Twenty-One
Alex
“He’s got it baaaaad!” Nate sings as we watch Blaine skate away to join the team for the rest of warm-up after his alpha-possessive moment.
My knees feel weak, and my dick is hard.
Blaine texted me yesterday morning saying he really wanted me to come to his game tonight, and he’d left two tickets at will call again, so I knew he wanted me here. I just didn't know how bad.
Or maybe I did, which is why I wore this jersey.
He’s been so attentive since we met. Nothing like the guy that’s plastered over the bunny blogs, labeled a man-whore and selfish.
Saving my ass when Jacob was sick, constantly checking in to see how I am, how Jacob is, what he can do for me, inviting us for Christmas—it's like online Blaine Olsen is a mere illusion compared to the person he is in real life.
Part of me thought going over for Christmas was too soon, and I thought he’d forget once he got home from his road trip. But he proved me wrong, asking what we like and dislike so he can pass it onto his mom and whether our family has any traditions.
The thought and effort he’s putting into this, into us , is making it hard not to fall head over heels for him.
We take the same seats as before, two rows behind the home bench. Blaine said that every player gets a number of seats for each home game, and usually his seats remain empty unless his parents visit, or he gives them to a charity he’s an ambassador for to auction off.
My heart swells at the thought. He really is a good guy.
“I still don’t believe this is really happening to me.”
Nate looks at me over his beer. “What’s that?”
“All of this. Dating Blaine, being invited to games.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel like this is my life. It feels surreal, like I’m a fraud.”
“A fraud? Why? Because you’re a fan?”
I nod.
“But you’re not a fraud, Alex. You deserve all of this.
You deserve to have someone who’s so smitten with you that they will do everything to make you happy.
” He takes another sip of his beer. “And someone who will throw down the possessive gauntlet when you’re wearing another man's name on your back.” He winks.
We both laugh.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of warm-up, and despite pretending to scowl, Blaine skates over to the boards and blows me a kiss before skating back to the bench. His eyes stay locked on mine until he disappears into the tunnel.
“Wow…” Nate says with a wistful look in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure if you weren’t in public, and he wasn’t on the ice, he’d have you bent over and made sure you knew exactly who you belong to.”
I snicker, recalling our texts while he was away about spanking, but that fire in his eyes just then? I have no doubt that if we were alone, I’d have a handprint on my ass. He’s intense, and I love it.
“Excuse me, Alex?”
I turn around at the familiar voice.
Standing on the steps is the same woman who took us to the locker room after the last game, this time dressed in a gray tailored suit and wearing yet another pair of tall, pointy stilettos. She's holding a bag with the team logo printed on the front.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
She hands over the bag. “This is for you. Blaine was adamant that I tell you he needs to see you wearing this when he comes out for the national anthem.” Her mouth tips up in a wide grin as she leans in and lowers her voice.
“I must say, it’s a breath of fresh air to see him so hung up over someone.
I never thought I’d see the day that Blaine Olsen would find someone he’s head over heels for. ”
On that mind-blowing note, she turns on her heels and heads back up the stairs, leaving me speechless. Taking a look inside the bag, I pull out a jersey with “B. OLSEN" stitched across the back, along with his number, 80.
I quickly stand up, pulling my Parkes jersey over my head, and carefully fold it up, slipping it inside the bag. It’s a few sizes bigger than I’d usually wear, so when I pull it over my head, the bottom hits mid-thigh, and I need to roll up the sleeves slightly.
It smells like him. His aftershave and a slight undertone of sweat. I bring it to my nose, taking a deep inhale of his scent.
This is his jersey.
My heart squeezes in my chest, and goose bumps tickle across the back of my neck.
I look over to Nate. His eyes crinkle at the sides from the shit-eating grin he’s wearing.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. It looks good on you.”
I smooth my hand across the front of the embroidered Thunder logo as I sit in my seat, just as the lights go down and the iconic Thunder intro begins.
Blaine steps out onto the ice, and I can’t hide my smile when he immediately looks at me, a wide grin spreading across his face.
* * *
Little did I know that I’d end up sitting next to Blaine’s parents.
They must’ve flown in from California this afternoon, and I’ve been on edge throughout the entire game that they’d pick up that we’re in Blaine’s seats.
I recognized them instantly because Blaine looks just like his dad, whereas Elliot is more like his mom.
Seeing his dad and getting a glimpse of what Blaine might look like in twenty years makes my stomach swoop.
He’ll be fucking handsome.
“Shove that in your five-hole!” His mom bellows as Blaine scores on New Jersey’s goalie.
Nate chuckles next to me, throwing more popcorn into his mouth. She takes her seat, clapping excitedly as Elliot removes his mask to take a drink.
“Well done, El!” She looks over to me and says proudly, “They’re my boys.”
I can’t help but smile. “I thought they might be.”
She giggles. “Was it obvious?”
I hold my forefinger and thumb up. “Only a little.”
But before she could say any more, the official blows his whistle, and her attention is back on the ice.
Thankfully, his parents were too engrossed in the fast-paced game to pay more attention to me, and they went absolutely wild when Thunder won in overtime six to five.
I think I may have lost some of my hearing from his mom’s screaming.
You could sense the frustration bubbling on the bench, especially when Blaine snapped his stick in half after the officials didn’t call an obvious hooking call and New Jersey ended up scoring on Elliot.
Blaine’s face was so red with anger that I thought he was going to drop the gloves, but what surprised me most was seeing Ethan do it instead.
He’s never been a fighter in all the years I’ve been watching him play, but he was pissed tonight after Zach took a nasty hit from one of New Jersey’s wingers. I watched with worry when he was slow to pick himself up off the ice.
“You don’t have to stay if you need to get home,” I suggest to Nate while we wait by the locker room after the game.
It still feels so weird being able to come back here, and even weirder that I haven’t seen Blaine’s parents since they disappeared into the crowd.
“And miss out on hot hockey players in suits?” Nate tsks. “Don’t deprive me of that beautiful sight.”
I shake my head, chuckling.
He leans back, propping one foot on the wall behind him. His arms cross over his chest, and he keeps his eyes locked on the door to the locker room.
Thankfully, we’re not in a rush to get home this time. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, and with Jacob still sick, I need a break. So the shop is closed tomorrow, and I’m taking a day off.
The last thing we need is for me to end up sick, too.
I’ll need to bring it up with Jacob when he’s better because working seven days a week while there’s only two of us isn’t manageable, debt be damned.
When I told Blaine I was taking the day off, he invited me to stay at his place tonight. If he’d asked me a week ago, I would’ve said no, but things have changed since he came into the shop the other day.
At least for me.
My worries over him only wanting me for the chase have evaporated.
The door to the locker room opens, and the first person to appear is Blaine, wearing a light gray suit and crisp white shirt.
Jeez, he’s so goddamn hot.
I salivate at the sight of him. Thick thighs look ready to burst from the seams of his pants, the fabric tightly cradling an impressive bulge between his legs.
His jacket sleeves display strong forearms and wide biceps.
The white button-down shirt gives a sneaky glimpse of the muscles that lay underneath as he moves.
Within seconds, he's standing in front of me, his arms tightly wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to his chest, and kissing me like his life depends on it.
Where did that come from?
Not that I’m complaining.
Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning into his embrace.
“Stop groping your boyfriend, Olsen!” Someone cackles.
He lets out a low groan, his hands still fixed on my ass when we pull apart.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispers, his eyes sparkling. “And I fucking love this.” He tugs on the hem of the jersey I'm still wearing.
His jersey.
“I fucking love seeing you wearing my name.” He presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Can I take you home?”
I nod.
We walk Nate back to his car to fetch my overnight bag from the trunk. We say our goodbyes and head to Blaine’s Range Rover in the players' lot. His apartment is only a fifteen-minute drive from the arena, and the second the elevator doors close, Blaine’s lips are on mine.
Hot, wet, needy kisses.
My bag drops to the floor with a thud. I wrap my arms around his wide shoulders, my fingers threading through the hairs at the back of his neck.
His hands smooth down my spine, over the curve of my ass, and when he squeezes the globes, my toes curl in my sneakers.
My dick throbs in the confines of my jeans, begging for more, and my wish is granted when Blaine rolls his hips, his moan muffled by my mouth as our dicks rub against one another.
“Fuuuck,” he groans against my mouth.