Chapter One Grayson
CHAPTER ONE: GRAYSON
A s I peered through the multicolored stacks of books that smelled moldy with age, my gaze honed in on her. I leaned in to watch her better, perching my chin on the metal shelf. My breath hitched in my chest as she pushed the errant strand of auburn hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. My palm itched to reach up and tear out her hair tie, sending her silky strands tumbling over her shoulders.
With a smile, she pointed to something in a bulky text while some asshat nodded in agreement. I’m sure the dude she was helping was probably decent, but now, I was pissed he was getting her attention and not me.
When she bent over to read from the text, her blouse gaped open, giving me a peek at the top of her cleavage. Desperate to see more, I rose on my tiptoes. Instead of a glimpse at the promised land, I banged my head on the shelf. “Fuck!” I bellowed.
To my utter horror, she and the dude glanced up at me. “Uh, sorry!” I muttered before shrinking back behind the stacks like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Smooth, Collins .
It wasn’t academics that had brought me to Southeastern’s library at seven on a Thursday night. While some jocks looking for action head to frat parties or bars, I’d come to the library. Sure, it was an odd choice for someone like me. On my team, I was known to enjoy getting blitzed at keggers or singing drunk karaoke down at the sports bar. Normally Grayson+ library = a mega buzzkill.
But tonight I was a man on a mission. A pussy -specific mission if I were honest. In this case, it was a very specific pussy I was on the hunt for.
Instead of being hot for the teacher, I was hot for the librarian.
“Hey, Grayson,” a voice purred behind me.
Whirling around, I focused my gaze on two smiling, blonde coeds. There was a distinct possibility that I might’ve made out with one of them before. By my junior year, all the blonde chicks had started to run together, and now that I was a senior, there was no way of distinguishing them.
“Hey…” I replied with a smile.
The shorter one rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s Heidi, and that—” she pointed to her taller friend, “is Lila.”
“Right. Good to see you again.” I still don’t remember either of them, but my mama had raised me to treat people, especially women, with respect. Even if these two were the worst kind of puck bunnies.
“How was practice?” Lila asked.
“Great. The team’s looking fucking fabulous.”
“Think we’ll be first again?” Lila asked.
With a grin, I replied, “You better believe it.”
Lila smiled. “There’s a party tomorrow night at the Kappa Epsilon house. You should come.”
“Yeah, that sounds great.” That was code for not a fucking chance.
With a wink, Lila replied, “I’ll be happy to wax your stick for you.”
My eyes bulged at her comment. “Uh, yeah, thanks.” Jerking my thumb behind me, I added, “I better go. Killer economics paper I gotta write.”
“Good luck,” Heidi said.
“Thanks.”
I hightailed it away to hide two stacks down. I still had a good view of my luscious librarian, but I’d hopefully put enough distance between myself and the girls. It wasn’t like I could explain to them that despite the two of them being gorgeous, I had no desire to do anything with them. They would’ve looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind when I explained the whole reason I was here stalking one of the librarians was superstition.
If there’s one thing synonymous with hockey players outside of sticks, pucks, and bulky padding, it would be superstition. To ensure victory, we wear, eat, and do strange things that bring us luck on the ice. For some, it might be not washing their jockstrap after a win to ensure another victory while others might insist on walking backwards onto the ice.
I’d been raised on the superstitions of the hockey legends. The great Wayne Gretzky had a specific beverage ritual after games that included Diet Coke, Water, Gatorade, and another Diet Coke. While utterly grotesque, “Mr. Goalie” Glenn Hall would force himself to puke before every game. No team member after winning The Stanley Cup would dare to touch it.
Patrick Roy’s antics as a goalie had him talking to the goalposts. My bestie, Theo, adopted a similar ritual, but instead of chatting the posts up, my manwhore of a friend kisses them. I might’ve even seen him slip them the tongue. It’s bizarre, but hey, we’ve won two shutouts on nights he gets especially kinky. I’m just grateful he’s never had his tongue freeze to the poles.
As for me, I’ve partaken in all sorts of superstitious behavior starting way back in my mini-mite league days. In first grade, I wouldn’t wash my hair through eight straight victories. By the time we were finally defeated, I could’ve used the grease in my hair to fry up my favorite foods. Of course, the smell was enough to drive away all my classmates, forcing me to sit alone at lunch and play by myself during recess. The next season I aimed for more hygienic superstitions.
By middle school, I’d slipped into a routine where I had to put on my equipment in a specific order. I went from my bottom half left to right and then my top half left to right. I kept the same routine to this day. In high school, I’d also instigated a hands-off policy when it came to my stick. Under pain of death or dismemberment, no one was to ever touch it.
And then a somewhat X-rated superstition made its way into my repertoire my first year at Southeastern. While attending our first frat party, my roommate, who also happened to be my teammate—Mr. Kinky Goal Smoocher aka Theo, and I stumbled into our first threesome. While Theo and I had attended the party with the sole focus of free beer and separate hookups, we never imagined being approached by a very enthusiastic hockey fan. When she invited both of us back to her place, we were happy to oblige. As a goalie and a defenseman, our sticks didn’t cross on the ice, and they sure as hell didn’t in the bedroom.
I guess you could say that Theo’s and my friendship became cemented over shared pussy. It wasn’t until our first win of the season ended Southeastern’s year-long losing streak that we realized the power of our threesome–it incited victory.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when our X-rated superstition was born.
Thankfully for us, our enthusiastic fan was more than willing to continue our sexcapades throughout the season, and we came in second place in the region. When the next season started, we decided to shake things up a bit and find a new girl. As two hot as fuck hockey players, the willing participants were endless. So, we ended up banging a different girl each threesome. After coming in first, we knew that we’d struck gold with our very pleasurable superstition.
Junior year we were slightly more specific and said we would bang in a blonde, brunette, redhead/multicolored rotation.And that season we came in first yet again. This year we decided the conquest had to be older to bring more than just a regional victory.
That’s when we became two horny cubs looking for our cougar.
In hockey, my mantra was to keep my eyes on the puck and never fuck up. For our superstitious threesome rendezvous, it was to keep my eyes on the fuck and get my dick sucked. Yeah, I know the rhyme was lame, but it worked. And keeping my eyes on the fuck was why once I’d laid eyes on Southeastern’s gorgeous librarian, I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.
As she leaned over to grab one of the books on the table, her skirt inched up her thighs, revealing black lace. With a groan, I willingly banged my head against the books on the shelf. She was wearing fucking thigh-highs . Could she be any sexier? It took everything within me not to march right over to the table and run my fingers over the lace.
At my groan, the guy down the row snatched his head to peer curiously at me.
I held my hands up. “Sorry.”
When he saw my face, his eyes lit up. “You’re Grayson Collins on the hockey team, right?”
Yes, that’s me–the star defenseman who is almost at half-mast in the middle of the reference section over the hot-as-fuck librarian. I jerked my chin at him in hello. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Good luck this season.”
“Thanks, man.”
His brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
Besides the righteous pair of blue balls I’m currently sporting, I’m peachy. “Just in over my head with a paper I’ve got to write.”
“I hear ya on that.” He grabbed a book and then waved before walking off.
I quickly turned my attention back to the librarian. Although I wanted nothing more than to approach her to seal the deal, I knew I had to check in with Theo. While I couldn’t imagine him saying no, I still wanted his input. After all, this was about his pleasure as much as it was mine.
After digging my phone out of my warm-up pants, I dialed Theo. He would know it was a Code Red considering I was calling, rather than texting. When it went to voicemail, I frowned. Instead of leaving a message, I called again.
Why the hell wasn’t he answering? He better not have been auditioning for a potential third without consulting me. It wouldn’t have been out of character for him considering Theo had serious control issues even off the ice.
The third time was a charm because he picked up. “Seriously, Gray? What the fuck could be so important that you had to blow up my phone when I’m having dinner with my parents?”
“I’ve got my eyes on the fuck.”
Theo’s sharp intake of breath crackled through the line. “What are we looking at?”
“Red-Head. Black pencil skirt, white ruffled blouse with potential Triple D’s straining.”
“Umm, fuck me,” he murmured.
“I didn’t even tell you the best part.”
With a growl, Theo said, “Give me a minute.” I heard his chair scrape across the floor. “Excuse me, but I have to take this call,” he said to his parents.
“Is it hockey news?” his dad asked. Theo’s dad had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with his son’s career. While Theo had played in the NHL a couple of times, he hadn’t been officially called up. Even though we were in our senior year, Mr. Novak still held out hope that Theo would sign with an NHL team.
“It’s my chemistry partner. Some issue with our project,” he mumbled. His parents must’ve bought the line because the chatter of conversation and clanging of silverware started to fade away.
“Okay, I’m here,” he said, his voice echoing.
“Dude, are you in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to rub one out just at the description?”
He snorted. “This was the only private place I could talk. So, what’s she doing?”
“She’s bent over a table with her skirt riding up…”
“Don’t fucking tease me in a public restroom.”
I chuckled. “She’s wearing thigh highs.”
“Oh fuuuuuck,” he groaned.
“I know, right? The moment I saw them it sealed the deal.”
“Where are you?”
“The campus library.”
“Since when do you go to the library?”
“Since we’re in desperate need of our third considering our first game is next week.”
“Good point. So, tell me more.”
“Bro, it gets even better.”
“Better than the thigh highs?” He sucked in a breath. “By the way, what color are they?”
“Black.”
“Damn, that’s hot.”
“You should see them in person.”
“So, what’s even better than black thigh highs?”
“She’s a librarian.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
It was well known to me and half of the team that Theo had an unfulfilled fetish when it came to librarians. His go-to sub-genre on PornHub was dirty librarians.
“Have you talked to her yet?”
“No. I was waiting to make my move until I confirmed with you.”
“The fact she’s a librarian should’ve been confirmation enough for you that I was all fucking in.”
I laughed. “I know. But I had to make sure.”
“Okay, set up dinner or drinks.”
“Considering we’re running out of time, I’m going to try to lock her in for tonight.”
Theo snorted. “You don’t think that’s going to reek of desperation?”
“Not when I’m pulling out all the Cinnamon Roll/Golden Retriever stops I can.”
With a groan, Theo replied, “You sound like a complete dickhead.”
“You know as well as I do that me hanging out in bookstores and pretending to read kept us swimming in pussy last season.”
Somehow being on hockey TikTok had led me to an unexpected encounter with something called BookTok. When I realized how feral the girls were there, I put my usual personality quirks to good use to become the Cinnamon Roll/Golden Retriever to Theo’s Alpha Asshole/Bad Boy. We gave the girls the best of both worlds where they could fuck both sides of their fantasies at the same time.
Chuckling, Theo replied, “I can’t argue there. Fine. Try to lock it down for tonight. Keep me posted, and I’ll ditch my parents as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing.” After hanging up, I slid my phone into my pocket. “It’s showtime,” I murmured under my breath.