12. Caleb
Chapter 12
Caleb
C oach Marzden bag skates us—which essentially means we do sprints until we collapse, and then we get thirty seconds to pick ourselves back up and do it again or we’ll be there all night.
His gaze is hard and cutting. With every lap, every blow of the whistle, my anger shreds.
It doesn’t go away, of course. That would be asking too much. But Liam and I keep exchanging glances with our other teammates, accepting the blame.
It would be more cowardly to pretend we weren’t to blame.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, and I rip my mask off long enough to puke up the water I drank earlier. My legs are numb, but my lungs are on fire. I can’t seem to take in a deep enough breath to satisfy it, and that kind of pain only comes with extreme physical exertion.
My stomach cramps again, just as the whistle goes off, and I jam my helmet on. I take off after my teammates. I have to trust that my legs can still move, that my skates can dig into the ice with enough force to propel me forward.
Down to the goal line. Turn. Back.
I’m far from the last, but I’m not doing stellar either.
Ian dry heaves in the corner, one hand braced on the wall.
“Have you had enough?” Coach roars.
“Yes, Coach,” we manage, a collective not nearly as loud as we were at the start of practice.
“You’re in this predicament because of two players.” He strides onto the ice. He hooks his fingers in the cage of Liam’s helmet, using it to drag him alongside him. He shoves my left winger at me. “Because they decided to fight each other two days before our game.”
I stand straighter. “Sorry, Coach.”
“It won’t happen again,” Liam adds.
“It better not,” Coach growls. “Because I will not stand for this. If I catch any of you stepping a toe out of line, you’re out for six games, minimum. I don’t care what that does to our season. I’m serious. Clear?”
“Clear,” we all echo.
Six games for fighting would be bullshit—but now isn’t the time to argue. I keep quiet until he releases us, and I wait to be the last player off the ice. I pat everyone’s back or legs with my stick.
They grumble, but they won’t hold it against me for long.
Eli waits for me down the hall, outside the locker room. His eyebrow rises, and I scowl. He and I have a shorthand way of speaking, and right now he’s asking me, What the fuck?
The answer? I don’t know.
I shouldn’t have gone after Liam like that. In the hallway, no less.
Margo just… she gets under my skin. I keep needling her, hoping to have the same result, but I don’t think I do.
She tolerates my bullshit. When I do something truly wicked, the flash of fear satiates the beast inside me… but it’s not enough. Liam got into my business about Margo, making it seem like I shouldn’t even be talking to her, and I snapped.
The thought of him coming between us…
“You look like you’re ready for another round,” Eli comments. “Whatever you’re thinking, I suggest you stop until we’re off school grounds.”
I grunt.
What I need is a cold shower and a handful of Tylenol. After finding just that, I walk out with Eli Black. My best friend since we were eleven. Ever since we discovered a mutual love of hockey—specifically the Colorado Titans, our absolute fucking idols—we’ve been inseparable.
Actually, that’s how we looped Liam and Theo into our friend group, too. Playing hockey as squirts, proclaiming our love for certain players… Theo used to declare he just wants to make enough money to buy the team. It’s ambitious, sure. But ambition is what’s going to get us far in life.
“You and Liam haven’t fought in a while,” Eli comments.
“Yeah, well.”
“This about Margo?”
My shoulders stiffen. I’m too tired to fight—Coach ensured that—but it doesn’t mean I’d just roll over and let him say her name.
Jesus.
“Okay, okay.” Eli holds up his hands. “I see why you punched Liam.”
Exactly.
We part ways in the parking lot. Eli to his truck, me to my Audi. It starts with a purr, everything fine-tuned to perfection, and I blow out a breath.
I could go home…
Or I could sneak into Margo’s room again.
So that’s exactly where I go, parked outside the Bryans’ home. Gotta say, I didn’t expect her to be taken in by them, of all people. It’s just… unexpected. My family has known the Bryans for quite some time. Lenora works in the city and frequently comes into contact with my uncle. Same circles and all that. And obviously Robert Bryan brings his wife to the Emery-Rose Elite functions.
Charity and fundraising functions, among other things.
They also happen to live in Liam’s childhood home.
I kill the engine and stare up at Margo’s window. Liam and I used to practice scaling the trellis, but it was usually to sneak out. Using that skill to get into Margo’s room was kismet.
It’s still early, and her window is dark. I settle in to wait, although part of me wants to go up now and hide in her closet. It was so sweet when she jumped, completely unaware that I shared the same space as her the other night.
My phone rings, killing that idea.
My aunt’s name flashes on my phone and watch. With a grimace, I accept the call.
“Hello, Aunt,” I greet her.
“Caleb.” Her voice is light. “Are we seeing you tonight?”
Forced light.
Is my uncle hovering over her shoulder?
“I’m with Theo,” I lie. “We’re doing some skill work Coach wanted us to perfect.”
“Ah. Okay, well, I just wanted to remind you that we’re coming to your game on Friday.”
My chest tightens. “Okay.”
Players gets season tickets every year for family, and my uncle has already been whispering in Marzden’s ear about better seats. Or a suite, because God forbid he interact with normal people.
The added bonus of my aunt and uncle attending my games?
Endless beratement.
My mood sours, and I find my attention drifting back to Margo’s window. The light is on, now, which kills my plan of sneaking in before she got up there. She moves past the window, which is open to allow the cool night air in.
My aunt’s voice continues in my ear, talking about some dinner plans with who the fuck knows. My uncle must’ve drifted away, because she sounds more relaxed. Even though I’m ignoring her. She just talks so much about nothing at all. It’s exhausting.
What’s it like in her mind?
Mine is sometimes so quiet, I may as well be meditating. Other times, it races and screams. Right now, I’m somewhere in the middle. Considering my options as I would consider a chessboard.
She pauses, waiting for a response.
“Theo’s mom is calling us. I’ll talk to you later?” I lean to the side to get a better glimpse of Margo through her window. The curtains block the details of her body, but her silhouette is clear. My mouth waters.
“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll see you tomorrow!”
She hangs up before I can get to it, which is impressive. My thumb was poised above the red end button.
I settle in to wait, and an idea strikes me.
What are you wearing?
I stare at my phone until Margo’s little typing dots pop up on the screen.
Margo
Completely unsexy pajamas.
I’m going to need proof of that.
No.
I grit my teeth. No is not a word I hear very often.
Why didn’t you wear a skirt today?
The typing dots appear.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Margo
Because I don’t want you tasting me, and I’m not going to give you any ideas.
Baby, you should’ve seen yourself in those pants today. Your ass is tight enough to bounce a quarter off of.
Please stop.
I do like it when you beg…
I toss my phone on the passenger seat, smiling to myself. Mainly because I don’t need to see her response to know I’m under her skin.
Please stop . Those sweet words would sound better coming out of her mouth.
Her light goes out. I give it another hour—passing the time by watching Lion’s Head hockey videos and doing some of the assigned math homework—then climb out of the car. I shut my door gently, the lights flashing as it automatically locks.
Scaling the trellis this time is as easy as the last. I have a folded knife in my pocket just in case her window is locked, but she left it open.
I peer in. Her body is buried under blankets in the middle of the bed. I carefully pop the screen out and set it in her room, push the window open farther, and slip inside.
My feet make the barest of noises when I land, and I take the time to toe off my shoes. Then shed my sweatshirt. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I move to the edge of her bed. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted.
I wish I could fall asleep so easily.
I reach for her, brushing my fingertips along her jaw. When she doesn’t wake, I move lower. I drag the blankets down, exposing her threadbare t-shirt and shorts. Her legs are slim and pale. I touch them, too. Her skin is too soft.
Too alluring.
With pressure on her knee, she rolls onto her back.
My cock rises. It stiffens against my jeans with a mind of its own. Well, we are of similar mind—we want Margo.
I can wait to fuck her, but I need to taste her.
She shifts, her arm covering her chest. Her head turns, face almost completely in the pillow, and I chuckle.
It’s endearing when it shouldn’t be.
Carefully, slowly , I tug her sleep shorts down. I keep expecting her to wake up. It’s an eventuality I am planning for, and I really don’t want to miss her expression when she registers that I’m back.
This time, though, I have another thought.
Leaving her like that, I jump back and go to her closet. Obviously she has skirts—but after the first week, she stopped wearing them. Smiling to myself, I pull the pocketknife and flick it open. Without hesitation, I cut through her pants. One leg off on one, a rip through the apex on another. It would be fun to see her try and wear these now .
That’ll teach her to disobey me.
Satisfied, I return to the bed. I crawl up between her legs, pushing her thighs wider.
My face is right in front of her pussy, and I need to introduce myself. Her puffy lips, the clit hidden in its hood, the arousal seeping from her slit.
I lean forward and run my tongue through it, getting a burst of flavor. I’ve gone down on girls before, but not like this.
Not with them being asleep, without asking…
But the more I inhale her scent, the more I want to devour her.
I take my time, licking her as if she were a decadent dessert. I ignore her clit until I can’t take it—she has to wake up.
And as soon as I suck the little bud into my mouth, she does.