CHAPTER TWENTY
GRIFFIN
Neil calls at eight thirty in the morning on August first.
I’ve been waiting for this call. It’s Contract Deadline Day. I didn’t go into Cleveland this morning purposefully because I needed the distance from the Crushers in case things go south.
My stomach is in knots. Casey is at the kitchen counter with me, sipping coffee, realization all over her face.
“It’s Neil,” I say before I answer. I don’t put it on speaker phone this time. I need to be the only one who hears this news right now.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say to Neil in lieu of hello.
“This will be very quick,” Neil says. His voice is unreadable, and I swear to god he pauses for dramatic effect. “You’re still a Crusher.”
I pinch my eyes shut, relief jolting through me. “Marchetti decided to renew?”
“He did. Now it’s on you. I’ve sent the renewal contract via email for you to look over. Let me know if you accept the terms.”
I clear my throat, squeezing and releasing my left fist as I settle into this reality. I’m still with the team I love in the city I love. Thank God.
“Yeah. I’ll look it over.” I sniff, trying to beat back a wave of emotion. “Any major differences from the last one?”
“A small raise, which I don’t think you’ll mind. Other than that, all standard.”
“Great. Thanks, Neil.”
I hang the phone up and turn to find Casey watching me with her hands over her mouth. She’s dying to get excited, but I can tell she needs the green light from me.
“They renewed you?” she squeaks.
I jerk my head in a nod and the smile explodes on my face. She shoots her hands into the air and whoops, bounding my way. Then she’s in my arms, legs wrapped around me, showering me with kisses.
“I knew it I knew it I knew it,” she says, wriggling in my arms and squealing with excitement. “You worked too hard for this. They’d never let go of a hockey star like Griff Keegan.”
I grin at her, absorbing her pretty features.
My view is Casey; my arms are full of Casey.
I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, where she’s wrapped around me like a koala.
There are so many other things I want to say to her right now.
Like how fucking gorgeous she is. How good she feels in my arms. How much I appreciate that she roots for me, believes in me, stands by me.
She’s been here for the highs and lows of the summer. She’s never once doubted me or wavered.
But all I can get out is, “Thanks, Case.”
Because it would mess things up to share all that now. What good would it do to lay out all those heavy feelings when she’s two weeks from moving back to her real life? I stuff the thoughts back down inside me. It’s easier to ignore them for now.
“I want to come see you play,” she says after we kiss until our lips go numb.
“You will next week,” I remind her. “For the fundraiser.”
“That’s a friendly match against firefighters,” she pouts. “I want the real deal.”
I squeeze the underside of her thighs. “You want to come watch a game? I can arrange that. I’ll find out when we come to Chicago.”
She nods, but something in her dims. It’s just a flash, barely noticeable, but I see it. She traces her finger along the collar of my T-shirt. “Will you guys do those weird exercises where it looks like you’re humping the ice?”
I snort. “If you’re lucky.”
“Will you hump me afterward?”
“If I’m lucky.”
We break into laughter. But it fades when Casey rocks her hips against me.
“Griffy,” she whines. She uses that name when she really wants something from me. I secretly love it. Judging from the way her eyes have gone hooded, I can tell what she’s angling for.
“What do you need, Case?”
“You.” She cinches her arms around my neck, pouting a little. “Please.”
I can’t say no to that. “Well, since you asked nicely…”
She giggles as I carry her over to the couch.
As soon as she’s out of my arms she tugs me to sitting and clambers on top of me.
She really wants it. Our lips connect and her hands are roaming across my chest, tugging my shirt off, rubbing my cock through my pants.
She wriggles out of her pajama shorts and tosses her tank top next.
She’s got my cock in her hand in the blink of an eye, and I barely have time to gasp out, “Condom?”
She shakes her head, the stiff peaks of her tits brushing against my chin as she arranges herself on top of me. “I want to feel you, Griffy.”
I’m too turned on to think straight. She’s got my cock in her hand, jacking me off while she pouts and begs to take me bare. Are you fucking kidding me? There’s no universe where the answer is no in this moment.
“I’m on birth control,” she whispers.
“Get on,” I growl.
She bites her bottom lip and steadies herself on my shoulders as she arranges herself on top of me. I scoop each nipple into my mouth, flicking my tongue over the stiff peaks as she gently eases down on top of me. I slide my hands over her bare ass, guiding her down.
As soon as my cockhead pushes inside her, even a half inch, my entire body is in bliss. Jeeesus Christ. My head falls back as little breathy whimpers escape her.
“Fuck, Casey,” I groan.
She braces herself against my chest as she slowly lowers down. Another inch. And then another inch. She rocks against me, which pulls another moan from my lips.
There’s never been anything better than this.
“That’s right, Casey.” I grab big handfuls of her ass cheeks, sucking against my teeth. “You take me sooo fucking good.”
She makes my dick disappear inside her. Rocks against me once, her mouth parting. Then she starts to bounce. She rides me like my cock is the only thing she’s ever needed in her life. Her breasts bounce in my face as she takes what she needs from me.
“Oh, Griff,” she breathes. She’s flushed, breathless, and close to the edge. Feeling her raw like this, nothing between us, has me ready to explode in record time. I tighten my arms around her until there’s no space between us.
She whimpers and her entire body jolts just as my peak comes. She’s trembling in my arms, love made liquid, both of us drawing deep gulps of air.
Nobody moves. I’m still inside her as she rests her head on my shoulder and sighs.
I don’t know if I could be happier than I am right now. I want to relish it.
Because in two weeks, the version of normal we created this summer will end.
The friendly hockey fundraiser falls on a Saturday afternoon the following week.
Renee has been doing her part, blasting this fundraiser on all available outlets.
The local radio station has been screaming about it three times an hour for weeks now.
Casey has even mentioned the event on her BookTok account a few times.
But I’m still pleasantly surprised when I head to the ice to warm up and find the entire Bayshore Rec Center rink filled to the brim with spectators.
“Wow. So much for a small-town fundraiser,” my Crushers teammate, Cole Tucker, muses as we stand in the doorway that leads back to the locker rooms. We can see most of the rink area, but they can’t fully see us.
The Bayshore first responders team—a mix of firefighters and police officers—are already on the ice, skating around.
“This is better attendance than our game against Denver last season.”
“And we’re short two players on each team,” I crack, my gaze sweeping over the packed bleachers.
Renee made custom jerseys for this event, which she left for us in the locker room about twenty minutes ago.
The first responders are in bright yellow; ours are black.
I asked her to make me an extra one in a size small, as a surprise for Casey later.
“We’re going easy on the first responders, right?” My other Crushers teammate, Donny Lindgren, joins us. Our fourth player, Bernard “Howie” Houser, is close behind, one of my good friends who plays for the Pittsburgh Fury.
“Yeah. Let’s keep this at warm-up level, nothing more,” I tell them. “I know for a fact at least one of them has only been on the ice a handful of times before.”
“Noted.”
We head for the boards. As soon as we come into view of the rink, there’s a swell of cheers.
Even though the place is packed, it feels much more intimate than a typical pro hockey game.
Probably because I know half the people in attendance, and they’re closer to the ice.
The smaller arena echoes like crazy. I search the crowd, wondering where the family is. Where Casey might be.
And then I spot that golden brunette.
She’s in the middle of a group with Roxie, Sara, and Julie, her face lit up in a heart-stopping smile. My skates slow as I notice what she’s wearing.
A hockey jersey. White, oversized, with a number 10 on it.
And as she turns to face Roxie, I see that it’s not my name on the back.
Something possessive rumbles to life inside me. I skate a couple laps, mulling over this information. My necessary next step presents itself before I even have a chance to question it.
“Hey, where you going?” Howie asks as I pull open the door and leave the ice.
“Forgot something,” I call out, heading to the locker room. I rummage through my bag, pulling out Casey’s jersey. It was supposed to be for later, but things changed. I can’t handle seeing her with another man’s name on her back.
The cool air of the rink fills my lungs as I hit the ice again. Instead of rejoining the guys, I skate for the Zamboni gate at the far corner, where the boards open up and there’s nothing separating the rink from the stands.
I whistle for Casey’s attention. She turns and spots me, her whole face lighting up. She bolts my way.
“There’s the best Bayshore hockey player in all of history!” She throws her hands up in the air. She’s got glitter on her cheeks, and tiny stars near the corners of her eyes. She’s beautiful, sporty, absolutely edible.
But she needs that name off her back.
“I dressed for the occasion,” she goes on, flattening the jersey against her front. “Do you like it?”
I tip my head as I peer around to her back. Then I shake my head.
Her grin flickers. “What?”
“Take it off.”