by Cassie James
The hockey moms spread that shit like wildfire.
And then it spread a little more.
“It’s been getting some attention…”
“From Donovan Cain?”
She nods reluctantly, and I stare at the phone in my hand in wonder. Like it’s going to suddenly unlock itself and tell me all the things he’s has been saying to my best friend about the video. I squint at the phone as the ringing starts again, but this time with a different New York area code, and I realize that none of this makes sense.
“Why would Donovan Cain care about you teaching some kids to trash talk? And this one’s a different area code calling now. Who’s this one?”
“Richie Smothers.”
Now it’s my turn to lose my shit because that’s the captain of my favorite team. “What the hell, Cara?”
“Listen, there might be something in the works, and I promise I’ll tell you about it as soon as I can, but can we just drop it for now?” she asks as she holds the basket of jerseys back out to me. I eye it warily before nodding and trading her the phone for it.
“You want to tell me why your basket’s empty?” I ask as we move back into the main aisle of the department store and pick our way toward the accessories section. I have my eyes on a nice set of cuff links for Dad, and I swear if Hank doesn’t get a new wallet soon, his is going to fall to freaking pieces.
“Because I finished all of my Hanukkah shopping last week,” she says as she reaches over to tweak my nose. I grumble under my breath at the two baskets in my hands that keep me from being able to pinch her back. “You’re the one who’s behind this year, missy.”
“I’ve just been so busy,” I whine as I drop the baskets to the ground again and wander my way toward the display of leather wallets.
“Right. O, Holy Nights,” she jokes again, and I’m pretty sure I blush from my forehead to the tips of my toes. “How’s that going, by the way? You seem to be walking fine.”
I glance around to make sure there aren’t any sweet old ladies who are about to get more than they bargained for when they came out shopping today. I dip my head as I snatch up a particularly nice tan wallet that looks pretty similar to the scarred one Hank’s already carrying.
“That bad, huh?” She picks up a wallet with a chain attached and holds it out to me. I shake my head no, and she narrows her eyes. “Is that a no to the wallet, or a no to the statement?”
“Ugh, both,” I say as I snatch the wallet away from her and shove it back onto the shelf. None of the Storms are going to be caught dead with me carrying a wallet with a chain. They’re rugby players, not bikers.
“So, you’re having your tree trimmed every night then?”
“What?”
“Y’know—ribbons and bows, lots of gifts hanging around, getting decorated…” She trails off with a laugh as her explanation dissolves into nonsense.
“You’re batshit insane,” I mutter as I head toward a display with ties.
I eye a navy one with small a fleur-de-lis print and snatch it up even though I already have the jersey sitting in my basket for Jean-Luc. One with a cheery Santa face and the words “ho, ho, ho” printed on it catches my eye as I pass, and I snag it, too, giggling as I add it to the basket for Hunter.
“So… are you just going to keep a girl in the dark, or are you going to give me my Christmas present early?”
“Your present being…”
“Uhm, a total comparison of every single time you’ve had your stocking stuffed by one of the Storms,” she says loudly, and I swear the blue-haired granny closest to us actually grasps her chest as she gasps.
“Jesus, Cara. I’m pretty sure you just gave that old lady a heart attack.”
“Whatever, grannies need a little excitement, too. It’s the adrenaline that keeps their hearts pumping for years to come!” Her eyes sparkle mischievously just before she practically shouts for the whole accessories department to hear, “It’s not every day your best friend starts sleeping with all the Strudford Storms advent style.”
“I’m going to murder you,” I hiss under my breath as I shuffle her out from the accessories department and toward the registers. Finishing my Christmas shopping is clearly going to have to wait.
“Okay, I have about an hour and a half before I meet Dillon at the rink,” I tell her as I settle into the arm chair across from hers in front of the fireplace. “Fire away.”
I’ve never been to this particular coffee shop before, but I refused to go drinking with her just before I’m supposed to strap a pair of ice skates on my feet.
Ironically, ice skating is not one of my natural talents considering how much I love all things related to it. I can get around the ice, sure, but I’m not gonna be winning a Stanley Cup anytime soon.
I’m holding out hope this ice skating date goes better than the one with Lee did. Dillon, at least, had the forethought to book our time at an indoor rink, so I won’t be battling the cold while only watching other people skate in the freezing rain.
I take a sip of my coffee—white chocolate peppermint because I’m a Christmas fiend—and fix my best friend with a serious stare.
“How have the dates been going?”
“Hmm… I accidentally tried to skip Isaac’s because I was so invested in the idea of having sex with him. Hank and I ended up eating dinner with his sister, which was great by the way. I fell asleep through Oliver’s. Kyle hated the Christmas fair. There wasn’t any heat at my house on Cyrus’ night. And Lee and I couldn’t do our date because there was freezing rain, and he had something planned outside on Market Square.”
Cara grimaces at me as I tick off all the ways my dates have gone wrong over the past week and a half. “But—” She cuts me off before I get the chance to tell her all the ways the dates have gone right.
“Jeez, so I guess agreeing to try to date all of them wasn’t a good idea. Didn’t see that coming. Saw you cumming, a lot, but definitely didn’t anticipate it not going well.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I chastise her, and she rolls her eyes. Typical, Cara. “Maybe things have gone wrong here and there, but it’s been amazing.”
“The sex has been amazing, you mean?”
“No!” She recoils as her eyebrows raise comically high on her forehead. “No, that’s not what I mean. Yes. And no.”
“Gemma, will you just spit it out already? I’m dying for details over here.” She pouts.
“The sex has been out of this world, every single night. Like… It’s inexplicable, and I highly recommend getting yourself a couple handfuls of men that all do things differently but still care about your pleasure.” I’m certain my eyes start to glaze over as I think about my recent dates.
“The sex is good, got it,” she mumbles as she takes a long draw from her coffee. She crosses her leg over her knee and leans forward, fixing me with an uncharacteristically serious look. “So what was the no part of that last comment?”
“I said that it’s been amazing despite some things going wrong with the dates, and you assumed I meant the sex,” I explain, and she cocks her head to the side. She doesn’t get it, and I’m not sure how I’m going to get her to understand, either. “It’s just… things are amazing in spite of things going wrong.”
She stays silent so I keep rambling, “Is it weird to say that I feel like I’ve been in an emotional relationship with all of these guys for years now? Like, the sex is so good because I’m already really, really invested in all the guys in a much deeper way—the kind of way that goes way beyond just sex.”
Cara starts to open her mouth, but I drop my head to my chest and take a deep breath as my heart pounds in my chest. “Fuck, I don’t know, Cara. The more time I spend with the guys, the more confusing it gets.”
“What’s confusing about it? You like the Storms, the Storms like you, and you’re having amazing sex. Win-win-win if you ask me.”
“I don’t know, I have a lot of questions still. Like what happens if at the end of t
he month they decide they’ve all gotten what they want and brush me off? I’ll die, right there on the spot.”
“Are they really the kind of guys that would do that?”
“No,” I mutter, which is why I feel so stupid for even being so worried about it in the first place.
She considers me carefully. “Do you think you could be happy with things continuing on this way? You know… splitting your time between them?”
“Maybe.” I take another long sip of my drink before I say it again for good measure, “Maybe.”
“Well I guess I don’t really see what the problem is,” she concludes with an easy shrug. That’s easy for her to say.
I open my mouth and let the words circling my mind escape, “What are people going to say?”
“Ah, who gives a shit. Your dad loves you no matter what, and your coaches only care about winning games at the end of the day. Everyone else? Well, fuck ‘em. People will always have an opinion one way or the other—so just choose to be happy anyway, in spite of what those assholes think.” She nudges her shoulder against mine. “You deserve it.”
I shake my head even as I smile at the way she makes it all sound so easy.
They’re my guys and nothing’s ever going to change that, but that doesn’t make what we’re doing easy, and it doesn’t make it right either. Cara can talk a big game all she wants, but she’ll never really understand since she’s not in the same situation.
She’s still on to something, though. I’ve always gotten looks just for hanging out with the guys as friends before, so it’s not like that’s something new now.
I make a silent vow to myself right then and there that I’ll do my best to let other people’s opinions just roll right off my back.
Raising my cup slightly in a cheers to myself, I think, here’s to hoping this doesn’t all someday blow up in my face.
Twenty-Four
Dillon
December 10
Picking out a date for my day with Gemma might have been one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. It’s Christmas, and she loves hockey—which still doesn’t make any sense at all, hello, you work with a rugby team. Booking time at one of the indoor rinks just seemed like a good choice, both seasonal and something she could enjoy.
After her disaster of a date with Lee at the outside rink, I know I made the right call picking somewhere indoors, too.
I’m skating around the ice, showing off because even though I don’t get the whole hockey thing, it doesn’t mean I’m not a complete boss on the ice. I swivel my head quickly to make sure no one’s going to be in my way, and I switch it around to where I’m skating backwards while I wink at Gemma. She’s laughing her ass off, and every part of me lights up with pleasure from her attention.
What can I say? I perform best with an audience, and Gemma’s my favorite kind of audience. Hot. Perfect. Her. Not gonna lie, if all this goes well, her being with me, with us, is going to make this the best Christmas I’ve had in years.
The blade of my skate suddenly catches in a deep gouge in the ice, and I pitch backwards, arms windmilling on my way down. I go down like a sack of coal, groaning when my back connects with a heavy thud on the ice. I lie there dazed, staring up at the rafters of the rink as silence falls around me for a few seconds.
I can hear the worry in her voice when she asks, “Are you okay?” The worry is reflected in her eyes when her face appears in my line of vision. There’s a light hiding in the back of her eyes, though, and I can just tell she’s trying her hardest not to laugh at me despite her worry.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” I ask with a mock gasp as I prop myself up on my elbows and clutch at my heart dramatically.
“Dillon, get up before someone cuts your fingers off.” Her hands fall to her hips as she says it, and even though she’s giving me her stern, I’m your trainer at our day job face, all it does is make me laugh.
Gemma rolls her eyes at me before she knocks my foot with her own and skates away on shaky legs. My eyes follow her course through the rink as I twist onto my knees and make my way back to my feet. She’s halfway across the rink, and I’ve got to put some hustle into my moves, but I eventually manage to surprise her when I catch her from behind. I wrap my arms around her waist, and she shrieks with laughter as I lift her in the air the second before we slide to a stop next to the boards.
My chest presses against her back as I hold her against the glass, and I don’t even grumble at the reminder that I’d managed to pick the Seals’ practice rink when I booked our time tonight. I push the thought away in favor of kissing a path along her jawline to just behind her ear when she turns her head to chastise me.
“Not here,” she whispers. Her voice trembles around the words, and I know she’s just as hot and bothered as I am despite the fact that we’ve been on the ice for over an hour now.
“Of course not,” I answer cheekily before I take her earlobe into my mouth for a split second. Her breath hitches, and I place one more kiss behind her ear before whispering, “But anticipation can be just as sweet as foreplay, and trust me, love, you’re going to be getting plenty of both. That’s a guarantee.”
It surprises the hell out of me when we get stopped on our way out of the rink by a small crowd of rabid Storms fans. And even though I’m hellbent on getting Gemma back to my place and out of her clothes, I’ve never been the type to turn away a fan. I’m a people person, and our fans have always loved me.
There’s something a little different about it this time, though. Several of the women flutter their lashes at me even though they see my arm wrapped around Gemma’s waist. Two of them actually try to give me their phone numbers, and I turn them away without a second thought. Gemma bristles at the women’s antics, but my quick brush-off puts a smile on her face that sends a rush of blood all the way down to my dick.
I have to get her home.
I excuse myself from the fans in favor of rushing Gemma to my car. I’d initially planned on taking her to a cafe for hot chocolate to warm her back up after all our time on the ice, but warming her up other ways seems like a much better option at this point.
By the time we make it back to mine, I’m desperate to taste her lips. I gather her in my arms, seizing her mouth with a bruising kiss that leaves us both a little breathless. There’s a smile on her soft lips that’s just suggestive enough to make me groan with anticipation.
Her eyes flick to the clock over the mantle, and I swing my head around to look at it, too. It’s just pushing nine o’clock, and we have an early practice in the morning. My lips press into a wry grin as the memory of her taking my ass to task last season over my habit of partying and staying up too late washes over me. The stern reminder from a few weeks ago is pretty fresh in my mind, too.
“Give me five?” I ask as I back toward the edge of my living room. I can’t have her thinking about the time, not when I’ve got quite the surprise just waiting to be set up in my room. She nods, and my smile turns downright devilish. “Great. Make yourself at home. Maybe take some clothes off while you wait.”
Gemma’s laughter follows me all the way down the hall into my bedroom. I rush through spreading out the soft canvas on my bed, and I can feel my dick hard and heavy in my pants as I snatch up the box of paints from my bedside table. We’re going to make art together, and I swear I’m going to display it proudly in my home until the day I die.
I race back down the hall, holding the box up for Gemma to see as I skid into the room. Her eyebrows shoot straight up when she catches sight of my shit-eating grin.
“Is that—”
“A body paint kit? Why yes it is.” Her eyes darken as she pushes herself away from my couch, still fully dressed, I realize with a pout. But I’m smiling again and I can’t help the laugh that accompanies my next words, “Gemma, let’s go get naked and dirty so we can make some art together.”
Her eyes sparkle as she closes the distance between us. I wrap her hand in mine, and she giggles when
I turn and race toward my bedroom. Yeah, maybe I said the line about anticipation earlier and all that jazz, but the anticipation might actually kill me if I don’t get her out of her clothes like yesterday.
“C’mon now, Gemma,” I say to her as I drop her hand and shake the box in her direction, “you don’t want to get paint all over those pretty clothes of yours, do you?”
Gemma winks at me—the cheeky minx—before lifting her sweater and undershirt and pulling them off in one fell swoop. I let the box of paints fall to the bed as she drops her clothes to the floor, and I take a step closer to her, hooking my thumbs in the loops on her jeans and dragging her closer.
“Clearly these need to come off,” I mutter as I pop open the button. Her breath hitches as I pull them slowly down over her legs, dropping onto my knees before her as I do.
She braces her hands on my shoulders to keep her balance as she lifts one foot at a time, helping me pull her jeans off completely. I hook my fingers in the elastic of her panties and pull them down slowly, dropping a kiss on her leg with each tortuously slow tug I give of her panties. By the time her panties are off, I’ve kissed all the way down her legs and back up again, bypassing her sweet center the entire time.
It’s torture. For both of us.
I trail light, barely there kisses up her right leg, starting from her ankle and only pausing when I get to her knee. I take a moment to look up at her, pleased that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of me. I’m loving every second of this.
I resume my trail up the inside of her thigh, passing right by her center again and kissing down her other thigh. I love the sounds of her breathy moans, and my lips pull into a smile as I nip my way back up her thigh. She threads her fingers through my hair, and I groan at the feeling of her trying to drag me exactly where she wants me.
When I finally make it to her pussy, I know I’ve teased her long enough. Her legs shake as I pull her apart just enough to dart my tongue out and taste her. I flick it up and down, reveling in the sweet taste of her on my lips. I circle her clit with my tongue as I slide a finger into her tight center.
