Chapter 4
Lyzander Corbit
The next morning, I unwrap myself from Bash, grab my hockey gear, and leave the dorms. I shouldn’t have done what I did last night.
I have a smoking hot girlfriend back home, but watching him touch someone else the way he used to touch me made me irate.
Jealousy reared its ugly head and my impulses took over.
Heading to the rink, I stop quickly in the mess hall for a bite, then continue to the locker room. It’s time to get my head out of my ass and stop worrying about Bash. Fuck these goddamn feelings. I hate him. I fucking hate him.
Swinging the door open to the locker room, I gear up and head out onto the ice.
Skating laps from one end to the other will help center me while I wait for the rest of the team and Coach to arrive.
Last summer, me and Bash were forced to share a cabin.
We couldn’t seem to get it together on the ice.
Constantly butting heads for the top spot.
My mouth didn’t help much, neither did his aggression towards me.
All it did was turn me on and I didn’t understand it.
I’ve always kept that part of me locked away.
The thrill of finding another guy somewhere where they didn’t know who you were and making them cum is like ecstacy.
So having Bash in the same room as me was the sweetest game I ever played.
I knew he had a girlfriend, just like he knew I had one as well, but I also figured out quickly that he was into dudes even if he wouldn’t admit it at first. Making him submit to me was the highlight of the summer, but then—my name being shouted across the ice takes me out of my thoughts as I skate towards the yelling voice.
“What man? I was in the fucking zone!” I spit, and Zimmerman huffs.
“Sorry, dude, but there’s been a murder. The party we went to last night, one of the sorority girls was killed,” he stammers out, and my eyes widen.
“Holy shit, who was it?” I ask, curious if I know her.
“Katie Andrews,” he replies, and I nod.
“Never heard of her,” I say, not really sure how to reply.
“She was a girl who messed with the football team,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“That explains a lot. Did they find out who did it?” I ask, and he nods.
“The police just arrested her best friend, Ivy Bloodworth,” he says, and my eyes widen.
“Oh shit, that’s insane. Her best friend,” I say as the rest of the team comes out on the ice.
“Yep, wild shit,” Zimmerman tells me as he heads into the locker room to gear up.
“Alright, boys. Let’s do some sprints,” I yell out, looking around for Bash but don’t spot him anywhere. I smile underneath my helmet knowing his ass is still where I left him and excitement flows through my veins knowing when he does arrive, Coach is going to chew him out for missing practice.
I skate laps with the team, and it's not until we decide to run through the game plan for the next scrimmage that Bash busts through the doors, heading for the locker room.
“Corbit, go handle Vos,” Coach yells out, and I smirk.
Gliding across the ice, I rip my helmet off as I pull the locker room door open, stepping inside.
Walking down the rows of lockers, I finally spot him throwing his jersey over his head.
I chuckle, and he stops–his eyes collide with mine, and I lick my lips.
“You’re late, Buttercup.” I smirk, and he growls.
“Was it hard for you to wake me up before you left?” he snarls, causing me to laugh harder.
“Was it hard? Yes. Did I care? No! Set your own damn alarm, Vos!” I spit, and he rolls his eyes.
“Fucking dick!” he mutters under his breath.
“The fuck you say?” I ask, walking closer to him. His body stills then whips around to face me.
“I said you’re a fucking dick. Are you hard of hearing?”
“Nah, I heard you perfectly fine. I just wanted you to say it to my face, Buttercup.” I grin, and he gets right in my face.
“Fucking dick,” he whispers, licking his plump lips.
“But you love this dick,” I fire back, raising a brow.
“Not as much as you love mine,” he counters, then grabs his stick and walks away. Oh, he’s feisty today. I take that as a challenge. I give him a minute to get on the ice and let Coach hand him his ass before I adjust my cock and head back out to the team.
Swinging the door open, Coach’s voice echoes around the arena, bringing a smile to my face. Skating over to them, I wait for the ass chewing to be done then I crack the whip.
“Let’s scrimmage,” I shout, but point to Bash. “Not you.” I laugh, and he growls.
“That’s bullshit,” he fires back, and I shrug.
“Next time, be on time to practice. Run them laps until I blow the whistle,” I order, and he huffs, skating to the opposite end of the rink and chucking his stick over the railing. Turning back to the team, I smile.
“Alright, let’s get it. Show me what you got, boys,” I yell out as me and Zimmerman face off with the puck.
It’s usually me and Bash, but, oh well. There’s plenty of time for that.
Coach blows the whistle, and I gain the puck with ease, gliding down the rink.
I weave in and out of my teammates and shoot the puck into the goal.
“Faster, Vos, move those feet,” I taunt, laughing as I skate by Bash.
We continue the scrimmage until the coach blows the whistle, letting us know it’s time to head for the showers.
I sit on the bench as the others disperse and watch Bash go up and down the rink getting slower by the minute.
“Come on, pick up the pace. Stop being a bitch. You want to be the best of the best, but all I see is the worst of the worst. Pansy,” I yell, and his eyes collide with mine.
So much malice and anger behind them which only makes me chuckle.
“Fuck you, Zan!” he yells breathlessly.
“The slower you go, the longer you will be here. Come on! PICK IT UP!” I yell, and he roars, sliding against the ice, losing his footing, and falling to his knees.
I laugh. “Pathetic!” I tell him, skating over to him.
“You fucking suck!” I spit before I skate off the ice and head into the locker room.
The door swings open and everyone heads out.
I walk to my locker and start stripping from my gear.
Ripping the whistle from my neck, I blow into it and smile as I place it on the shelf.
Maybe he heard it, maybe he didn’t… oh well.
Grabbing my clothes, I walk over to the showers and turn one on to the hottest it can go.
Once steam starts to cloud the space, I stand under the spray and let the hot water ease my muscles.
I do my thing then shut the water off and wrap a towel around my waist. Drying off, I slide sweats on and throw a shirt over my head.
I walk back to my locker to grab my things and see Bash stripping from his gear.
“Did you really have to be like that in front of everyone?” he asks, and I laugh.
“Yes, I’m the captain. You know this,” I answer, and he snarls.
“It’s bullshit. You fucking set me up and you know it!” he snaps, and I chuckle.
“Whatever you say, Buttercup. Be grateful it wasn’t worse.”
“Always a dick!” he mutters.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I counter, and his eyes snap to mine. My dick instantly hardens, and I clear my throat.
“Frat party tonight! You will be there,” I tell him, but he shakes his head,
“Actually I won’t,” he replies, and I raise a brow.
“The whole team is going. It’s mandatory.
You don’t go, there will be more punishments,” I warn, and he rolls his eyes.
“Suit yourself. Be ready by 10,” I say and leave the locker room.
He really pisses me off, and he’s going to feel the brunt of my anger.
You don’t get to have a hot and heavy summer with me, then ghost me without any repercussions.
I really shouldn’t care. He means nothing to me.
Maybe tonight I’ll drown myself in some pussy, plus alcohol, and forget all about him. Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Fuck it.