Chapter 6
Axel
I can’t forget it.
Despite every effort. Every cold shower. Every other girl that I smile and wink at around campus, I can’t get Nadia Beckwith out of my head.
Even now, three days later, I’m standing in the net, taking warm-up shots before the game, and all I’m thinking of is Trouble.
Nadia Beckwith.
That night had started out innocently enough. Hanging out at the Badger Den, drinking water, and feeling the weight of my probation. We’d commiserated over stupid decisions. Taking a shot of water in solidarity. Later, I offered to walk her home. There were no intentions. I just needed to get out of the bar where my teammates were drinking and having a good time, and she wanted to go home.
It was on my way.
I was being a gentleman.
Even without her regular energy, Nadia is an easy girl to talk to. Fun. How we went from her asking if I wanted to come in to watch some TV to the two of us fucking–twice–I’m still not sure.
Don’t get me wrong, Nadia is hot. All curves and a bright, welcoming smile. I’ve flirted with her before, but she’s never been interested in anything but some light flirting. Not enough of a meathead, I imagine, or plans of being drafted to the NFL. If her type is Brent Reynolds, then no wonder she’s not into me. Even though we know he’s a class-A douche, on the outside he’s got that Tom Brady, All-American good guy vibe that pro-teams eat up.
The way she reacted to waking up in bed together? Embarrassed and secretive–she definitely didn’t want Twyler and Reese to find out about us–that isn’t a response I’m used to.
I’m chalking the whole thing up to hormones and stress release. That’s it.
Except I don’t feel less stressed. I’m horny as fuck just thinking about her.
My teammates criss cross around the ice, passing the puck in sharp, zinging snaps. Despite the distraction, I do my best to stay alert and ready, catching Reese’s shot in my gloved hand.
“Nice,” Jefferson says, skating past. “Good catch.”
He takes the puck from me and tosses it on the ice. Another shot is fired my way, this time by Kirby. I bend, blocking it with the long pads that cover my knee, and it bounces back in play. He and Emerson circle one another in a quick, choreographed dance. They’ve come a long way in the last few weeks, finally gelling with one another. That cooperation is one reason we’re undefeated.
Snap!
Reese gets off another shot, I move to block it, but the biscuit soars past my shoulder, hitting the back of the net.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “Nice one, brother.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Reese skates up, a cocky grin on his face. “If anyone is going to get one past you, I want it to be me.”
We bump fists, and I grab my water bottle out of the pouch on the back of the goal. The refs blow their warning whistle—signaling the end of warmups. Following my teammates off the ice, I see Reese wave to someone up in the stands. I follow his gaze and spot Twyler dressed in a Wittmore jersey. She smiles down at her man, and I instantly look next to her, for Nadia, but she’s not there.
Jesus, what’s my problem?
One night and I can’t get this girl off my mind. Was the sex that good or was it because for the first time, in a long while, I was fully sober while doing it?
Whichever it is, now isn’t the time. We file into the locker room for a last minute pregame talk. The room is busy–hot. We’re all fully suited up. Coach Green and the new intern that took Twyler’s position are busy working with the guys that need extra support. I spot a familiar face by the door–Pete– his leg in a brace.
“Hey man,” I say, “how’s the leg?”
“Good. The surgery went well. I just have to let it heal up and keep up with PT.”
“Awesome,” I tell him. Pete’s a good guy, and an excellent player, but he fucked up his ankle by not listening to Twyler’s advice. “You do what they tell you and I’m sure you’ll be back on the ice soon. We need you out there.”
“I don’t know, man, you guys are killing it out there this season. Although,” he says, tilting his head, and looking at me thoughtfully, “I’m thinking maybe you guys should throw a game.”
“Why the hell would we do that?” Reese asks, offended at the idea of losing on purpose.
“To get Rakestraw to shave that caterpillar off his upper lip.”
I crack a smile and smooth out the fuzzy strip of hair with my fingers. “Jealous you can’t grow one of your own, baby face?”
“Don’t even think about getting rid of it,” Reid snaps. He’s the most superstitious of us all with an entire series of pre-and-post game rituals. “It’s our good luck charm.”
“Eh.” Jeff shrugs. “I’ve noticed a definite lack of puck bunnies around you the last week.” His eyebrow raises. “It”s the ‘stache isn’t it? It repels hockey pucks and pussy.”
“Just because I don’t announce my every hook up on the group chat like you do, doesn’t mean I’m not getting laid.”
“He did come in before dawn the other day wearing the same clothes as the night before,” Reid says. “That ‘stache may work the magic on and off the ice.”
I’d like to think I worked my magic with Nadia, but I haven’t heard a word from her since I crawled out her bedroom window. Not that I expected to, because frankly, after that fully sober one-night-stand, she made it perfectly clear she wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened. Nadia’s got a reputation as a jersey chaser, but I have my own as a fuck-boy. Neither of us are strangers to a one time hook-up, but there was something different. Maybe because it wasn’t fueled by our usual bad habits.
Or maybe it’s because it felt incredible being inside of her.
It’s like I told her, we were two sober, horny, consensual adults looking to get off.
And damn, if all I want is to do it again.
“Men!” Coach Bryant’s voice booms over the room. “Stop talking about Rakestraw’s facial hair and get focused on the game.” He shoots me a glare. “But if you shave that off without permission, the whole team is doing bag skates after practice for a month.”
“Good game, Rakestraw.”
I wasn’t just good. I killed it. A shut out, and against a team like Northridge that’s no easy feat.
“Thanks,” I say, knocking fists with one of the coaching staff on the way out. The post game energy is high with Reid playing DJ and getting everyone worked up for the afterparty. Down the hall, Reese waits by the entrance, adjusting his tie. Coach has a rule about leaving a game dressed up–he likes us to look like winners, regardless of the results. Reid walked out of here in a bright red suit, looking like a clown, although Darla doesn’t seem to mind. I’m used to suits–growing up formal wear was pretty standard for special events. Part of me wants to push back but on a night like this, I look and feel like a badass. “What’s wrong?” I ask Reese as I get closer and see the weird expression on his face. “Tie too tight?”
“No.” He makes a face and releases the tie.
“Then what’s with the constipated look on your face?”
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I check it for the first time since the game ended. There’s a series of ‘congratulations’ texts from friends that saw the game and a few offers from puck bunnies to celebrate, including one threesome.
Look, I promised to get my shit together. I didn’t promise to go celibate.
I scroll down to the final text, quickly realizing it’s one I don’t want to read: My father’s.
“You really dominated out there tonight,” Reese says, giving me an excuse to put the phone away and deal with those messages later.
“Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, I like to win as much as everyone else on the team.”
“I never said that.” He pushes open the door. “You just seem different. Like you were two steps ahead of everyone else out there.”
“Just my same old awesomeness, bro, accept it.” I refuse to admit it, but even though I’ve been bored as hell, physically and mentally, I feel better. Other than waking up to Nadia induced hard-on’s every morning, my sleep is great. I’m less tired when I get up. Better hydrated. My cravings for all that shit have diminished, replaced with one other desire–getting in between the thighs of a girl that’s not interested. “Your game was on point too, don’t forget that.”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Cain?” Twyler steps out from the crowd waiting for the players outside. The group is filled with girlfriends, friends, and family hanging around after the game to congratulate the team. The group is bigger than normal, which is pretty common when the team is doing well. People want to be a part of the energy of a winning team. I don’t even look to see if anyone is waiting for me. My parents haven’t even been to one of my games since high school.
“I don’t need to fish, Sunshine,” Reese says, sliding his arm around Twyler’s waist. “My two goals speak for themselves.”
She rolls her eyes, and shifts her attention to me. “That last save was amazing, Axel. I thought maybe that kid was going to get it past you, but you were so quick.”
“You know me,” I wink, “I’m good with my hands.”
Reese punches me in the arm. “Don’t flirt with my girlfriend, dumbass.”
Behind Twyler, I hear a loud choking cough. Craning my neck, I see her. Nadia. Huh. She did come to the game, afterall.
Twyler shifts and places her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You okay?” She holds up a bottle. “Need some water?”
“Sure, thanks.” Nadia’s voice is husky and brown eyes flick to mine as she takes it, unscrewing the cap. Her cheeks have a faint pink tint, and I watch as she wraps her lips around the mouth of the bottle, then takes a big swig.
My cock twitches under my pressed suit pants.
Before I can figure out how to respond to her being here, a kid in a Badger jersey rushes over, program in his hands.
“Reese! Can I get your autograph?”
“Sure,” Reese says with a friendly smile, taking the marker out of the kid’s hand. “What’s your name?”
“Walker.”
A moment later it’s clear that Walker was the Trojan horse, because a heartbeat later, an entire team of U12s swarms toward him. Twyler and Nadia step back as the kids push forward to get to us.
“One at a time,” Reese laughs, signing his name. “What’s your position?”
He’s so good at this, making small talk with the kids, being a superstar. After he signs the program, Twyler offers to take a photo of Reese with the kids.
I start to step away, letting Reese have his moment, when Walker turns to me. “You too, Axel?” he asks, grinning up at me.
“Yeah.” I take the program and flip to my photo inside, scratching my name next to it. Handing it back, I’m surprised to see the line behind him has grown. Fuck. My eyes dart toward the parking lot, the route to my escape.
As much as it seems like I enjoy being the center of attention–and I do, when it’s chicks in tight skirts and fans offering to buy me a free drink–being a role model, or someone to look up to? That’s where I draw the line.
“Don’t even think about it,” Reese says over the kids’ heads, giving me a pointed look. I catch the meaning behind it instantly; if I walk away from these kids, I’m walking away from my obligation to the team.
“Who’s next?” I ask, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in my chest.
“Me!” The next kid pushes forward and I can’t help but notice the pink jacket and a knit hat with a sparkly pom pom on top.
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”
“Greta.”
“You play hockey?” I flip open her program and she nods. “What position?”
“Goalie, like you.”
“You must be pretty tough to play goalie.” I sign my name, and hand her back the program.
“More than my brother,” her chin lifts. “He plays forward.”
“He’s about the glory, huh?” I laugh, taking a little stab at Reese. “I have a little sister, she’s pretty tough, too.”
“Does she play hockey?”
“Nah. She’s not interested in sports.” Although I have no idea if that’s true. I’m pretty sure no one has ever asked Shelby her opinion on anything in her life. Father tells her what to do and she’s always done it. That didn’t mean she was weak. Hell no, she’s the toughest person I know to be able to put up with all of that.
I ran halfway across the country to escape it. She never had that choice.
“Too bad,” Greta says, smiling down at the signature. “She’s missing out.”
“Smile!” Twyler calls, and next thing I know I’m caught up in taking photos. “Make sure you tag the team!”
“I thought you were studying to be a sports trainer,” I accuse once all the programs are signed and the crowd disperses, “not a marketing major.”
“Oh, that was Nadia’s idea,” she says. “Business, communications, marketing…”
Nadia smiles and shrugs. “Never waste an opportunity.”
“But now that you mention it,” Twyler says, focusing on Reese. “You took a pretty nasty hit in the third. Let me see it.”
He rolls his eyes, but when Twyler lifts up his shirt to inspect it, I can tell he loves having someone take care of him.
I flex my hand, then shake it out.
“Hand cramp?” Nadia asks.
“I’m not used to signing that many autographs.”
“Those kids love you.”
“They wouldn’t if they knew about my probation.” I doubt Coach Bryant will be happy to see my face plastered all over social media. So far we’ve kept the violation out of the media, but there’s no need to give someone the opportunity to call me out. “I’m not cut out for being the face of the team.” I hold up my tattooed hands. “They prefer clean cut, pretty boys like Cain over there.”
“That’s not how it looked to me.”
“Yeah?” I ask, eyebrow raised. “How do I look to you?”
Because I really, really, want to know.
When she doesn’t answer, I add quietly, “Come on, tell me you haven’t thought about me since the other night?”
She swallows. “I haven’t thought about you. Not once.”
The pink on her cheeks tells me that we both know that’s a lie.
I worry my teeth over the piercing in my lip. “Maybe you just need a reminder.”
Her hand flies up, palm flat. “Nope.”
I blink at her hand. “Why?”
“Because,” she looks over her shoulder to where Twyler is feeling up Reese’s ribs, “we agreed to forget it ever happened.”
“Yeah, well I’m having a hard time with that because I keep thinking about how fucking hot you look when you come.” Her pupils dilate and her mouth parts. “Don’t tell me you’re not doing the same thing. Thinking about my mouth on your–”
“Oh my God,” she cuts me off with a grimace and whispers, “Do you ever give up?”
“Not when it’s something I want, T.” I hold her eye. “And right now, you’re what I want.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
I shrug. “Some people find my perseverance an attractive quality.”
“Well, I’m not one of them.” Again, her gaze lingers on the happy couple.
I frown. “If you’re really worried about them, they don’t have to know. I’ve got no problem with discretion.”
Her eyes sweep over me, traveling from my inked hands to the piercing on my lip, to the platinum hair on my head. “Nothing about you says discrete, Axel.”
I reach a hand out, placing it on her hip. “Then what does it say?”
Her hip eases forward, reservations slipping, but she recovers quickly, and eases back toward her friend. “Everything about you says that I’m not the only one that should be called trouble.”
“Dude,”Reese says, once we’re in my truck. With the crowds after the game, it’s best to have a car to make a quick exit instead of walking.
“What?” I adjust the heat, blasting it from the vents to cut the chill of the night.
“Stay away from her.”
I’m not sure I heard him right.
“Stay away from who?”
He stares at me for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Nadia.”
“What about her?” I ask, shifting the vehicle into gear.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t hitting on her.”
I snort. “You mean you noticed something while you were mining for gold down your girl’s throat?”
“I noticed. You’re just lucky Twyler didn’t.”
“Even if she had, all she would have seen was two people talking after a game while their friends were making out across the parking lot.” I turn onto the road that leads to Shotgun. “What am I supposed to do while you two tongue fuck? Ignore her?”
“You know she’s vulnerable after the shit that went down with Reynolds and McMichael.” My hands tighten around the steering wheel at their names. They both deserve an ass kicking for what they did to her. Reese continues, “She acts like everything is fine, but Twyler noticed she’s going out a lot less. Like she’s avoiding it or maybe scared.”
No more epic fuck-ups.
“Do you blame her?” I ask.
“No.” He sighs. “Twy’s still hoping she decides to report it, but regardless, she doesn’t need anyone sniffing around her while she’s figuring things out.”
As we talk about them, I pass the Teal House. The soft blue light flickers inside and a small sedan sits in the driveway, indicating the girls made it back home. I don’t look at the bush I poisoned on the way to practice the other day.
“I’m not sniffing around her. We happen to be the best friends of two people that are dating. We’re going to get tossed together and you need to chill out.” The tense expression on his face doesn’t ease so I add, “She’s not my type anyway.”
“Bullshit.” He laughs. “She’s hot, fun to be around, and loves a cocky athlete. She’s exactly your type.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling into the driveway of the Manor. “Except for the fact that I agree with you. She’s vulnerable and I’m not looking for that right now. I need to get off probation, focus on hockey, and figure out what I’m going to do after graduation. Would I fuck her?” Hell yes. “Sure. Am I going to? That’s not something you need to worry about.”
Because even if he’s right, and she is my type, Nadia has made it infinitely clear she wants nothing to do with me.
Two hours later,after refueling on the food Jefferson’s mom had sent to the house, and kicking Reid’s ass, twice, gaming, the post-game energy finally wanes enough to head to bed. It’s hard to settle down after going hard for two hours on the ice. Our bodies may be tired, but that’s when the adrenaline kicks in. On the weekends, we’ll blow off steam at one of the parties on Greek row, or host one of our own, but on weeknights, we take it easier. Our schedule is rough, we’ve got two more games this week before Thanksgiving break, then we’ll get a couple of days off before games resume.
Lying on my bed, I torture myself by scrolling through Nadia’s photos on ChattySnap. I hate to admit it, but CJ knew what he was doing when he came up with the LonelyFans scheme. Although she’s gorgeous, with big brown eyes and plump lips, he hadn’t shown her face while he was secretly recording her. No need to. Nadia’s a sexpot. Curvy hips and big tits. She flaunts it on her own account, taking selfies with the camera angled straight down her cleavage, while wearing tiny shorts that show a smidge of ass cheek, just enough to make you want to sink your teeth in. I scroll back, past the newer photos of her up at Wittmore, down to the ones from high school where her skin is a warm brown and she’s wearing even less clothing on the beaches in Florida. My cock thickens when I pause on one of her in a white string bikini, sunkissed and eye-fucking the camera.
Pushing my hand down the front of my shorts, I’m prepared to take the low road, when I hear the creak of the top stair and a soft, feminine giggle. It could be anyone. Reid is on-again-off-again with his girl, Darla, and it’s entirely possible he sweet-talked her into coming over. Jefferson and I usually slip out to sorority row, and me hanging back won’t keep him from going. He’s been making his way down the alphabet and currently is fucking around in the P’s.
But when I hear the soft snick of the bedroom door across from mine, I know exactly who’s sneaking around; Reese and Twyler.
Now I just feel like a pervert, pulling my hand out of my shorts, and tossing the phone across the bed.
That’ll be the last we hear from them, even though I know they’ll be fucking like rabbits in a few minutes. Twyler is quiet, the opposite of his ex, Shanna, who’s the type to let her presence be known. My boy’s always been the monogamous type. He dated the same girl all through high school and most of college. Sure, he had a post break up wild streak, where he made his way through his share of puck bunnies, but all that stopped when he noticed Twyler. I’m pretty sure their sex is vanilla as hell.
Me? I’m definitely more of an exhibitionist. The thrill of getting caught is part of the fun, but all I can think right now is that sex is still sex, and those two are about to have more of it than I am.
My phone buzzes and I lean across the bed, picking it up.
Chantelle: You out celebrating after the game?
Huh. Figured my early morning brush off would have waned her interest. I type out a reply.
Me: Eh, not tonight. We’re taking it easy.
Chantelle: I could come over, pick things up where we left it off.
It’s tempting, but before I can respond, a close up photo of a pair of lace covered tits fills my screen. At the top I see the edge of that gold necklace.
Jesus. This girl is definitely not about the chase.
Even so, I’m not one to say no to a willing partner, and I’m about to give her the go ahead when the next text comes through, displaying across those pretty tits.
Shelby: Did you get dad’s text? You need to respond.
My hard-on instantly deflates and I quickly swipe the image away. I can ignore my dad, but my sister? I try not to mess around.
Me: Had a game. I’ll reply now.
The phone rings before I can open another text box.
“Axel,” my dad says, my name pronounced with a sharp, Texan twang. “You’re still up.”
“Hey, Dad, sorry. We had a late game. Just got home a little while ago.” I slide my legs over the side of the bed, needing to move. “Did you catch it?”
It’s a trick question, that I already know the answer to. “Sorry, Son. Not this one.”
Right. This one. He hasn’t watched a single game since I got to Wittmore.
“Too bad,” I say, proud of the team. “It was a good one.”
“Maybe the next one won’t be on during bible study.”
Unlikely. The man never leaves the church. One activity after the other, anything to keep the parishioners busy. Reverend Nolen Rakestraw may not be there for his son, but he’s always there for his flock.
“I called to talk about preparations for the holidays,” he says, moving on to the real motive for the call. “Have you practiced the piece I sent you?”
“A little.”
Not at all.
“I wanted to give you plenty of time before Christmas to learn the material and if you need any assistance over Thanksgiving, Reverend Boyce will be happy to help.”
“I’m only going to be there for two days, Dad, one of those Thanksgiving Day. Reverend Boyce doesn’t want to spend his day with me instead of his family.”
“I’m sure you two can make something work.” When I don’t instantly agree, he adds, “The congregation is expecting you to speak. It’s tradition.”
“I know. I’ll get it done. I always do, don’t I?”
“Not without testing my patience first,” he says. “How are your public speaking classes?”
“Good,” I lie. “You know, talk-y.”
My father thinks I’m majoring in communications with a focus on public speaking, but I switched to sports management after Freshman year. I do have a minor in communications, which keeps me in enough classes for him not to fully notice.
“I hope you’re gaining a good knowledge base for when you return to Kingdom’s Reign.” His tone lightens. “Only seven more months and you’ll be back.”
“Yep, seven months.”
Fuck my life.
“I just wanted to check in. Make sure we were on the same page.”
That’d be a first. “Sure, Dad.”
“Next time, try to respond faster. Your mother and sister worry when you don’t.”
“I will,” I reply, pissed he dragged Shelby and my mom into this. They aren’t worried about me. He’s just obsessed with controlling all of us.
“Night, Son.” I brace myself for the next part. “To the Kingdom.”
I swallow and force out the words, “To the Kingdom.”
I don’t breathe for a full thirty-seconds after the call ends, until another text comes through.
Shelby: Thanks
Me: Sorry I missed it. Be Safe.
I stare at the text for a long time, hating that he still has this control over me, two-thousand miles away. But that’s how my father works, with leverage. If I won’t do what he wants out of an obligation to him, he knows I’ll do it to protect my sister.
The call leaves me rattled–pissed and frustrated–and I want nothing more than to blur the lines of reality right now to try to go back to that feeling from before, of hopped up adrenaline. I want to chill out, to have a drink. Take a hit. Lose myself in pussy.
I thrust my hand in my hair. Fuck the promise I made with Nadia. Fuck Cain and his easy road to the future and his perfect girlfriend he’s going down on across the hall.
I don’t owe them, or anyone else, anything.
Hopping off my bed, I fling open my closet door and reach for the top shelf. My fingers brush over the hard wood and I grab the box I’d stashed up there months ago, before the season started. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.
My fingers wrap around the box, the ink on my knuckles taunting me.
YOLO. That’s the motto I’ve held since I walked out of my father’s house.
You only live once, and I plan to live it to the fullest.