too long. I want to share this with him.
How amazing the game is—and he is. How he makes the team come alive with the way he intervenes with the refs, skates off a player that gets too hot at the other team or jumps in to take over when needed to get everyone in line.
This is not the hotshot Roe Monroe of the viral clips and highlights Jamie and Arch were watching at the house. This is a seasoned pro. Confident. Collected.
He plays a hell of a game. Two points, one assist among other impressive stats.
Jamie is jumping out of his skin to talk to him after the game, so I let him wait for Roe at the end of the player’s tunnel, and they keep up a steady stream of chatter about the game all the way home.
“Just a sec,” Roe says, frowning at his buzzing phone as he takes it from his pocket just as we walk into the house. I wave him off, wandering out to my workshop. I’m guessing Jamie has a few thousand other observations and questions to share once Roe’s off the phone anyway.
Plus, I can’t stop thinking about what Stan said last night, and I wonder if I’ve always been carving this miniature set for Roe.
Hell, I don’t even know if it’s something he would want in a place like his bar.
Somehow that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is what it represents, and looking at all the miniature pieces of the town something clicks into place.
Roe helped me fall back in love with Fox River Falls. To see it and the people with new eyes.
I hear the door to the workshop open, but I don’t look up. I know it’s Rory by the tread of his steps and the faint tease of his cologne.
When I do look up, I go still.
I’m not sure what that look on Roe’s face means.
“Rory?”
His blue eyes are intense.
“We need to talk, Gabe.”