31. Stupid Fucking Sleepover
STUPID FUCKING SLEEPOVER
PARKER
This is quite possibly the worst game to win, sweeping by with a seven-point lead. If Vandy scores one more goal, it’ll be his second hat trick of the night.
As much as I’d love to just say no to this stupid fucking sleepover so I can spend the night alone in my own hotel room on the phone with the only person I am actually in the mood to talk to, it would be shitty of me to deny the guys something they’ve been riding my dick for all season.
I haven’t kept the bench warm this much since my first two or three seasons playing.
Now more than ever, I feel like I’m being given ample amounts of signs that retiring at the end of the season will be the best decision moving forward.
Especially with Anders finishing up school right around the same time.
It feels like things are finally looking a little brighter.
“Can you stop with the attitude?” Malloy scoffs next to me with a disturbed look on his face. “It’s like you’re this…” he makes a swirling motion with his fingers, scrunching his nose. “You’re just bad vibes tonight, man. Like this is the last place you wanna be.”
“It is,” I mutter dryly, picking at the tape on my stick that’s started to unravel. “And I’m too old to be sleeping with four grown men in a hotel room after a back-to-back, so don’t count on that slumber party tonight.”
I can’t even sit and enjoy watching my teammates out there. They all glide across the ice with ease, weaving in and out of our opponents like threading a needle. Their genuine excitement can be felt from one end of the rink to another—not as contagious as I wish it could be.
That used to be me out there. Living for the game and loving every second of it.
Hockey was the only thing that mattered back then, but I can’t imagine my future out there in skates and gear anymore.
The lively buzzing of the crowd isn’t as musical as it used to be; it’s just noise now.
Loud, obnoxious noise that makes my head hurt if I don’t actively try and tune it out.
“You may be old and cranky, but that doesn’t mean it’s fine to be stinking up the bench with that negative aura,” Malloy mutters, giving me a nasty side-eye.
“Then play better so you won’t have to be sitting here with my negative aura…” I chirp.
“I’m fucking injured!” he argues, waving me away with his good hand.
His city accent slips out when he gets upset, which makes it impossible to take the kid seriously.
I just look at him and laugh, shaking my head and biting back a grin like a complete asshole.
He took a hard hit to the shoulder earlier, but was cleared to come back out.
Unfortunately for him, Coach is in Mama Bear mode.
“Fucking Matty and her pregnancy hormones. I’ve already got one ma’ at home, and I sure as hell don’t need another. ”
“Watch it,” I warn. “Those pregnancy hormones give her bat-like hearing.”
“Yeah, but we’re talkin’ ‘bout the chick who won the Walter Cup with a broken ankle and half her teeth knocked out. It’s a fuckin’ dislocated shoulder and she’s acting like I’m bleeding from the fuckin’ head.”
“Having a busted shoulder makes you skate lopsided,” I joke. “You’re sparing us the embarrassment.”
“Oh, fuck off, Cap,” he scoffs again. “Just remember we’re one goal away from me smothering you in your sleep with a pillow.”
“Well, then at least I wouldn’t have to sit here and listen to you harping on me for negative auras and pregnancy hormones when it’s your fault for skating like you play for fucking Buffalo.”
“Touché,” Malloy snorts, cracking a smirk. “Fuckin’ Buffalo…”
Three hours later, I’m being crammed in between two hotel room beds on a creaky, old roll-out cot that probably has a spring poking out if I search hard enough for it.
In my own damn hotel room.
Malloy occupies the bed to my left, while Vandy and Rogers are sharing the other. We’re only about ten minutes into Shrek when my phone starts buzzing.
“Be right back,” I announce, sliding off the bed and stepping into some slippers. I answer the phone as soon as the room door shuts behind me. “Hey, sweetheart,” I say into the phone, smiling to myself. “I miss you—”
“You’re having a sleepover?” Anders laughs, sounding like he’s dying of laughter on the other end.
“How do you know?” I chuckle.
“Got the inside scoop from Malloy. He’s made, like, three TikToks about it.”
“Christ,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ve only been in there twenty minutes.”
“You can’t get out of it?” Anders pouts. “I thought we were gonna have nasty phone sex before you went to bed.”
“I’m sorry,” I frown, letting out a deep sigh. “Could you settle for nasty real sex tomorrow night when I get home?”
“I guess,” Anders sighs dramatically. I can hear him shifting around on the bed.
“Who’s bed are you in right now?” I ask him.
“Mine. Why?”
“Wrong answer. Mine’s bigger.”
Anders chuckles softly. “Is this part of one of your pervy fantasies?”
The image of him sleeping peacefully in my arms flashes through my mind, making something warm settle deep in my heart.
He’s always so content when he’s sleeping.
Perfect. All I want to do is run my fingers through his soft hair and kiss the top of his head.
I want to feel his heart beating and listen to the faint sleeping noises he makes when he’s more tired than usual.
“Yeah,” I lie. I scan the hallway and make sure I’m alone, walking a few doors down so none of the guys can hear me.
“I want your pretty little self rolled up in my sheets with nothing on,” I tell him quietly.
“Actually—” My mouth curls into a smirk when I bite down on my bottom lip.
“A black thong, my jersey, and some long, white socks that are all bunched around your ankles.”
“Is the jersey clean or dirty?” he jokes.
“It’s a special one you only wear in the house,” I mutter. “So it could go either way, I guess.”
“Of course,” Anders chuckles. “And you’re gonna say that to me and still choose Shrek with the boys over having phone sex with your special little boy?” he scoffs. “Do you hate me, Daddy?”
“Fuck.” I feel myself grow stiff between my legs. If this keeps going, I’m not gonna make it.
“Don’t make me feel bad,” I whine. “Tomorrow, angel. I’m gonna make it up to you with lots and lots of sex.”
“Promise?” he asks me softly. I can imagine him with the widest shit-eating grin on his face right now. “I’ve been so lonely without my man at home.”
His man. I’m his man. My heart beats a little too fast to process hearing those words. My body’s temperature hikes up a few degrees past the point of being comfortable. I’m dangerously close to needing an ice-cold shower. “My God, I miss you. I keep reaching for you in my sleep.”
“Do you?” Anders asks in a low, shaky voice. “You miss me?”
“So badly,” I whisper, unable to trust myself. “So fucking badly.”
He’s silent for a minute, but I can still hear his soft breaths. When I hear him shuffle around on the bed again, I hold my breath.
“I’m in your bed now,” he murmurs. “In just my briefs. No socks.”
Fuck.
“What color?”
“They’re white. I’m really fucking hard, so they feel extra tight.”
Holy fuck.
“Behave until I get home,” I warn him calmly. “Don’t start something I can’t finish from three states away.”
“Okay, Park,” he whispers sweetly. “I won’t.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Now I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing you’re at home in my bed.”
“Come home,” he murmurs with genuine need in his voice. “I can help you sleep.”
“Mhm…you’re making this impossible,” I breathe. I turn my head around and do another scan of the hallway just to be on the safe side. “Christ, I miss you.”
“Well,” he sighs disappointingly. “Have fun holding your breath while you’re watching Shrek. I’ll just be laying in bed…all alone in my tiny briefs. Might even throw a pair of socks on.” He laughs to himself, lowering his voice a moment later. “Come home, Petchka. I’m here waiting for you.”
My chest expands, a small moment of panic lurching through me. “Tomorrow,” I tell him insistently. “I’m coming home as soon as possible, angel. Promise me you’ll stay put.”
“I’m not leaving, Pet’ka,” he tells me in a softer voice. “You’ll just have to come home and see for yourself.”
“Tvoyemu obayaniyu nevozmozhno protivostoyat,” I murmur to him. “Absolutely irresistible.”