Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Brody
Everyone funneled out of the All-Star Skills Competition and into a nearby bar. Work hard, play hard is the hockey lifestyle.
The VIP section is over its capacity with more people continuing to pile in: players and their significant others, celebrity
coaches, team staff, and a bunch of other people I’ve never seen before but have NHL All-Star press badges hanging around
their necks.
Based on the fact that my dad’s left me on read for hours, I take it he saw my shoot-out move. When I play poorly, I get an
earful from him about how I’m tarnishing our legacy. When I play just good enough to go unnoticed, he loves to give me condescending
pointers on what he did back in his day. Neither are as scary as when I play better than him.
His silence is a warning. I’m in the eye of Hurricane Erik. Storm-chasing his mood is exhausting, but if I bail on this afterparty,
everyone will get the wrong idea of me. I’m here to live up to my name, which includes showing a happy face.
Olivia makes her way back from the restroom and seeing her instantly grounds me.
She looks unbelievable tonight. Dressed in all black, she is like a sexy video-game skin.
Her strappy top shows off her toned shoulders and deep cleavage.
It’s been so cold up in Minnesota that I forgot what she looked like without a winter jacket.
She slips in next to me, cradling her drink.
“More people in VIP tonight than fans at a Miami Beach home game,” I say, laughing at my own joke. Her attention is glued
to the bottom of her glass, like there’s something foreign floating around with the ice cubes. She’s been stuck in a daze
all night. She hasn’t even made a snide comment about how corny it is that Kirill Sokolov is wearing a bedazzled version of
his own All-Star jersey out to the bar.
“Can I get you another drink?” I ask.
“No, thanks.” With the straw pressed between her lips, she sucks up what’s left. “Is your dad here?”
“Where?” It’s too crowded to see the entrance.
“I meant at All-Star Weekend. I saw online that your parents crashed the red carpet. I didn’t realize they were coming.”
Me neither. “He had some business to attend.”
“He must be so proud of your goal.” Olivia chews on her straw like it’s gum.
“You’d think.”
She raises her glass. “You know what, I’d love another drink.”
We find a corner with open sitting space and I top her drink off. The music is good, and the company is even better. Once
there’s nothing but ice left in our glasses, Olivia leads me out on the dance floor. All it takes is dancing and singing off-key
to a couple songs for me to forget all about the divorce. I’m a horrible dancer, but for her I’ll try anything. And her laugh
is so infectious that I have no plans to improve my rhythm.
“I’m sorry I suck at dancing,” I shout.
With her hands interlocked around my neck, she pulls me down toward her face. Her lips tickle against my ear as she says,
“You don’t have to be perfect at everything.”
My hands grip at the fabric covering the small of her back. The distance between our mouths shortens with each pulsating bass beat. Her mouth is hot against my lips, but before I can taste her, my stomach sinks.
Someone in the distance shouts, “Erik Parker!” Everyone turns and looks. Everyone but Olivia, who hasn’t taken her eyes off
me.
“Quick, follow me.” She pulls me toward the back of the club. We wiggle our way through the crowd and slip out the back door
together, unseen.
We spill outside, hand in hand, disrupting a couple of employees finishing up a smoke break. Politely, they disperse and head
back inside the bar. Muffled music seeps out the open door. It isn’t until the door swings shut after them that I appreciate
the quiet retreat. Even near the trash bins and parked cars, the breezy California night is a welcome escape. With Olivia,
she is the escape.
“We didn’t have to bail. You were having fun. We should go back,” I tell her. I reach for the door handle, but she grabs my
arm.
“Brody, stop,” she pleads. “You heard his name and your whole body went rigid. Your face went as white as ice.”
“But it’s All-Star Weekend. I want you to have a good time.”
She wraps her arms around herself. Goose bumps spread over her skin. “I know you do,” she says. Her eyes glimmer under the
moonlight and her hair dances in the wind. “I also know things between you and your dad are complicated.”
“Is that what I called it?” I bury my hands in my pockets. “Because it’s more like extremely toxic. Like showing-up-to-All-Star-Weekend-unannounced-to-fabricate-good-press
toxic. Like giving-me-the-silent-treatment-after-a-nice-goal toxic. Like sneaking-out-the-back-door-of-a-bar-to-avoid-him
toxic.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Sounds like your dad’s got that more than covered,” she tells me.
Easier said than done. The lines between my career and my father’s are so blurred that sports broadcasters consistently mix up our names.
“I know what you need,” she says. “How does a peanut butter dessert from room service sound?”
Nothing’s ever sounded better.
Sprawled on her stomach across the hotel’s lush king bed, Olivia kicks her feet back and forth as she licks her spoon clean.
She moans, licking the remnants off her lips before dipping her spoon in for more. This time her eyes roll into the back of
her head as she indulges herself.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she says.
I’m shamelessly gawking as I watch her intimately eat the dessert. “Should I leave? I feel like I’m interrupting something.”
I lean back in the armchair next to the bed. “It’s like a threesome gone wrong.” Despite my exclusion, I’m still enjoying
the show.
“I hear it’s always better to be the third. You can be ours tonight.” She eats another spoonful.
I flash her a cocky grin. “In that case, I’ve got something better for you to put in your mouth.”
She swallows a bit of tacky peanut butter cream with a hard gulp. “Don’t say your dick. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s not
this.”
I get up from my chair and take the dessert from her.
“Heeey,” she snaps. Her pouting is short-lived because once she looks up and sees that I’m ready to take control, she stops
whining. I set the dish on the nightstand, but not before dipping my finger in the whipped cream resting atop the decadent
peanut butter pudding.
In full control, I turn to Olivia. “Open your mouth,” I demand. She does as she’s told, and I shove my finger into her mouth. She sucks it off, never breaking our intense eye contact. My knees buckle, and I brace myself on the nightstand for a moment before pulling it together.
Olivia reaches back and unzips her dress. She’s in nothing but a lacy red thong as she crawls across the bed toward me. I
stand at the edge of the bed and quickly unzip my pants, sending them to my ankles along with my briefs. My dick, throbbing
and ready for her, hangs out level to her perfectly pouty lips.
First, she takes me in her hand and teases me with her tongue along the shaft. I grab on to the back of her head for leverage
and gently ease her mouth down. She looks so hot on her hands and knees for me as she sucks and moans.
“Choke on it,” I say, tightening my grip on her hair. Her back arches and she gags on me. “Now I want to watch you ride it.”
She gets back up to her knees and meets me at eye level. Pressing her soft mouth to mine, she parts her lips. Her tongue swirls
inside my mouth. It’s even better than the dessert. While we kiss, she pulls my shirt over my head, and I get on the bed with
her. I prop myself up with pillows as she slips off her thong. Once naked, she straddles me and I rub my hand across her pussy.
She’s wet and hot, ready for me.
“Come inside me tonight. I’m on birth control,” she says like it’s a dare.
I help her ease it inside, but no matter how ready either of us are for the pressure, we still gasp as it slips inside her.
She rocks back and forth against me gently and I attempt to keep it together long enough to get her off first.
“You did so good today,” she says in a slow breathy voice.
My hands drop. I stop moving and look up at her, unable to mask my confusion. Diffidence stifles my libido. Is she mocking me? “What do you mean?”
She rubs her hands over her breasts. Circling her fingertips over her hard nipples. “You were so good out on the ice today. Your goal was incredible.” She bends down to kiss me.
I duck my head to the side. “Stop.”
She stops grinding against me. “What?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
She grabs my face and leans in so I can’t dodge her eyes. “Brody, you had the nicest goal today. You arguably scored the nicest
goal anyone has ever scored at any All-Star Weekend.”
Libido back. Embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve never wanted someone or something more in my life after hearing her say that.
“You have to say that. I’m inside you.”
“Because you’re inside me, I probably shouldn’t be talking about hockey.”
I feel a lump in my throat as I look over her angelic face. She’s still like marble, waiting for me to react. Waiting for
me to tell her what to do next. I thrust my hips up, pressing my cock deeper inside her. She winces and her eyes roll with
pleasure.
“You’re a really good hockey player,” she says as she starts rocking her hips back and forth, deeply straddled on my lap.
It feels so good I can’t help but let out a groan of pleasure. “So good,” she says, like she’s getting off talking about it.
It’s embarrassing how nice it is to hear. I start thrusting into her from beneath, slow and intentional. We move together.
Our breathing getting harder and louder with each thrust. I grab her waist and bounce her on me. She throws her head back
and moans. Her whole body clenches and it sends me over the edge. I relax and allow myself to finish inside her.
Olivia lays her flush cheek against my chest. Our legs tangle as we lie on top of the bedding, too lazy to get under the covers.
No need when we have each other to keep warm.