Chapter 12 Rush #2
“What’s got you all blue in the balls, bro?
” Chris asks as he plops down next to me in the lounge chair, presenting me with a fresh drink.
Joey, Carter, and Nix are all on the dance floor—as usual—trying their damndest to be small town celebrities.
It’s a feat I used to admire, but the older I get, the more I feel like it’s not as cool as it used to be.
But then again, they’re all in their early twenties, and me?
I’m closer to thirty than I am to twenty-one now.
God, I sound like Freddie. Maybe he’s rubbing off on me in more ways than one.
“Nothing,” I lie as I take the drink from him and suck down nearly half of it in one gulp. I’ve lost track of how many of these I’ve had, but nothing seems to be helping my sour mood or my thoughts about Nora.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that woman you met at the bar last night? The one you were dancing all over before you left?” I blink as he shoots finger guns at me. “Ah. So it is…”
“She’s not just a woman,” I correct him. “She’s my brother’s ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh, forbidden fruit, huh?” Chris says humorously, but I’m not laughing.
Yeah, maybe I am hanging around Freddie and his grumpy ass too much. Or he’s just infecting my brain.
“It’s not like that,” I say defensively.
Chris must notice my lack of laughing, his eyebrows furrowing as he says, “Shit, man, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. It’s just…”
“Complicated?” Chris asks, taking a sip of his beer.
I take a swig of my drink. “Yeah.”
“That’s why it’s better to be single, my friend,” Chris says, his lustful gaze following a tall, blonde woman who walks by. “Less complications, the better.” His gaze is fixated on her ass.
I used to feel the same way, but for the last year, I’ve found myself feeling more and more out of place as a single twenty-five-year-old athlete than I ever have before.
My last girlfriend and I were only together for a few months before she broke up with me because she said she couldn’t see a future with me. At the time, I just felt insulted, but then I realized I didn’t see a future with her either.
In fact, I didn’t see a future with anyone, and maybe that was my problem.
If I wanted to get married and have kids someday—and I do want those things—then I rationalized that maybe I needed to look for a woman I could see myself building a life with.
One that didn’t just involve hockey, but that included things like late-night summer bonfires and camping trips and movie nights with trays of popcorn and candy…
Maybe I would feel differently if I hadn’t grown up watching my parents be the most nauseatingly sweet couple this side of Virginia. Despite their age gap, they both act like they’re two teenagers in love, to this day.
I know their relationship was a fucking scandal when it started—what with my mom being barely twenty years old and having left Brett’s dad for my dad when Brett was only four.
She had Brett when she was sixteen, and then met my dad and got pregnant with Freddie barely three months into their relationship—but despite all the rumors, the ups and downs…
They love each other so much. So fucking much, and if I could even find one iota of what they have, I would be happy.
No, being single doesn’t feel as good as it used to. Because I want more than to just be bouncing from mattress to mattress all across the states, bagging puck bunnies in every area code. I want to come home to a woman who can’t wait to see me—not my brother.
Not that I hate coming home to see Tommy, but…I want someone to love. Someone to cuddle on the couch with and watch Netflix with—really watch Netflix, not just make out and get steamy with.
For the last year, I watched Brett and Nora, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.
She was always so vibrant and warm, and everyone loved her.
And even when she was with Brett, they looked happy.
I know now that not everything is always as it seems, but nevertheless, I thought they were happy and it used to piss me off.
Because from the moment I met Nora, I knew she was perfect, and everything I’ve always dreamed of. She’s smart, funny, gorgeous, warm—and she was his.
Yeah, complications, my ass. I’d rather have complications than be alone.
And I’ve never felt more alone than when I wake up in the morning and have to leave the bed of some woman I know I’m never going to see again.
I’ve never felt more alone than when I’m standing in the presence of the woman I’ve been dreaming about and harboring feelings for, knowing I can’t say shit, because it’ll cause a problem.
But that problem is gone now.
Brett isn’t a problem anymore.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the weird melancholy vibes pervading me right now.
I get up, draining my drink. Maybe I should just call Freddie and see how he’s doing.
If he’s still running laps around the rink or if he’s cooled off by now.
Maybe I could even ask him to give me a ride home, since I carpooled with Chris.
That would probably be the smart thing to do.
“I’m going to take a piss,” I announce, and Chris nods as I head for the men’s room. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I open the door to the bathroom. Surprisingly, the place is empty. I make my way to the stall so I can have some privacy while I scroll on my phone.
I unzip my pants and get my dick out, while using my free hand to grab my phone as I attempt to multitask and check my damn messages while I piss. When I see the notification is not from Freddie, I do a double take.
Because it says it’s from Nora.
Maybe she wants to talk about what happened. That has to be it, right?
Except when I open the text thread, I nearly fall over, because holy fuck. I blink, convinced I’m hallucinating because there is no way this was meant for me.
Right?
But what if it was?
My gaze settles on a photo of Nora—in the prettiest pale blue lingerie I’ve ever seen. Her pale, thick thighs stand out against the shade, and I can see everything. Every sinfully delicious curve of her perfect body, from her hips to her tits.
And her tits look amazing in that bra.
Her ass looks amazing too, and my cock hardens in my hand.
I realize I still haven’t put my cock away, but now I’m hard and alone in this stall with….this.
I should delete it, right?
Except my stupid brain isn’t firing on all cylinders, and I still feel all messed up about what’s going on here. Between us. Not that there is an us, but…
She kissed me back, and now she’s sending me a sexy selfie? That can’t be a coincidence, right?
My conscience tells me that it’s a mistake. A wrong-number text.
But even so, there’s no text attached to this. It’s just an image. Surely she wouldn’t be sending a photo like this to Brett, would she?
I mean, after what he did, the last thing he deserves is a sexy picture of the most perfect woman on the planet, who he let go because he’s a damn idiot. The thought of my brother getting this image, maybe even sending her one back, pisses me off.
And because I’m pissed off, and because I’ve been drinking and my damn head is a mess, I do what I absolutely should not do.
I hold my heavy cock in my hand, and I snap a photo and send it back.
If she texts me back and freaks out, I’ll know it wasn’t meant for me.
But if she texts me back and doesn’t freak out…
I’ll know it was.
And just the thought of that is enough to make my cock twitch. I stare at the screen, not wanting to jack off in the damn bar bathroom, but I can’t stop staring at the photo because it truly is perfect.
I’ve seen Nora once or twice in her bathing suit—a one piece, but I’ve always wondered just how perfect her curves and bright hair would look in a teeny weeny little bikini. While her lingerie isn’t a swimsuit, it’s teeny alright.
The lacy panties cover just enough of her to leave a bit to the imagination.
So, I let my imagination fill in the blanks. I envision myself pushing those lacy panties to the side and swiping my tongue up her slick folds. I imagine trailing my fingertips over those folds, stroking and massaging her clit as I prepare her for my tongue.
Fuck, I bet her pussy tastes as amazing as her tongue. I’d bet my career on it.
I groan, and my cock throbs. I’m so close already, and I’ve barely started to let my mind wander.
I hold the phone in one hand while the other occupies my dick, my strokes coming hard and fast, because I know I’m in public and anyone could walk in on me like this. Anyone could walk in and see this photo of Nora. The one that isn’t meant for me.
The one that could be meant for me, my brain says, and so I push aside all the concern and worry and I focus on those perfect, swollen tits and on the pale blue underwear covering her rosy skin as my strokes come harder. Faster.
My balls tighten, and I know it won’t be long.
“You’re almost there, just—”
I nearly drop my phone, but I catch it before it falls in the damn toilet.
“Shit!” I bite out as I do my best to hold the phone against my chest while I keep my other hand solidly on my dick. My toes curl in my shoes, and my ass tenses as I grunt out a heavy sound, positioning my cock over the toilet as cum spurts from my dick.
My shoulders loosen and my head is hazy as I hold my cock straight. I think most of my cum makes it in the toilet, and once again, shame blankets me.
I just jacked off to a photo of Nora—in her fucking lingerie—in a public bathroom.
Freddie is so right. I’m playing with fire all right.
And I want to be burned so fucking bad…
I stumble backward as I shove my cock in my boxers and tuck everything away, shame and guilt hitting me again. Shakily, I bring up Freddie’s number and dial.
He answers on the first shot.
“What?” he asks, and I can hear the bitter tone in his voice.
“Can you pick me up from Hot Shots?” I ask. “I need a—”
“Yeah,” he grunts. He sounds annoyed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He says nothing else, just hangs up abruptly. I lean against the inside of the stall, trying to catch my breath and close my eyes.
When I open them, it’s because I get a buzzing notification on my phone. Part of me hopes it’s Nora, but…
It’s not.
It’s Freddie.
Flash: Here.
I take a deep breath, sliding the phone back in my pocket, and I don’t even bother to find Chris on my way out. I need to get as far away from this place as possible.
So that’s what I do. I find Freddie’s Lexus and jump in the front passenger side.
Neither of us say a word, but we don’t need to. Instead, I listen to the radio all the way home, and the minute I get home, I make a beeline for my bed. I crash on it, clutching my phone to my chest, and give in to slumber, the one place I know I’m safe from the truth.
But I still see Nora in my dreams.