Dammit, I should have picked her up. I have my car, I can drive more places.
We text back and forth and then there she is, right in front of me. I haven’t seen her for a week and, damn, now I realize how much I missed her.
“Hi.”
She smiles back at me, her lips shiny pink. “Hi.”
She’s wearing her black puffy jacket and a big scarf again, over ripped-up jeans. Her long wavy hair sweeps over her shoulders and her eyes glow that mystical blue-green. Her smile seems like she’s happy to see me too.
I bend and give her a quick kiss and she beams back at me, then slides her arm through mine. “Come on. We can take the Three train.”
We eventually arrive at our stop in the West Village and she leads me around the corner to a place called the Fine Fox. It appears to be a tiny place, but as we enter, the space stretches out on either side of the entrance and far back. Low lights illuminate green pool tables, ping-pong tables, and…is that shuffleboard? Holy shit, I haven’t played shuffleboard since I lived in Swift Current.
We’re shown to a few small couches grouped around a low table near the pool tables. To our right, a stage has musicians setting up to play. I guess the others aren’t here yet.
“Please tell me we’re going to play shuffleboard,” I say as we remove our jackets.
She grins. “I was thinking ping-pong, actually. But we can do both.”
We settle in on one of the velvet couches and pick up menus. There isn’t a huge food selection here. We order beers while we’re waiting.
“Did you practice today?” she asks.
“We watched video.” I grimace.
“Was it bad? I thought you played great.”
She always thinks I play great. “Made a few mistakes. Coach actually called me into his office after, to talk about it.”
“Oh. Like being called to the principal’s office.”
One corner of my mouth hooks up. “Yeah. Sort of.”
“Were you in trouble?”
I sigh. “Just something to work on. Uh, I need to communicate better with…the power play unit.”
She purses her lips and nods. “Okay. Sounds like something you can work on.”
“Yeah.” I swallow my sigh.
The other two couples arrive then, and we stand for hugs and handshakes. I paste a smile on.
Everyone settles in, they order their drinks, and the music starts. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s a jazz band and they’re pretty good. We’re far enough from the stage that we can still talk.
“I freakin’ loved that podcast you did with Sara,” Kamal says to me, his grin creasing up his dark brown skin. “You two were hilarious.”
“Thanks. I had fun doing it. I had no idea what to expect.”
“You didn’t know Sara at all before that? Hadn’t watched her videos?” Sunny asks.
“Nope. No idea.”
“Wow. The chemistry between you was smoking.”
“Wait till you see the video,” Sara puts in. “Josh taught me how to skate.”
We order a bunch of food—spicy shrimp chips, fried fish skins, crostini with ricotta and saba (I don’t know what that is), a gouda fondue with pretzels, and some spiced-up nuts and popcorn.
Kamal turns out to be a hockey fan, so he talks to me about how the Bears are doing and the new coach. I have to be careful what I say—but luckily I’m enjoying playing for Coach Shipton so far. Other than his lecture earlier about Easton.
“Do players get any say in who they hire as a coach?” he asks.
“Nope.” I take a gulp of beer. “Not at all. Those are business decisions.”
“I was glad they canned Simmons,” he says. “Everyone knew he was a homophobic racist.”
I grimace. “Sounds like it,” I say. “Although actually, he quit.”
Kamal narrows his eyes at me. “You didn’t think he should be fired?”
“I didn’t play for the team then,” I say. “But I’d heard the rumors about him. There’s no place for that kind of behavior or attitude in the league.” I pause. I know I have to be careful what I say, but…“I hate that fucking racist, abusive bullshit.”
“But it’s still there.”
I’d like to deny it, but I know he’s right. “Yeah. At least it’s getting more attention and we’re taking it more seriously now. We have a long way to go, and we can all do better.”
He nods.
Conversation moves to the famous author Connor met through his job at a publishing house, Sara’s attempt at rosé wine cupcakes, and then some trash talk about shuffleboard. After we eat, Sara and I head to a shuffleboard while the others go play ping-pong.
I fold back the sleeves of my button-down shirt.
“This looks serious.” Sara’s gaze follows my movements. “Your arms are hot, by the way.”
I choke. “My arms?”
“Mmm. Yeah.”
“Okay.” She turns toward the table and I grope her butt. “Kind of like your ass.”
She jumps and flashes a sexy look over her shoulder. “Hey, now.”
We do rock, paper, scissors to see who goes first. Sara wins and elects to go first. “No, you should choose to go second,” I tell her.
She squints at me.
“Have you ever played shuffleboard?” I ask.
“No.”
“Ah. Okay, I’ll go first.”
“Can I take a few practice shots?”
“Sure.”
Sara frowns, then sets her fingers on the weight, pulls it back, then gives it a shove.
The puck goes whizzing down the board. I watch in horror, picturing it flying off the table and fracturing someone’s skull. Luckily that doesn’t happen.
Sara puts her hands over her mouth and gives me big eyes.
“Little too much weight on that,” I say.
“Right.” She tries again, and this time the weight doesn’t even make it to the center line.
“One more try. You got this.”
This one goes off the end again, but at least I don’t fear she’s going to injure someone.
“Okay.” She rubs her hands together. “I’m ready.”
I take a red puck and slide it down the board. We watch as it slows to a stop. “Damn.” It’s okay, it’s counting, but only one.
“Now, you can either try to get your puck farther past mine, or you can knock mine off.”
She nods, her forehead creased with concentration, her tongue pressed against her upper lip. Goddamn, she’s cute. She lets go of the puck with a hard shot and fuck me, she takes out mine. But hers goes off too.
She jumps up and down and turns to me, her hands in the air. We high-five. “I did it!”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
That was totally beginner’s luck. I take another shot, and this one counts as three. “Yeah!”
“So I should do the same thing as last time?”
I rub my mouth. “Well, yeah. But try to hit it so that yours stays on the board.”
“Ohhhh. Okay.”
This time she totally misses.
I impress the hell out of her when she has a puck counting as two and I put a little curl on mine to slide around hers to count three.
“How did you do that?” She gapes at me.
I blow on my fingers. “Skill, baby.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a shuffleboard champ.”
“I may have won a tournament or two.” Then I laugh. “When I was sixteen.”
“Still.” She shakes her head. “This is my last puck.”
“Yep. Make it good.”
She narrows her eyes and studies the weights and how they lie on the board. She’s already figured out the strategy part of the game, but I don’t know if she ca
n actually do it.
She carefully pushes the puck. It slides…good speed…but no curve. I know she was trying to take out mine, but she misses and hers is going off the end. Except…wait…fuck! Her puck stops right on the edge of the table.
I jog down to peer at it. “Well, shit.”
She follows me. “What? What did I do?”
I point to the puck hanging over the edge. “A hanger. That scores four.”
Her eyes pop wide. “You mean…I win?”
“Well, this end.”
She lets out a little shriek and does a dance.
Her friends look over.
“I beat him!” she cries.
“Thanks for announcing that to everyone.” Shaking my head, I clear the table and arrange the pucks for the next end. I hate losing. But it’s Sara and she’s so proud of herself. “Okay, let’s go.”
We continue playing and Sara’s beginner’s luck has run out, so it doesn’t take me long to get the fifteen points needed to end the game.
Does she pout about losing? No. Smiling happily, she says, “That was fun! How about ping-pong next?”
“Let’s do it.”
I don’t tell her that we have a ping-pong table in our practice facility and lots of guys like to play. Including me.
She’s better at ping-pong than shuffleboard, but I beat her easily at that too. I do have fun watching her jump around and make faces as she tries to hit the tiny ball.
“This is what I get for playing against a professional athlete,” she grumbles after.
I kiss her forehead. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. I could see your killer instincts coming out.”
That makes me laugh. “Babe. That wasn’t killer instinct. You should see me on the ice.”
“I’d be afraid.”
“Also, it’s called mental toughness. I don’t try to actually kill people.”
“I’m not so sure of that. I’ve seen you hit guys.”
I pause. “But you know I never intend to hurt anyone…right?”
Her eyes soften and she cups my jaw. “I know.”
We all gather back at the table for more drinks. Her friends are actually fun. I feel bad thinking the word actually; I just didn’t think I had much in common with them. But they’re good people, and I can see they care about Sara, and that’s what matters.
“We’ll play foosball later,” Sara tells me. “I’m good at that.”
“Okay. I have to bring the guys here. They’d love this.”
“Oh yeah! You should do that. Let’s plan something. I can talk to Lilly!”
I blink a few times. Then I smile. “Yeah. Okay.”
The rest of the evening is more fun…more beers, foosball, lots of laughs. When we stagger out of the bar in the early hours of the morning, I say, “We’re getting a cab.”
“The subway’s right there…”
“I know.” I lead the way over to Sixth Avenue and it doesn’t take long to hail a taxi. I give the driver Sara’s address.
Settled in the backseat, she snuggles into me. “You let me win at foosball.”
“Nah.” I slide my arm around her.
“That’s okay. You’re a good sport.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t let you win. That would be patronizing.”
She tips her head to look at me. “You’re a good guy.”
Our eyes meet in the darkness as city lights stream past us. Heat builds between us, smoldering with lust. “I’d say you’re a good girl, but I know you’re not.” I touch a fingertip to her cheek.
“Are you saying I’m bad?”
“Badass.”
Her lips curve. “I like that.”
“Badass with a big heart.”
Her eyes soften.
I rub my thumb along her bottom lip. She parts her lips and I slide my thumb inside. The hot suction of her mouth has my dick thickening.
“I wrote another poem for you,” I say, my voice husky.
“Tell me.”
I shake my head, dragging my wet thumb over her full lips again. “You have to wait until we get home.”
She pouts. I lean down and this time I nip her lip. Then lick it. Her breathing hitches audibly.
We flirt and make out most of the way home. Not embarrassing—just kisses and touches. About twenty minutes later, we walk into her apartment. She flicks on lights and I take her jacket and hang it in the closet with mine.
“I’m not drunk,” she announces.
My lips quirk. “Good to know.”
“I wasn’t trying to keep up with you tonight.”
“You were staying sober so you could kick my ass at foosball.”
She laughs. “Right.” She wanders into her living room and sinks onto the couch.
“I had fun tonight. Your friends are cool.” I sit beside her.
“Good. I like them. They don’t always listen to bad poetry or look at Tibetan art.”
“I love Tibetan art.”
She frowns. “You do?”
“No.”
Her face clears and she laughs.
“I mean, I might love it. If I knew what it was.”
She turns into me and kisses me. “You’re pretty cool, too.”
I set a hand on her hip. “So are you.” I kiss her again, licking inside to taste her sweetness. I fucking love kissing her…deep, openmouthed kisses with tongue. My blood all rushes south and my cock stiffens. I groan against her lips.
“What are you going to show me tonight?” she whispers.
“No idea. We’ll wing it.”
She pulls back and her eyes dance with mirth. “You? Wing it? You mean, you don’t plan your sex moves ahead of time?”
“Don’t mock me, woman.” I slide a hand around the back of her neck and bring her mouth back to mine for a hard kiss. “Even I don’t do that.”
“I’d like to try sixty-nine.”
My cock twitches. “I’m up for that. Literally.” I rub my hand over my erection.
“Oooh.” She caresses me there too. “Yes, you are.” She uncurls herself from me and stands, holding out a hand. “Let’s go.”
I let her pull me across the room and into her bedroom. I unbutton my shirt and shrug it off, then undo my jeans. She sits on the side of her bed, watching me, her tongue slicking over her bottom lip.
“What about my poem?” she asks huskily.
“Oh yeah.” I shove my jeans down and step out of them along with underwear and socks. I saunter toward her, naked, giving my cock a much-needed stroke. “Roses are red, violets are blue.” I pause. “Get on your knees, you know what to do.”
Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip on a smile that then breaks free and lights up her face. “Yes. Yes, I do.” And she slides off the bed onto the rug, on her knees in front of me.
Chapter 22
Sara
Josh climbs onto the bed and stretches out on his back. The hard-packed muscles of his abs and chest are so freakin’ perfect. I love the bulge of his thigh muscles and the black ink on his shoulder.
I strip out of my clothes while he watches with blazing-hot eyes, and follow him onto the bed on my knees.
“Come sit on my face,” he orders me in a tone as rough as tree bark. I crawl toward him and turn around, straddling his chest, my legs pressed to his ribs. He lays his hands on my ass as I reach for his cock
Oh Jesus…his tongue slides slowly up and down my slit. I open my mouth on him again, but it’s hard to focus with his mouth on my pussy. I plant my hands into the mattress on either side of his hips and slide my mouth over him, as deep as I can take him, then lifting back up. I love the feel of him in my mouth, so solid and large and vital. I trace his veins, then slick my tongue over the tight crown.
His mouth work
s at me. I feel like my bones are melting, my skin is burning, my head is whirling. Then he stops, his hands sliding up my back, and I hear a low growl of pleasure. I keep sucking him and then his tongue touches me again, sending electric sensation jolting through me.
I need to come, but my orgasm is out of reach and it’s not going to happen if I’m concentrating on his beautiful cock and making him feel good.
“This isn’t working for me.” I roll off him and onto my back, panting.
He jackknifes up, his abs flexing, and leans over, his lips wet. “No?”
“Too much going on. And I want you inside me.”
“You got it, babe.” He grabs a condom, moves over me, and pushes inside me. I reach for his sides and hold on as he gradually eases in, watching my face.
“Oh yeah…yeah…that’s so good.”
He dips his head to kiss me, his mouth still damp from eating me. “So fucking good. You’re such a hot little thing.”
I can’t hold back a whimper, his words making my insides melt, and I grow slicker around him. “Harder.”
I grip his shoulders as he pounds into me, growling filthy words against my ear. I tip my pelvis and, as if he knows, he grabs a pillow and shoves it under my hips. When he thrusts back in, his body drags over my clit. I shudder and reach for it…that sensation, that twisting, turning, tightening coil of sweet, sweet pleasure. He rocks on me, filling me with beautiful, brilliant pleasure that spikes up almost painfully…holding me suspended, burning, then flooding me with bliss. “There,” I gasp. “Oh Jesus.”
His breath is hot on my ear as he goes after his own release. “Sara,” he groans, driving in even deeper, holding his big body tight against mine as he shudders through his climax. “Fuck, Sara…”
I kiss his shoulder and hold on tighter, our bodies sticky and glued together, still pulsing.
“Wow,” I mumble. “It just keeps getting better.”
* * *
—
Josh has a bunch of home games in a row, but I’m off to Los Angeles for a few days. Spring is coming to New York, but I still enjoy the warm sun and palm trees in California. I stay in downtown L.A. at the Bonaventure, since the offices of Tryst and Genuine People are both near there. We meet with Tryst first, and my ego gets a bit of a boost.
You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey) Page 18
