Lighting the Lamp (Chicago Velocity Book 1)

by Abby Burch

  Morgan sits back into the couch. “That's crazy, and pretty cool. I mean, what are the chances of finding your possible future spouse at a bar?”

  “I wouldn't go that far yet,” I say. I would never admit to her that the word spouse sent a chill down my spine.

  “Regardless,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It gives me hope that I'll meet someone someday.”

  “Aw, you will,” I touch her shoulder softly.

  “Yeah, well, if my super overprotective brother would lay off, that would probably help.” She rolls her eyes. “At least he cares about me, I guess, but I wish he'd show it in a different way.”

  A bunch of the players finally emerge from the doorway at the end of the room, freshly showered and dressed in their suits and ties, Ryan included. I stand up as he comes over to me, a huge smile on both of our faces.

  I'm not sure what he's going to do when he reaches me, but I'm pleasantly surprised when he wraps his arms around me and lifts me to his level before sealing his mouth over mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, sinking into the kiss but still aware that we're surrounded by his new teammates and their families. Thankfully he's aware too and we break apart, smiling.

  “Lets get out of here,” he growls into my ear. Instantly, my skin is covered in goosebumps and I feel the heat of need between my legs. This man's voice does wonders to me.

  I say goodbye to Morgan and Theresa, and Ryan nearly drags me to the exit doors without any hesitation.

  17. Ryan

  I had a great first game with my new team. I'm still learning my new teammates skills, strengths, and quirks, but Coach has had me on a line with Nils all week, and that guy and I connect really well. I'm stoked that I got an assist on a great feed to him tonight. He's so fast, and combined with my puck-handling skills, I think we can make a good pair for the Velocity going forward.

  Yeah, I didn't get a ton of ice time tonight, but I also didn't expect to. At least I made the most of what I did get.

  Take that, Ryan-from-last-season. I'm a new man on a new team now. Maybe a fresh start is just what I needed.

  Seeing Brenna in the stands, cheering me on, wearing the jersey I got for her, was so indescribable in the best way. I get to see her be beautiful and smart and sexy all the time, especially when she talks about her job, but this was the first time she got to see me do what I do best.

  I won't ever get to have the opportunity to see my brother or mom in the stands. My dad hasn't come to a game since before Sam died. So at this point, I just appreciate my fans, and live vicariously through my teammates who don't have fucked up pasts like I do.

  But I swear to god, I played even better just by knowing that Brenna was there at the game. It was hard not to just stare at her in the stands, or revel in her looking around the arena in awe and wonderment. Her innocence, naivete, and sheer interest in what I do is addicting. Sharing this part of myself with someone I care about... there's nothing like it. I find myself wanting her to be at every game I play.

  “Take off your pants, but leave the jersey on,” I command her after we get back to my house, my voice huskier than normal. I toss my suit jacket onto the back of the couch in the living room. “I'll meet you in the bedroom.” I kiss the tip of her nose, and, as she turns to head to the bedroom, I swat her ass. She gasps and sticks her tongue out at me as she rounds the corner.

  I head into the kitchen and grab a sports drink out of the fridge. I'm going to need the extra electrolytes tonight. I down half of it while leaning against the island, taking a moment to relax. Except for my cock, that is, which is already straining against the zipper of my suit pants.

  Something about this girl fires me up like no other.

  I unbutton my suit pants and hastily pull them off, tossing them onto the countertop, followed by my socks. I loosened my tie in the car, so I easily undo it, pull it from my collar and throw it on top of the pants. The buttons on my shirt are next to be undone, and it, as well as the white t-shirt underneath, top off the pile.

  Clad in nothing but my black boxer-briefs, I walk into the bedroom, and am greeted with the wonderful sight of Brenna wearing only the jersey, just like I requested of her. It barely skims the tops of her thighs, hardly covering her ass at all. Her smooth legs are a mile long coming out from under the red material.

  She walks over to me, slowly, seductively. It's a side of Brenna I haven't seen before, but I'm loving it. Once she's standing in front of me, her smoldering eyes lock with mine, and she slowly sinks before me to her knees.

  The little bit of blood that was still in my head rushes to my dick at breakneck speed. I had a different plan for this evening's activities, but instead her sudden confidence and power have me instantly filled with the overwhelming need for her lips to be on my cock.

  Her hands glide up the backs of my legs, squeezing my ass before moving upward and gripping the waistband of my boxer-briefs. She begins to remove them, tantalizing in the way she glides the fabric over my stiff cock and down my thighs. Her nails lightly scratch my skin as they go, rocketing shudders of desire through me.

  As she wraps a hand around the shaft of my dick, I moan her name.

  When she takes the head of it into her wet mouth, I almost lose it right then and there.

  I need to get it together. I'm not fifteen and getting a blowy for the first damn time.

  She flicks her tongue over the sensitive head, tracing the grooves and edges. One hand cups my balls, and she rolls them around in her palm, her other hand gripping the side of my thigh, nails digging in.

  Slowly, she takes more of me into her mouth, teasing me as I watch myself glide in and out from between her luscious lips. I ball my left hand into a fist and bring it to my mouth, biting down on my fingers to keep from careening over the edge too soon.

  She starts to hum while she licks and sucks, shooting electric waves of pleasure to every extremity on me. Still biting my left hand, I grab the back of her head with my right, fisting her hair as my hips and her mouth move in rhythm.

  Brenna looks up at me, with heavy-lidded, chocolate eyes, her mouth stretched over my throbbing cock, her long, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, and the thought crosses my mind for the first time:

  I could fall in love with this woman.

  I let go, and the orgasm takes me. I'm soaring through the sky on fiery wings of pleasure as I empty myself inside her mouth. This is without a doubt one of the best orgasms I've ever had. Brenna holds on through the whole thing, draining every last pulse from me before rocking back on her heels and swallowing with a small shudder.

  “Oh man, you didn't have to do that,” I tell her, running a hand through my hair.

  She smiles at me. “I wanted to. It's really not that bad. Any girl that says it is, is lying to you.”

  Groaning, I lean down and kiss her roughly. “You're the coolest girl ever, you know that?” Her grin is contagious. I offer her my hand and pull her to her feet and into my arms. I'm sweaty as fuck, but she doesn't seem to care.

  “Congratulations on your first game as part of the Chicago Velocity,” she says, pulling the jersey over her head. Suddenly, I'm finding myself ready for round two.

  18. Brenna

  Carly had been dropping hints for days, but she eventually starts begging me to let her meet Ryan after his game on Tuesday.

  Come on Bren! Bring him to the house for dinner with me and John! I promise I'll behave :)

  Ryan snatches my phone out of my hand and reads the message before I can grab it back.

  “Carly promises she'll behave, eh?” he says, his Canadian accent sneaking out along with a smirk. “You aren't ashamed to bring me around your friends, are you?”

  “More like I'm afraid to bring my friends around you,” I quip, making another attempt to grab my phone back from him. Of course, he easily dodges. I sigh at him. “Do you want to have dinner with Carly and John?”

  Ryan kisses the tip of my nose and hands my phone back to me. “Only if you want to.”r />
  I stare at the screen, contemplating for a moment and planning around Ryan's preseason schedule. He has his first away game on Friday night, and a home game on Monday. I type back Okay, you win. We will see you Sunday at 6. No funny business!

  Ryan pulls up in front of the house at 6pm sharp and puts the car in park. He hurries around the car, shutting the door of his Audi behind me. I still can't get over all the tiny gestures he does for me. Either he's well-versed in wooing women, or he is genuinely a nice guy. I'm finding myself really hoping it's the latter of the two that is true.

  Carly opens the door before we even reach the steps, wearing a giant smile and her bright pink apron. “You must be Ryan!” she squeals, reaching out to Ryan and pulling him into a hug.

  “And you must be Carly,” he laughs somewhat uncomfortably, lightly patting her shoulders in the saddest excuse for hugging her back. He shoots me a questioning smile.

  “Sorry, I should have warned you,” I say quickly. “Carly is a hugger.”

  Carly finally releases Ryan and motions us inside. “Come in, come in. John is pulling the lasagna out of the oven.”

  I follow Carly and Ryan in through the front door and the wonderful aroma of pasta and garlic bread teases my nose. John comes out of our tiny kitchen, pulling off an oven mitt to shake Ryan's hand.

  John is tall and lean, and handsome in his own right, but he looks boyish next to Ryan's broad shoulders and rugged features. I take a moment, standing back and admiring Ryan as he talks with John. He looks absolutely stunning in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off a portion of the tattoos that wrap around his arms all the way from the top of his shoulders to the backs of his hands. His dark jeans fit him perfectly, highlighting his wonderfully sculpted ass. Ryan's hair is styled in his trademark mess; his beard expertly tamed in contrast. His smile is the best part of all, though: It makes our tiny, dingy home feel bright and airy.

  I can't believe I get to call this man my boyfriend.

  “Holy. Shit,” Carly whispers next to me. “He's even more gorgeous in person.”

  “I know,” I say softly. “I'm still in shock.”

  Carly wraps her arms around me and says, almost so quietly that I almost miss it, “I can't wait to hear all about the crazy hot sex you've been having with him.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” John calls over to us. My cheeks are burning and Carly just laughs.

  “Come on, let's get you a drink,” Carly says, linking her arm through mine and pulling me around the guys and into the kitchen. She reaches into the back cabinet and pulls out the bottle of expensive sparkling wine we went halfsies on and have been saving for two years for 'a special occasion'. When I start to protest, she cuts me off with, “We're celebrating, Bren. I can't think of a better occasion than this.”

  “We didn't even crack it open when you got engaged!” I balk.

  Carly ignores me and pops the cork over the sink, some of the foam spilling over the lip of the bottle. She smiles at me. “No, we didn't. So let's celebrate both occasions together! My engagement, and your new relationship.”

  I reach into the cabinet for four glasses. Our glassware, like nearly everything else in the entire house, is mismatched and came from a secondhand store. I feel my hands shaking slightly as I set the glasses on the Formica countertop.

  John slides in next to her in the cramped kitchen to grab a spatula for the lasagna, which means I have to slide out of the kitchen so he can get in there. I walk around the tiny table we have set up dividing the kitchen from the living room and find Ryan staring at the photos we have hung on the walls.

  Most of the photos around the house are Carly's. She has a huge collage frame up with probably close to 30 different photos in it of all kinds of important events in her life - there's ones of her as a kid with her two brothers and one sister, ones of her playing softball in middle and high school, receiving awards in high school, graduating college, and photos of her hanging out with tons of friends, some of whom I know and some I don't. Then she has another collage frame filled with photos of just her and John which is nauseatingly cute and such a Carly thing to have.

  Then there's my photos. I have two frames. One is a photo of Carly and I on campus shortly after we met. We're both sitting on a bench and laughing at something Carly had said. The other frame holds a photo of me and my Dad, from when I was only 6 or 7 years old. It's from before everything got all fucked up, which is the only reason I keep it on display.

  Ryan admires our decor, and I fidget, anxious over what he is thinking. Is he surprised at how tiny and run-down our house is? Are he and John hitting it off? Is Carly going to be too much for him to handle?

  "Not very many photos of you up here," he murmurs, quiet enough that Carly and John won't hear.

  "No need," I sigh. "No friends and no family, so nothing to hang up."

  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and slides over to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. "You have me," Ryan says with a smile. "We will just have to take some photos for you to hang up." He holds his phone away from us and snaps a photo. He's smiling at the camera, eyes bright and 1000 watt smile at full strength. I look disheveled and plain next to him, but he seems to think that the photo looks good because he immediately texts it to me.

  "Time for a toast!" Carly yells, thrusting one of the glasses of sparkling wine into my hand. John calmly hands one to Ryan.

  "What are we toasting to?" Ryan asks Carly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  "To Bren finally getting a boyfriend and getting out of the house for a change!" she shouts. I groan audibly, my discomfort at this whole situation evolving to irritation. "And to John and I getting engaged."

  "Cheers!" We all tink our glasses together in the middle of the living room. As Ryan tips his glass back, his eyes are locked on me.

  19. Ryan

  John's lasagna is incredible. I know I'm going to regret it tomorrow, but it's still preseason. Fuck my diet for one night.

  "This is fantastic, John," I gush over my third piece.

  "Thanks, man," John says and takes a drink from his glass. "I think I may have missed my calling in the culinary field."

  Carly places her hand on John's and runs her thumb over his. "That's okay, baby. I get your cooking all to myself." Carly grins. "Well, okay, I guess I'm forced to share your cooking with Bren for a little while longer."

  The room is uncomfortably quiet until Brenna clears her throat. She's focused straight down at her plate, lips pursed and flush creeping into her cheeks. Carly is oblivious to this fact. Sensing the awkwardness, John stands to clear away plates, making as much noise as possible.

  I place my hand on Brenna's shoulder. "Are you ready to leave soon?" I ask her gently. She nods, avoiding my eyes. I know I need to expedite our exit because she's upset. She's been on edge all night anyway, probably just from being nervous about letting me into her home and her life, but now she's visibly upset. I help John clear the table while Carly flits around the kitchen, packing up leftovers and humming a pop tune.

  With a firm handshake, I thank John for the excellent meal and bid him farewell. Brenna waves goodbye to her friends from the doorway and rushes out into the evening. I quickly follow after her.

  She's waiting by the car, squinting against the sun hanging low in the sky. It reflects off the metal and glass, amplified by each surface.

  I'd like to think it's the sunlight causing tears to form in her eyes, but I read her too well. We're barely buckled into the car before I turn and say to her, "Talk to me, Brenna."

  A tear trickles down her cheek. She sucks in a shaky breath. "Carly just has no clue sometimes."

  I pull away from the curb and start toward home. "What do you mean?"

  "She's 'forced' to share John's cooking with me?" Brenna says angrily, staring out the window. She scoffs. "What a rude thing to say about your best friend."

  "Maybe she meant it as a joke?" I offer.

  "Carly tr
ies to 'joke' sometimes, but when she does, she's really saying exactly how she feels about something." Brenna is quiet for a moment as I pull onto the freeway. The tears have stopped. "She says it's fine that we live together and all that, but then she makes jabs that she and John have no privacy, and that she feels bad that she'll be getting married and moving out and I'll be all alone in a place we can hardly afford together, let alone by myself."

  I'm quiet for a minute, processing what she's said. "I'm sure she has your best interests at heart, but it sounds like she's a little rough around the edges with showing that love and care to you."

  "Maybe," Brenna says softly. "Or maybe we really are too different."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that we are polar opposites. She's outgoing and beautiful and has a thousand friends and a super supportive family, and I am just me. No friends, zero family, broke as a joke, plain as hell, boring Brenna."

  "You know that isn't true, Brenna." I look at her and smile quickly before focusing back on the road. "You're beautiful and spunky and you're MY friend. My more-than-friend. My girlfriend."

  She glances at me, finally. "I don't understand what you see in me. Or what anyone sees in me."

  I feel an ache in my chest. I wish so badly that I wasn't on the fucking Dan Ryan Expressway and could hold her in my arms right now. "Brenna. I promise I will show you everything I see in you. I'll help you to see it in yourself. I promise." I hold her slender hand in mine the rest of the way home.

  I lay in bed later that night, my arm around Brenna who is asleep and curled into a ball next to me, and reflect on the evening.

  When we arrived, I had immediately noticed how tiny the house was. It was one of those that is in a row of houses that look exactly like it and line both sides of the street for countless blocks. I know Carly and Brenna rent the place, and that it was ideal because of price and the proximity to the hospital Carly works at. Good thing it's only a rental though because the paint is chipping, the foundation is cracked, and parking in that part of the city is a living nightmare.