Page 12
Story: Beak Performance
The world as I’d known it had ended. This new existence still confused me. The one where I craved his touch, his approval, and his taste on my tongue again.
He kissed you first. You are his captain! You should be the one to have his back, not think about him breaking yours.
Nobody could ever find out what kind of stuff I’d looked up on Kraken. I had my head full of new information about whatwe could do with each other: frotting, rimming, docking, and whatever else I had found.
Old dog, new tricks.
Compared to Max, who would turn twenty-six in January, I was ancient.
It’s just six years. He didn’t seem to mind when he— No.
I wouldn’t sit around and sexualise my teammate.Further.
God, that damn blowjob in my dream still haunted me. I couldn’t let it go.
Why can’t I stop thinking about it?
The room, and his eyes glinting in the darkness, those firm hands sliding up into my hair and guiding my mouth on his. His fucking taste. I took a deep draught of the beer as soon as the bartender placed it in front of me.
“Hi.” The gorgeous redhead finally approached me after eyeing me from the table by the window for a quarter of an hour.
“Hey.” I gave her a quick nod.
“I’m Val.”
“Arne.”
“Oh, is that Swedish?” she grinned at me before she tried to catch the bartender’s attention. In another life she might have interested me: curvy, sparkling blue eyes, and hair like burnished copper.
All I could think of was that pair of eyes watching me like a hawk. Dark and burning with jealousy, I felt them burrow into my back, trying to take up residence under my skin.
“Danish.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.” She smiled, her gaze travelling up and down the length of my body.
“My partner and I are usually homebodies. Gotta venture out into the world occasionally, though,” I said with a shrug. I had no idea why I lied. That wasn’t usually my style, but I knew Ineeded to get back to our table. And to navigate the mess Max and I were in somehow.
“Aw, yeah,” Val grinned, a little wistfully perhaps. “I get it. Nothing beats a quiet evening with your favourite person, does it?”
“Nah.” I shook my head, took my beer, and straightened. “Nah, you’re right. Have a great rest of the night.”
Her eyes travelled up the length of my body, a disappointed expression on her face. “You, too, Arne. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Eight
Max
The bar near the rink was where we came to celebrate or commiserate. We’d played a fantastic game against the Gators with Nate and I scoring two goals each.
So why on earth are you sulking?
I tipped back my Lemony Lion. Whoever came up with names like that one should be fired immediately.
“Want another one?” A warm hand palmed my shoulder. It was a friendly gesture from captain to player, but I froze in the middle of putting the glass back down on the table.
“A Demonic Slap?” I handed him the glass and dug in my pockets for money.
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