Shut Out (12 page)

“What was your favorite hockey team?”

“Well, when I was little it was the Kamloops Blazers.” He grins. “I thought those guys were amazing. They seemed like big men to me when I was six. But they're just teenagers.”

“Did you play for that team when you got older?”

“No, I ended up getting drafted by Saskatoon. When I was older, the Vancouver Canucks were my favorite team.”

I listen and I can see the passion on his face and I'm struck by how down to earth his story is.

“And obviously you want to be a professional hockey player.”

“Yeah.” He drops his gaze to the plate in front of him. “I do.”

“Is playing here the way to get that? How does that happen?” I shake my head. “I probably sound like an idiot. I don't know anything about professional sports.”

“All the NHL teams have scouts. They travel around watching junior hockey in Canada, NCAA hockey here. They travel to Europe to scout players there. They report back to their teams about players who look good. Then I enter the draft. That's held every year in June.”

“Do you have to enter the draft? Or they pick you?”

“You enter. Players who are eighteen by September fifteenth and not older than twenty by December thirty-first are eligible.” I remember him telling me he's going to be twenty soon. Shadows darken his eyes and he looks away briefly. “But you have to be scouted, obviously, to get chosen in the draft.”

“Wow. That sounds stressful.”

“Yeah. It's exciting, but it would be a nightmare to sit there hoping to get drafted and not hearing your name, round after round.”

“Realistically…” I hesitate to ask. “You'll get drafted?”

He meets my eyes. I wait for some kind of cocky comeback, but instead I see vulnerability. His shoulders hunch, then relax. “Realistically, yeah. I should get drafted.”

I feel like he's not telling me something, but for some reason I don't want to push. I get the sense this is something so important to him that he's terrified he won't achieve it. And yet again, I don't know why, because he's obviously a talented player. Not that I'm as good a judge as an NHL scout, since I just went to my first ever hockey game last week.

He picks up his phone and glances at it. “I better go. I have a class.”

“You're taking a night class?”

“Yeah. Wednesday nights. Fitting all my courses into the day is tough, since we practice four days a week and sometimes travel on Fridays.”

I walk out with him. “When's your first away game?”

“Not for a few weeks. Our season starts out mostly at home.”

“Cool.”

We pause on the sidewalk. It's dark now, and the air has chilled, the crisp autumn nip scented with turning foliage. I shift from one foot to the other and peer at the sidewalk. I feel like we should kiss, but that might be weird. I'm his fake girlfriend, but we just sat and talked non-stop for over an hour. And the other day we engaged in a little mutual masturbation.

Our eyes meet. My skin heats and tingles everywhere.

“Thanks for listening to me blabber on about hockey.”

“You don't have to thank me. I wanted to know more about it.”
About you.

“We have another game on Friday night. It's the first game of the regular season. Will you come again?”

I want to. “I'll see if I can find someone to come with me.” Ella will probably agree. Maybe I should see if Natalie and Brooklyn want to come too.

“Okay.” He leans down and kisses my cheek, which is sweet and hot. My girl parts squeeze, wanting more.

I watch him walk away, his long legs taking big strides, moving with perfect athletic male grace, his shoulders wide and strong. So I guess we just had our first fight in our fake relationship, and we didn't even get to have make-up sex.

Maybe that would happen this weekend. I remember how turned on I got watching him play hockey. If that happens again, I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from jumping him.

Before every game, I get nervous.

Last summer, there were two NHL players at the camp I went to and I talked to them about it. They said they still get nervous before every game too. So I guess it'll never go away.

There was a sports psychologist at the camp too. We talked about pre-game jitters and why we have them, one reason possibly being because during an actual game we have an audience, and also possibly because we have such high expectations of success. We learned about self-talk and how the things we're thinking can ramp up the tension even more. Like, if we're doubting ourselves or afraid of failing. He told us to accept the nervous energy rather than fight it, because it's normal, and we learned strategies to deal with it, like making sure to arrive early for a game so there's lots of time to get ready, and doing some visualization. During the game, the trick is to focus on the moment and what's happening right then, not on the mistake you just made and not on the outcome of the game. Just that moment.

Right now, I have the puck on my stick behind our own net. I look up the ice. Way up the ice. Buck is 120 feet away just outside the other blue line, but it's a clear passing lane. I slam the puck toward him from behind the net and he catches the long pass perfectly, already moving, and crosses the blue line all alone. One of the Bulldogs is trying to catch him, but he can't, and Buck pops the puck into the net over the goalie's left shoulder.

Fuck yeah!

The crowd roars, Buck's hands go in the air and he and Franco hug. I grin as I join them in the celebration.

That makes the score two nothing late in the third period, and I've assisted on both goals.

I sit on the bench, still smiling, and Buck pats my helmet. I pick up a water bottle and squirt some into my mouth, then spit it out.

The puck drops at center ice and I watch Jimmy win the face-off, then lose the puck to the Bulldogs. They get a chance on net that Alfie stops, but the rebound comes out. Fear bolts through me and there's a scramble for the loose puck, but Jimmy gets it and the play moves to the other end. Then we're changing and I'm back out there. I glance at the clock as I barrel over the boards and join the play. Barks has the puck behind our net to give us time to change lines. He passes it to Franco, who passes it to me, and we start off up the ice toward the Bulldogs' net. I get some speed, the puck on my stick, aware of Buck and Franco with me as this becomes a three on two. I thread through the two Bulldogs D-men, assessing the shooting lane, assessing the angles. There's no lane, I'm too far now to shoot the puck, but Franco is right there, in front of the net, so I throw it to him. He catches it and buries the puck in the net behind the goalie. The red light goes on, the horn blares, and the crowd cheers as Franco skates at me and throws his arms around me.

“Yeah!” he yells. “Nice pass!”

We skate by the bench and bump gloves with the other guys. Only a minute left in the game and I think it's safe to say we've got this one. We watch Jimmy kill time with the puck as the clock runs down and then the horn sounds to end the game. We all pile over the boards and skate down to Alfie, our goalie, to congratulate him on the win. Not only a win, a shutout.

It's our third game of the season and we've won them all.

In the dressing room, music is pumping, and the mood is jubilant. Coach actually cracks a smile. I pull off my jersey and shoulder pads in front of my cubby.

“How do you find those plays, man?” Franco asks me, shaking his head.

I shrug.

“You two were skating circles around their D all night,” Buck says. “Fucking A.”

It's hard to describe the feeling inside me, the relief and joy and satisfaction that mingles. This team is good. The Bulldogs were good too. Notwithstanding the score, they tested us. I was worried about what it was going to be like playing college hockey, afraid it wouldn't be a challenge for me, but it is, and it's a challenge I'm up for.

I let out a long breath as I walk naked to the shower, still buzzing with victory, and in more ways than one. Because not only do I have to win against the other team, I have to win over my teammates.

I think it's happening.

After I shower and dress, I grab my phone to text Skylar, who was at the game. She's come to all my home games. A bunch of the guys are going to Curly's, a bar off campus. I hesitate about joining them. They tell me I don't need an ID because they serve hockey players there without asking for ID, but I'm not sure if Skylar will want to come. I want to celebrate, but I don't want to get in trouble.

Sure we'll come.

She and Ella were at the game together. That's cool.

We arrange to meet at the bar, since I want to go home and change. Bayard upholds the tradition of dressing in suits on game day, but we don't want to go out after in suits. Before I can get out of the arena though, I have to talk to a guy who writes a blog for the campus website, and a couple reporters from the local newspaper about my three assists.

As usual, I talk about the team and how playing with these guys makes it easy, and we're just going to get better.

Finally, I walk into Curly's and Skylar's already there, sitting with Ella at a table near the bar, along with Rocket and Soupy. I grab another chair and join them, sliding in close to Skylar. She smiles at me—a wide, bright smile. Apparently she feels as good as I do. I like that.

“Hi, babe.” I lay my arm along the back of her chair

“Hi. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Three assists.”

“Yep.”

Our eyes meet and it's a heated connection.

A waitress approaches and I order a beer. I notice Skylar's drinking some kind of pink cocktail. I lean in closer and ask in a low voice, “You get carded?”

“Yep. I have ID.”

“Huh.”

She winks at me.

I nuzzle her hair. She smells delicious. “I don't want to stay long. Okay with you?”

“Sure.”

The buzz inside me feels like arousal and I'm getting that vibe from Skylar again too.

We hang out for a while. The bar gets busier and noisier. I finish my beer and as I set the empty bottle on the table, I glance at Skylar. “You ready to go?”

“Sure.” She turns to find Ella, who's standing talking to a couple of the other guys. “Let me go tell Ella we're leaving.”

I rise and slap Rocket and Soupy on the shoulders. “Later, guys.”

Skylar returns and I set my hand on the small of her back as we walk out. “I parked around the corner,” I tell her.

I breathe in the cool, crisp night air, with its faint scent of smoke.

“I think I'm starting to like hockey,” Skylar shares.

I laugh and hook my arm around her neck. “It was only a matter of time.”

I drive to her place, hoping like hell she's going to invite me in. Which makes no sense at all, because she's done her fake girlfriend duty for the night. She's been doing her fake girlfriend duty for a few weeks now, and the truth is, it doesn't feel very fake anymore.

When I pull up in front of her house, she looks at me. “Would you like to come in?”

I don't even hesitate. “Yeah.”

We walk into the living room. I take off my jacket and lay it over the back of a chair, then sprawl on the couch.

“Would you like another beer? I think we have some.”

I push out my lips. “Got any Kool-Aid?”

She smiles. “Yeah. Grape.”

“I'll have some of that.”

She bites her lip and rushes off to get it. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV. Maybe we can watch a movie. And make out.

She brings back two glasses and curls up beside me. “Looking for something to watch?”

“Maybe a movie?”

“Sure. What do you like?” She shoots me a glance. “Action? Comedy? Porn?”

I choke on my Kool-Aid.

She laughs. “Kidding. Sort of.”

“You don't watch porn.”

She frowns. “Why would you say that?”

“You're too sweet and innocent.”

She snorts. “Right.”

I eye her. “You really watch porn?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Uh…”

She grins. “You have to find the right stuff. There's female-friendly porn that's really sexy.”

Mind. Blown.

“And I'm not that innocent. If I was, you really debauched me that night, right here on this couch.”

Since then, we've been spending time together but we've been trying to keep our hands off each other. It's fucking killing me. “Debauched? Did you really just use that word?”

“What's wrong with that word?” She gets a teasing glint in her beautiful eyes. “You know what it means, right?”

“I know what it means. I can't spell it, but I know what it means.” She laughs again. I like making her laugh. “Did I debauch you?”

“No.” She leans over and rubs her nose against mine. “I think I already told you, I'm not a virgin.”

“Right.”

“This might sound weird…or maybe not…maybe you've heard this a hundred times…but watching you play hockey turns me on.”

My eyes fly open wide. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

That chemistry is sizzling between us again, making my dick thicken and my blood run hot.

“Well, that works out pretty well, then, eh?”

Her lips quirk. “How so, eh?”

I shake my head but I'm smiling. “It works out well because after a game, I love to fuck.”

Her eyes go heavy-lidded. “That does work out well.”

I slide a hand around the back of her neck and pull her closer. Our noses touch and our eyes meet. Then I tilt my head, close my eyes, and open my mouth on hers.

She's warm and sweet like grape Kool-Aid as my tongue slides into her mouth. She makes a hungry little noise and shifts closer to me, one hand on my shoulder. Heat pulses in my veins and my balls.

My hand plays in her hair, dragging down the silky waves, tangling in it and tugging. She whimpers little sounds of pleasure into my mouth and I bring her body closer still so we're pressed together. Then she climbs onto me, straddling my lap, our mouths still joined. She cups my jaw and rubs her tits across my chest. Heat zaps straight to my dick.

Making little pleasure noises, she bites my bottom lip softly, then licks it, then kisses me again. My hands cup her ass in her tight jeans, bringing her right against my aching dick.

“Jesus, baby,” I gasp, pushing my hips up against her. “You are so fucking hot.”

“I am.” She kisses my chin. “I'm hot for you, Flash.”

Fuck, I love that.

“You're not a flash in bed though, are you?” She drags her tongue along my jaw. “Like, over fast?”

I groan. “I'd like to say no, but fuck, I might not even make it to a bed. Feel this.” I press up into her again. “See what you do to me.”

“Mmm. I like it.”

“Let's take this upstairs.”

“Yeah.”

I stand, still holding her ass. She weighs like a buck twenty or something, and I'm trying to bench-press my own weight so she's nothing. She holds on to me with her arms and legs, and I climb the stairs.

“Impressive strength, hockey boy.”

I smile. “This is easy. You're a feather.”

“Ah.” She kisses my cheek. “Compliments like that'll get you lucky.”

“Good to know. Which is your room?”

“Second on the left.”

We pass by another bedroom, the door open, the room dark, and a bathroom, then I push into her room. I carry her to the bed and lower her feet to the floor, then reach over to the lamp on the table beside the bed. It's a funky-shaped lamp with a tripodlike base and I can't fucking figure out how to turn it on.

With a soft laugh, Skylar turns and flicks a switch.

“Thank you.” I roll my eyes at myself, reaching for her hips. I pull her ass back against me and move her hair aside so I can kiss the back of her neck. Her body vibrates and I close my eyes and breathe in her scent. It reminds me of apples and vanilla and flowers, totally feminine and warm. “I love how you smell.”

“Thank you. I've thought the same about you.”

“That's a good thing, eh?”

Crap, every time I say that now I'm aware of it. Ah well. But I sense her amusement.

“Yeah, I'd say it's a good thing. If I thought you stunk, this wouldn't be nearly as much fun.”

“You should smell me right after a game. There's nothing worse than the stench of sweaty hockey equipment.”

“Hmm. I appreciate you showering, then.”

I pull her hoodie up and over her head to find that she's wearing a cotton tank top beneath it. Fantastic. I open my mouth on her bare shoulder and gently suck. Her hair gathered up in one hand, I lick my way back to her neck. Her head tilts to give me access and she shivers as I pull her soft skin into my mouth. So soft. So sweet.

Her hand comes up to the back of my head, fingers sliding in my hair. I slip one hand over her hip, up over her flat stomach, and then I cup a breast. Her softness fills my hand and I gently squeeze, my dick throbbing even more. Her tits are perfect, the perfect size, the perfect shape, and I can't wait to taste. Her pointy nipples are poking right through her thin bra and the cotton tank top. My fingertips tug the low neckline of the top down, along with the cup of her bra, and I look over her shoulder at pink perfection. A groan climbs in my chest.

I tug her nipple between my fingers and she makes more soft arousal sounds that I love. I kiss the side of her neck, fondle her tit again, squeezing softly, then plucking at the nipple. I can't wait any longer—I have to taste. So I pull her tank top up and over her head, unfasten her bra and toss it aside, then turn her in front of me so I can lean down and suck on her.

Excitement pounds through me, heat racing through my veins. I draw the tight nub between my lips and pull on it. Her fingers are still in my hair and she's trembling so hard I'm afraid she's going to fall. So I lift her onto the bed and join her. She supports herself with her hands planted into the mattress behind her, her back arched to give me full access to those beauties. But first I kiss her mouth, our tongues sliding together in a long, hot kiss.