Chapter 8
Axel
It’sthe giggling that gets me. Soft and flirty–a specific tone from a girl when she’s into you. It echoes off the high ceilings of the Manor, taunting me from my roommates’ bedrooms.
Fuck. I need to get laid.
I need to sink my teeth, and fingers, and dick into something soft, wet, and tight.
I could. There are two dozen girls in my phone that I could message right now and ask to come over, lead up to my room, and finally get some relief.
All of that seems weird now. I don’t know if it’s the sobriety or not wanting Reese’s judgment, but in my heart (and maybe my cock) there’s no doubt that getting to know Nadia better has made the thrill of having puck bunnies at my beck and call lose a little bit of it’s thrill.
This. This is why men treat women as objects. Getting to know their thoughts and feelings about shit makes things complicated.
Because while I could be getting my nut off, I’m sitting on my bed, alone, staring at my laptop and the third hour of the drug education video I’m required to watch during my probation.
I’m almost done with the current segment: Marijuana and the Student Athlete when there’s a knock at the door.
“What?” I ask, pausing the video.
The door opens a crack and Reid sticks his head in. “I’m out of condoms.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Got any?”
I jerk my head at the bedside table. “Top drawer.”
“Thanks man.”
He pushes the door open and I see his bare upper body and yep. He’s buck naked.
“Dude seriously?” I say as he runs in, with his hand attempting to cover his junk. As if I haven’t seen his hardware a million times in the locker rooms. “Jesus, put some fucking pants on.”
“Sorry!” he fumbles with the box. “I was halfway in when Darla told me she was on antibiotics and we needed to double up.”
He snatches a couple packs and exits the room, giving me a full view of his hairy ass.
Is it wrong that all I feel is jealousy?
I slam the laptop shut and reach for my phone, firing off a text.
GoalieGod: I hate this plan.
T: What plan?
GoalieGod: The no more epic fuck-ups plan. It’s boring. And my balls hurt from lack of use.
T: I’m sure you’ll survive.
GoalieGod: Don’t tell me your pussy isn’t lonely, T.
T: Jesus, you’re pathetic. You know that?
GoalieGod: YES! That’s what I’m saying. I’m thinking that maybe we should call off this deal. Or like give it a one night reprieve. I need some fun. And some pussy. And a fucking drink.
There’s a pause.
GoalieGod: Sorry, I’m a terrible safe space.
T: LOL you really are, but if I’m being honest, you’re right. My pussy is lonely and I’m all alone which makes it dangerous.
My cock tightens at the mention of her pussy and I groan into my fist, before typing.
GoalieGod: I wish I was alone. Everyone in this house is getting laid but me.
T: Even Reid?
GoalieGod: Specifically, Reid. He just came in here looking for condoms.
T: The girlfriend?
GoalieGod: Yeah. They’re on and off but can’t seem to shake each other.
T: Must be nice to have a consistent, reliable, safe person to fuck around with.
GoalieGod: Even if he’s not headed to the NFL?
T: I’d settle for the NHL at this point.
GoalieGod: Are you trying to get me to enter the draft, T?
T: * winky face *
GoalieGod: It’s not nice to taunt a desperate man.
T: You’re right. It’s not like I show up to your house, take off my shirt and flirt with you.
GoalieGod: Fair. Okay, you talked me off the ledge. I owe you one.
T: Night, Ax.
I’ve just put the phone down when there’s another knock on my door. “Son of a bitch, Reid!” I grab the box of condoms. “Just take the whole goddamn box–”
I throw it at the door just as it swings open. The package hits Reese in the chest and it drops to the floor. “What the hell?”
“Sorry,” I thrust a hand into my hair. “I thought you were Reid.”
He gives me a hard look and then says, “Coach called.” He bends picking up the box of condoms and shoving them in his pocket. “Your test results are in.”
Coach Bryant sitsbehind his desk, the slip of paper in front of him. A gold pen clenched between his fingers, tapping on the desk. It’s 8 AM. The rest of the guys are in the weight room–well, everyone but Reese.
He’s standing next to Bryant’s desk, shoulders back, arms crossed. He’s not my friend in here, he’s firmly in the role of captain. Eyes steely and he hasn’t looked at me since I walked in.
I clear my throat, unable to take the silence anymore.
“I started the online drug education course you sent me. I’m about halfway–”
“This isn’t about that, Rakestraw,” Coach snaps, running a hand through his hair. “Your blood test results came back. I’m not even sure where to begin.”
There shouldn’t be anywhere to begin. I smoked–shared–one joint. That’s it. The tense muscle in Reese’s jaw tells me there’s more. That I’d done it again. Fucked up.
“They found GHP in your system,” Coach says, sliding the paperwork over.
“GHP?” I repeat, taking the paperwork but not looking at it. “That’s–”.
“Typically used for incapacitating people–most often women.”
“Fuck.” I sink into my seat. “That can’t be right.”
“There’s a list of side-effects on the back of that paper. Did you experience any of those?”
I flip the sheet and read down the list, my spine tingling. Nausea, vomiting, memory loss, drowsiness and confusion. There are more–euphoria and impaired muscle coordination…
I think back to that morning–to the night before. How out of it I felt. Foggy headed and nauseous. I’d overslept, and according to Chantelle, had passed out on her. I thought I’d gotten blackout, which isn’t like me, but maybe I wasn’t just drunk. Maybe I’d been–
“This has to be wrong,” I toss the paper on the desk. “I wouldn’t ever take something like that. If I’m going to get high, I sure as fuck want to remember it.”
Reese shoots me a look and shakes his head, but Coach ignores me. “After talking to the medical officials we think that it’s entirely possible that you were drugged–even if accidental.”
“You do?”
“Cain vouched for you. Said that the night of the party you were fine, but suddenly had slurred speech. He also assumed it was too much alcohol, but your behavior following that night tracks with the effects of GHP.” Anger flickers in his eyes. “The NCAA showing up for unannounced drug testing at the same time as you getting drugged? Sounds like sabotage.”
I look at Reese, who is looking at me. This time not just with anger, but something else. Sadness? Pity? I don’t like it.
“Your probation stands, as well as your follow up drug test in two weeks. We’ll push back on the NCAA’s findings and request further investigation. I’ll submit a report this morning.”
My head spins trying to follow what’s happening. “I’ve been impressed with how you’ve stepped it up over the last week, Axel, and I don’t want this to cause any setbacks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t.”
He gestures for us to leave, Reese following me out into the hall. I turn and say, “You vouched for me?”
He doesn’t respond, just jerks his chin toward the exit. “We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“Who the hell spiked that drink.”
Every meetingbetween athletes is going to take place in one of two places: the playing field of their choice or over food.
Reese and I are sitting at a sticky table in the back of a truckstop diner, with massive plates of eggs, bacon, pancakes and more in front of us.
“Why did you vouch for me with Coach?” I ask, pouring syrup between each pancake.
“Because I know you didn’t intentionally take that drug.” He crushes up his bacon and mixes it in with his eggs. “Like you said, even when I think it’s over the top, you like to be there for the fun.” We both take a big bite of our meals, chewing in silence. Once he swallows he says, “Tell me what you remember.”
“Not much,” I admit. “Smoking with the rowing boys in the Jeep–just a couple of hits too. Then I had a couple of beers while we were playing quarters.” I scowl. “We can blame your girlfriend for the amount I had to drink due to her winning streak.”
“Yeah that’s on her.” He grins and slathers strawberry jam across his toast. “What else?”
I think back. ”I remember you and TG leaving the game table and Reid taking your place. I did a lot better against him. Oh,” I lift my fork pointing it at him, “I remember when the football team showed up. Reynolds looking all smug about his three fucking touchdowns.”
“Right,” Reese says, forehead furrowed. “We were outside by then. I only knew Reynolds and McMichael were there when you came out with Nadia.”
“Yeah, she mentioned that we talked that night. I have no fucking memory of that at all.”
“So you remember those guys coming in, and then nothing else?”
I search my memory, but it’s nothing but an infuriating black hole. “Nothing. It’s just gone. Which makes a lot more sense knowing someone fucking dosed me at some point.” I take a sip of juice. “You really think it was sabotage? Who? Easton? St. Andrews? Thatcher? They’re our biggest competition right now.”
“Maybe,” he says. “There’s something I remember from the party.”
“Yeah?” I take another bite of pancake. “What’s that?”
“When you and Nadia came out you were slurring your words. I asked you then, how much you had to drink and you told me about the weed and the beers.” His jaw tightens. “You also told us that you’d had Nadia’s drink and that it tasted bad.”
“I took her drink?”
“Yep.” He sets down his fork. “You also told us you ‘saved’ Nadia from Reynolds–a conversation or something. She was hedgy about it.”
“Son of a bitch,” I swear, and my confusion turns into something hotter–anger. “He’s not supposed to talk to her.”
Or worse. Give her drug-laced drinks.
“You and I both know Reynolds or McMichael are above the rules.”
I rest my fork on my plate, my appetite gone. “So what do we do? Kick his ass? Tell Coach? Call the cops?”
“As much as I want to do all of that, we have no proof, and accusing the captain of the football team seems a little risky without it.” He sighs. “And maybe I’m off base. Maybe Coach is right. Someone took the opportunity at that party and drugged you, then called the NCAA. It’s pretty coincidental.”
Shit. He’s right.
“So do we tell her?” I ask, not wanting to be there when she hears it. Nadia’s taken a lot of hits and I don’t want to be the one that gives her another.
“I don’t think we tell her or Twy until we know something more. Let Coach submit the report for an investigation. Maybe we’ll find out it was another team, after all.” He picks up his toast. “Until then, we just keep an eye on her when we’re out.”
Although it does nothing to soothe the uneasiness in my gut, I nod in agreement. “Sure, no problem.”
I promised Nadia that I would be a safe space, and now that means something different.
If I can do one thing, it’ll be to ensure that no one is going to ever fucking hurt her again.
Over the last three-and-a-half years,I’ve learned that one of the best times to be on campus is during the soft lull around the weekend with no football or hockey games. It’s not quite dead, but people use it to take a quick trip home, or hunker down in the library to catch up on classwork. We still have practice, of course; Coach had us in the arena half the day on the ice running drills and then watching film. As a reward we hit the Badger Den to chill.
Other than the local regulars, it’s mostly guys on the team, their girlfriends, and a few puck bunnies. Oh, and Nadia. I saw her come in with Twyler, her shiny dark hair that brushes her shoulders.
The last time I saw her, she was at the gym in a cute little uniform. Even though I’d told her the truth about coming there to get away from the intensity of the arena gym, I may have made an effort to go when I could see her.
She’d looked confident there, like the weight on her shoulders had been lifted for a moment. Well, other than maybe when her project partner walked by. Not sure what’s up with that. But now she leans against a table top in a skirt that shows off her long, toned legs, and a soft looking, gray sweater with a neckline that reveals her sexy collarbones. Girls don’t always get that just seeing the little parts makes us hot–less can be more–and Nadia probably thought she was wearing something that would discourage guys from hitting on her but she’s wrong about that. While I wait at the bar, a steady stream of guys from the team approach her and give it a shot. It’s clear she’s not interested, letting them down with a soft, sympathetic smile, before going back to her phone.
It’s fucking awkward. That’s a word I definitely would have used to Twyler when she first started coming around. But Nadia? The description doesn’t fit.
“Hey,” I say to Mike behind the bar. “Give me two of those Reapers.”
His eyebrow raises at my order, but dude has been in business long enough to know better than to ask questions. Plus, I think, as he slides the black and silver cans across the bar, he’s probably just glad I’ve got my shirt on.
“Thanks,” I say, passing over a folded up bill.
As I carry the drinks over to her table, some townie–ten years too old–is leaning against the table.
“Come on now,” he says, “let me buy you a drink.”
“I’m fine,” she says, “but thanks.”
“You sure? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be sitting alone.”
“She’s not,” I say, stepping up to the table. “She’s with me.”
The guy spares me a lazy glance. “Listen, buddy, if you’ve got a girl like this, why are you leaving her all alone?”
I tilt my head. “Because she’s an independent woman and should be able to sit at a table in the bar and not have assholes not taking no for an answer.”
He straightens, doing his best to push back his shoulders, but blinks when he finally takes me in. My size, the tatts, and eventually my face. “Shit. You’re the goalie. Rakestraw, right?”
“Right.” I set the can in front of Nadia and give her a wink. “Hey, darlin’.”
I wait for her to balk, to throw the can back at me, but she smirks and replies, “Hey, baby.”
The guy looks between us, eyes growing wide. “This is your girl?” His hands go up. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t know.”
“Well, you do now.” I toss my arm over her shoulder and give her a squeeze. “So maybe give us a little room.”
“Sure, sure.” He steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Keep up the good work out there. You keep playing the way you are, you guys are gonna take it this year.”
I nod and give him a look so hard and pointed, he finally takes the hint and leaves.
“I could’ve handled that alone,” she says, popping the top on her drink with her sharp, painted nails.
“I know.” I open my own can. “But I owed you one. Remember?”
She grins and lifts the drink to study the side. “We studied Reaper and other canned water products in my marketing classes. They’re specifically for non-drinkers to have something to hold in their hands and not look out of place. It’s a six-hundred million dollar industry at this point.” She takes a sip. “Predicted to hit seven in two years.”
I taste my drink. Yep. Six dollar canned water tastes just like it does from the tap. “Maybe you should advise Cain to invest some of his rookie bonus in Reaper. Or a sponsorship. He’d be the perfect spokesperson.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I know you’re joking, but it’s probably a good idea. Reese’s jawline alone could sell sand to people living in Death Valley.”
“You’re probably right.” I laugh, and settle into the seat next to her. “Decided to stick around this weekend?”
“Yeah, it’s too far for me to go home, not with Thanksgiving in a few weeks.”
“Florida, right?”
Her eyebrow raises. “You stalking me, Rakestraw?”
“If I’m going to be your safe space I needed to do my research, which happened to lead me down the rabbit hole of your ChattySnap account to some sexy photos of you very tan on the beach.”
A small smile plays on her lips. “I miss it.”
“Being tan?”
“The beach. Well, and being tan.” She holds out her arm and pulls up her sleeve. “I’ve never been so pale in my life.”
“Yeah it was an adjustment for me too,” I admit. “Plenty of sun in Texas.”
She looks surprised. “Ah, Texas. That explains the accent and the liberal use of the word, darlin’.”
I laugh. “Busted.”
“So, how did a boy from Texas end up playing hockey instead of football?”
“Oh, I played for a while. Every red-blooded Texan boy has a helmet and pads before they hit kindergarten, but a friend introduced me to hockey when I was in middle school and I never looked back.”
“And your family was okay with that?”
“Not in the slightest,” I say, taking a big swallow of water. “But getting their approval has never been a priority for me.”
“What does your father do?” she asks.
“He’s a minister.”
“Oh wow.” Her eyes skim over my tattoos. “A Southern Texas minister whose son is a tattooed, pierced, hockey player. No wonder you moved halfway across the country to go to college.”
“You have no idea, T.” Thanksgiving week is going to suck. Thank god, I’ve got a pass to make it short and get back for the game. “I do miss the food though, like the kolaches, so that’s something to look forward to.”
“What’s a kolache?”
“Only the most amazing pastry in the world.” My mouth waters thinking about them. “Traditonally, they’re filled with fruit or cheese or something, but in typical Texas fashion someone decided to load them up with meat, like sausage and add peppers, and fuck me, they’re so good.”
“Are you getting horny talking about pastry?” she laughs, giving me the first genuine smile of the night.
“I told you this no-fuck-ups plan is killing me. I’m horny for just about anything.” I sigh dramatically and change the subject, because talking to her about it isn’t helping. “Why did you pick a college so far away?”
She shrugs. “Just looking for an adventure, I guess.”
I nod, feeling like she’s leaving something out, but who am I to judge. I sure as hell am.
“You should come to the Friendsgiving we have before break.” Her response telegraphs across her expression before she says it, but I add, “It’s just the four of us that live in the Manor, and a few other guys on the team, plus a few girls. Twy will be there and Reid’s girl. Jefferson may or may not bring anyone.” She still looks hesitant. “Come. We can keep each other honest.”
“Okay sure, it sounds fun.” She finally relents. “I’ll talk to Twy about what to b-bring.”
Her last word falters and her body tenses, eyes glued over my shoulder. I turn and see why. Brent and CJ just walked in.
“What’s he doing here?” she asks quietly, but I hear the small tremor in her voice. She’s scared and that just pisses me the fuck off. “They have an off week. Shouldn’t they be gone?”
“Hey,” I say, forcing her to swap places with me, so she’s no longer looking in his direction. “He can’t get to you. Not here. Not with me around.”
But even I know that’s a lie. Someone did try to get to her already–or at least there’s a strong possibility. I’m not buying the sabotage theory. Someone wanted to incapacitate her. Hurt her. Over her head, I see the moment he realizes Nadia is here. He lifts his chin and jabs CJ in the ribs.
She sets her can on the table. “I should go.”
“Hell no, T, this is our bar. The Badger Den is a hockey bar and you’re with us. He’s the one that can get the fuck out.”
Of course, there’s no real rule he can’t be here, but the way he’s watching the two of us makes it pretty clear he came here for a reason.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, licking my bottom lip.
To my surprise she looks up at me with those big brown eyes and says, “Yes.”
The way she looks, the way she says ‘yes’ makes my chest feel achy and weird, but there’s no time to wonder if I’m having a heart attack. I slide my hand down her back and over her curvy but firm ass and squeeze.
“Axel!” she hisses, looking around–no, looking for Twyler. “What the fu–”
Pulling her to me, I tilt her chin, and kiss the dirty word right out of her mouth.
Her lips are warm, soft, and even though there’s the slightest resistance, probably because I surprised the hell out of her, it’s short lived. Her lips part for me and I ease my tongue in, tasting her the way I’ve wanted to for weeks now–maybe longer. I’ve thought about this for a while. What kissing Nadia again would be like. If those thick, puffy lips taste as good as I remember. Fuck yeah they do, and once this is over she’ll probably knee me in the balls, so I graze my fingers over the skin just below her skirt and keep her held tight, wanting it to last. Sliding my hand from her chin to the back of her head, I go all in. Kissing her like this may be the only chance I’ll get.
Her fingers wind into the front of my shirt, drawing me closer, and I grind unabashedly against her lower belly. Hell yes, all those days of pent up–
The thought, and my body, are yanked away from her soft heat.
I shift gears in a heartbeat, ready to take on whoever–I assume that fuck-face Reynolds–and my hands clench into tight fists. When my vision clears, it’s not the football player, interrupting us, it’s Captain America himself, Reese.
“I almost punched you, asshole,” I shout, fighting against his grip.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls, both hands tight in my shirt.
I grin, cocky and assured, both at the girl standing across from me, touching her lips like she isn’t sure what just happened, and at the target of my move, Reynolds, as he grabs his friend and exits the bar.
Reese hauls me away from Nadia and the main part of the bar, pushing me down the back hall with a hard shove. “I told you to stay away from her.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Twyler is going to flip out.”
I adjust my jeans, trying to relieve the pressure of my raging hard-on. “Jesus, chill out. I wasn’t fucking around with her. I was helping her.”
“With your tongue down her throat and your hand up her skirt?”
“Yeah, dumbass.” I take a deep breath, still caught up in the sensation of her teeth dragging over my lip. “Because Reynolds and McMichael came into the bar and I could see the wheels spinning in their TBI rattled skulls. I did what I needed to. I protected her in the only way that matters to neanderthals like them.”
I staked a claim.
Reese sighs, and leans against the brown paneled wall. “Are you sure that’s all?”
“Dude, yes. You should have seen her when they came in. She was scared.” I feel that anger rising again. “So until we find out who spiked that drink, we need to keep her safe–and that’s exactly what I was doing. That was all I was doing.”
“Okay,” he nods, “I believe you.”
Thank god he does, I think, as he holds out his hand and I take it, because the way that kiss left me reeling, I wouldn’t trust a word coming out of my mouth.