Page 26 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
You Have a Kink
Fletcher
“I wanna fucking die,” Landon says through quick, leaden breaths, after completing a series of agility ladders. “This new drills coach can fuck right off.”
“Next time, lay off the ladoos, Landy.” Wade straightens, keeping his hands on his hips. He’s a goddamn poet.
Jaeger grunts, seemingly unshaken by the exercise. Our team’s captain is 6’6, 230 pounds, and barely breaking a sweat.
“I would, but they sent us home with a hundred-pound box of them.” Landon shakes his head. “Poor Esha.”
“Who’s Esha again?” I ask.
“Indi’s youngest sister,” Landon explains. “She’s the whole reason we all went to India.”
“Oh, right. She got married or engaged or something?”
He denies it. “Nope. The groom-to-be and his family were being pricks about an enormous dowry. Indi’s parents essentially called it a stupid, outdated tradition they didn’t believe in, but the guy’s side apparently expected thousands of dollars and lavish gifts.
It turned into, like, a huge thing, and her parents told them their daughter wasn’t for sale. ”
“That’s horrifying. I mean, for her family.”
Landon takes several gulps of Gatorade. “She ended up breaking it off, and we went on a family trip through Rajasthan instead.” My friend has become quite the gossip queen in his old age.
“They tried to get her to come back to Canada with us, but she went on a Paris honeymoon. Said she paid good money for it and wasn’t gonna let it go to waste over a piece of crap like her ex. ”
One of the d-men, Olsen, jogs by with a dopey grin, pushing out a series of equally dopey chuckles. It only takes a second to realize we’ve been crop-dusted. We struggle to protest, choking on the residual fumes.
“Aw, come on, man!”
“That’s fucking rank!”
We get yelled at for lollygagging and get thrown into the burpee corner of the field, and when the fifty-count punishment is completed, we lie on our backs against the grassy slope.
Not wanting to get sunburnt to hell, I crawl into the nearest shade, cast onto the lawn from the training facility. Jaeg takes off his shirt and basks in the sun, tucking his arms behind his head. Landon curls into a fetal position, the color draining from his face, threatening to vomit.
“Fuck you, you chatterbox,” Wade curses Landon. “Donny,” he heaves. “What’s going on with you?”
Might as well spill it. “Bea’s my girlfriend.”
Landon huffs. “Eh? I think I’m losing it because I thought I heard you say Bea was your girlfriend.”
“I heard the same thing,” Wade adds. “You delirious, man, or what?”
“Nope, this summer, well…long story short,” I stumble through an explanation, “we were temporary roommates, but shit happened and now we’re permanent roommates.”
The goalie lets out a weak woo. “Fucking finally .”
“I’m so happy for you.” Landon crawls slowly closer to me, his face ashen with nausea. “So excited I could throw up. Know that in my head, I’m whooping and galloping around like a show stallion.”
“Has your dick fallen off yet?” Leave it to Wade to ask the important questions.
“Almost,” I pant, the heat clearly cooking all my brain cells. My mouth runs without any trace of impulse control. “ God , she’s amazing. She makes me feel amazing. I’m so fucking in love with her.”
Wade feigns surprise with a melodramatic gasp. “No shit? I never knew. It’s like all you had to do was give it a chance or something.”
“Blow me,” I retort.
“Hell no. I’m not doing your girlfriend’s dirty work for you.”
My girlfriend. My girlfriend. Mine. I’ll never get over calling her mine.
“What he means is” —Landon rolls to clap a sweaty palm to my shoulder— “we’re happy for you.”
“Thanks, man.”
“And welcome to the club.”
A whistle blows to call us back to the coaches.
In the past few years, dryland training didn’t start until September, but two weeks weren’t quite enough to prevent injuries during exhibition games and prepare us for the regular season.
Since we didn’t make it past the first round of playoffs, team management has us training in late July to give us more time to shape up post-vacation.
Damn. Only two weeks before Bea moves out. A whistle cuts my wallow short.
“We’ll meet at the CTC tomorrow. Stay hydrated and get ready for box jumps.”
We break from the huddle and move towards the parking lot. Landon shuffles back to his Range Rover, visibly stiff and sore. “I hate everything.”
Wade, the flexible bastard, stretches a leg on the hood of the Rover he got last year. I swear, goalies are built different. “Get it together, old man. This was only the first day.”
Jaeger holds up a hand to wave goodbye before wordlessly getting into his Jeep.
“Jaeg seemed quiet, even for him,” I comment.
“You’re right. Wonder what’s up with him.” Landon watches the captain drive off. “I’ll ask Indi if Skylar’s mentioned anything.”
I check missed messages when getting back into the cab of my F-450.
Gorgeous
All done for the day?
Me
Yep
Gorgeous
How was training?
I send back a video of a family of otters chasing a butterfly.
Gorgeous
Not sure I understand, but how cute!!
Me
It’s me and the guys trying to win the Stanley Cup
Gorgeous
This is your year!!!!
Me
Did you tell your friends?
Gorgeous
Oh yeah
Me
How’d it go?
Gorgeous
I had a meltdown and told them everything
Gorgeous
So, as expected
Me
***
She replies with a GIF of someone sobbing next to Selena Gomez, then another one of Meryl Streep cheering with a single clap and pointing ahead, subtitled in yellow font with the word, “ Yes !”
Me
Haha
Gorgeous
I had no idea they were such big fans of Fletcher Donovan, but they’re not wrong for it
Me
Stop, I’m blushing
Gorgeous
When are you NOT blushing??
That’s fair.
Me
I can’t help it with you
Gorgeous
I know, and it makes me horny as hell
My cock fires up.
Gorgeous
When are you heading home??
Me
Right now
Gorgeous
Good, cause I miss you
Me
*running emojis*
I rush down the hallway, already bricked the fuck up from imagining how sweet my girlfriend’s cunt is gonna taste on the island counter, but my pace slows when I hear a deep bass vibrating the walls leading up to the apartment.
Dance music blasts through the open door, drowning my footsteps out.
So focused on her task, Bea doesn’t notice me coming in.
Blood pumps straight to my cock at the sight of her wielding a chef’s knife. She studies the weight of the wooden handle, flipping it in her palm before a deft twirl through her fingers returns it to a solid hold. Oh. “Volume, ten percent.” The music softens at her command. “Hey, Dreamboat.”
Messy ideas popping up within my head scatter at the casual, off-the-cuff greeting.
“I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” I say, stupefied. Deranged thoughts return to fill my brain as her swift, steady movements slice through an eggplant.
“So, you have a kink.” Behraz lifts her narrowed gaze, without breaking the stride of her blade.
My eyes blink, blink, blink in shock. She did notice. Way to go, Mr. Inconspicuous.
Her lips smirk. “Is it me being in the kitchen, or something else?”
“I— buh .” Words fumble from me.
“This is probably the third time I’ve seen you hard when I chop something.”
A blush flares. Let’s be honest, I’m always hard around her, but when she’s holding a knife? I might as well finish in my pants. Wouldn’t be the first time and won’t be the last.
“I-I like knives.” The explanation comes out monotone and dopey. Clearly, blood is not recirculating back to my brain.
She perks an eyebrow, pausing before the next cut. “I see.” The end of the eggplant slices away. “Lucky for you,” she discards it into a pile of scraps, “so do I.”
I whimper.
Bea’s smirk turns villainous. She could do literally anything she wanted to me, knife or otherwise. “It’s always the shy ones” —the knife points in my direction, accusing— “y’all are big-dicked, chock-full of secret kinks and vivid imaginations.”
My cock weeps, knees buckling so quickly I have to use the counter for support.
“If I didn’t have ten more minutes left on this chicken parm in the oven…” Her sentence trails off with a sharp whew through those pink pursed lips.
Restraint thrown aside, I pounce over the granite-covered island like an animal, nearly knocking over the cut eggplant to grab my girlfriend by the throat for an urgent kiss.
She winces and drops the knife to ball a fist into my shirt before breaking out in bubbly giggles.
“I could’ve stabbed you.” Her fingers slip through with a fresh slit in the damp fabric, their tips against my already burning skin like salt in a wound.
“I have terrible reflexes, and that knife is really sharp.”
“And I would let you,” I groan against her mouth, using my free hand to lift her by the rounds of that lush ass and latch her strong legs around my hips while stealing another kiss. This woman could stab me, run me over with my truck, and I’d thank her and ask for more.
“Don’t tempt me.” The warning is playful, but sincere. “I’ve always been an advocate for women’s wrongs. There’s a lot of men out there I wanna hurt.”
I set her on the back counter, careful that her head doesn’t hit the upper cabinets. “You can hurt me instead.”
The lightness of the mood lowers, and her flour-dusted palms reach my cheeks. “No.” She presses a breathy denial against each of my eyelids. “Never.” One of her hands shifts to cover my heart, and its rapid beating takes off with the anticipation of a promise. “I’ll never hurt you, Fletcher.”
Her molten gaze is the beginning of my end. And I don’t care.
“I love you.” Bea melts into me, sweeping her parted mouth across mine as I cradle her nape, the dark strands of her hair winding through my fingers and pulling me into their abyss.
“I love you,” I echo. “Sleep with me.” It’s a begged murmur; a prayer left on her lips. It twitches into a faint smile in reply.
“Right now?”