Page 22
Chapter 22
I Will Not Ask to Get Fingerbanged on My Fake Boyfriend’s Bus
Gabe
Finding your fake boyfriend’s sex toy and playing with his taint while sucking the soul out of him: cannot recommend it enough. Ten out of ten. No notes.
His desperation, his neediness, the way he begs. It’s delightful.
Mood lifted, I let Candace style my hair as big as she wants and even agree to the purple smokey eye with gold glitter Jas has been wanting to try instead of the standard neutral tones.
During warm-ups, I review notes while Denise checks her battery. She bellows a groan as Wade skates over, beaming with child-like glee. “Here comes trouble.”
I ditch my earpiece. Can’t risk anyone overhearing our conversation.
My hands clinch the top of the boards to lean in and meet him halfway but fly up to his pads when he drops his goalie mask to the ice. He spits his mouth guard to the side and hides his face between the wall of my hair and jaw. I squeal at the tickle of his breath and scratchy stubble.
Fans behind us gasp and titter.
“You left without my good luck kiss, you wench.”
The sincere smile on my face stretches wider and preempts a hearty laugh. “This is a family sport, Boehner. What’re you gonna do about it?”
To everyone else, it looks like a sweet hug.
“Steal it from you” —he nips the sensitive spot below my ear— “gonna take what’s mine.” His tongue swipes and swipes at the column of my neck, flattening to create a deep suction from his dampened lips. I giggle— freaking giggle —at the combination. “Remember how that feels.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause that’s how I want you to eat my ass.”
“You’ll have to wait until we get back to Ottawa. I’m not rimming you in some hotel bed.”
“I can be patient.”
“Atta boy.”
We pull apart, grinning at each other like the two horny fools we are. One last quick peck is met with whistles and whooping from the surrounding sections.
“Have a good game,” I sing-song with a flirty wave, wiggling my fingers by my shoulder to complete the spectacle.
Wade collects his mask and chews on his mouthguard, gliding away with a wink.
The Bears play hard but are no match for the previous year’s champions. Between the forwards alternating goals and assists, and Jaeger and Olsen’s solid wall of defense, Boehner has been sitting pretty in the net, crease almost untouched in the first two periods. He blocks and slaps away the two attempts with ease.
I have to stop myself from cheering for the Regents more than once.
At the end of the game, Mel tells me to nab Landon before he gets off the ice.
“Radek! Over here! Got a second?”
He nods and heads my way, tilting toward me to hear through his helmet and over the raucous in the arena.
John Fairbanks from the press box prompts the switchover. Denise’s green light signals I’m on air. I slap on a smile for the camera.
“We’ve got Gabe Finch down at the rink with the Regents’ alternate captain.”
“Thanks, John. Here with Landon Radek, who scored two goals and made two assists in this shutout game.” My best friend’s husband pants out a humble laugh and inhales through his nose. “Just over a month into the regular season, Ottawa has racked up a twelve-game winning streak—sixteen if you count the preseason—are you attempting to break a league record? Is this something the team talked about?”
Landon catches his breath, his dimpled smile oozing charm and charisma. “Y’know, we didn’t set out to do it; we’re playing to win—and that’s what we’ll keep trying to do.”
“Your next game is in Seattle. The Specters are a newer team, but talented and determined to compete for the Cup this year. How do you think you’ll stack up?”
“I think we can handle whatever they throw at us.”
He’s obviously exhausted, so I let him go.
“Sounds like you have a plan. Thanks, Landon. See you in Seattle.”
With that, he coasts away, stopping to sign a puck and toss it over the glass to a young fan, then jumps through the gate and disappears down the hallway at a slow jog.
“Should be an exciting match-up. The Ottawa Regents play the Seattle Specters in Washington tomorrow at 7 p.m. Eastern. Back to John for the post-game analysis.”
Off-air, I sigh in relief.
“Nicely done, Finch,” Mel says in my earpiece.
“Thanks.” I hand the mic over to Troy.
“You still there?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I have good news and bad news.”
I squint up to the suite where she stands akimbo at the glass. “Bad news first.”
“Our flight’s canceled. It’s pouring, and the runway’s too slick to take off.”
“And the good news?”
“There’s space on the Regents charter.”
“We’re hitching a ride on their bus?”
“Yep. You good with that?”
“‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
One of the PAs loads the media equipment and our suitcases. I shake droplets from my umbrella and prep myself as we board.
I will not ask to get fingerbanged on my fake boyfriend’s bus. I will not ask to get fingerbanged on my fake boyfriend’s bus. I will not ask to get fingerbanged on my fake boyfriend’s bus.
Coaching staff, the GM, and the equipment manager acknowledge our presence as we walk down the aisle. I trail behind Denise, Candace, and Jas as Mel and Troy sit on opposite sides of the aisle between rows of some second-line defensemen.
Denise finds the last empty row and hogs it for herself, putting her backpack into the seat.
“Real mature,” I deadpan.
“What? I need space.”
Someone clears their throat. “That’s too bad, Freckles.” The silky timbre of his voice traps a breath in my throat. Wade’s toothy, wicked smile gleams back. “You’ll have to settle for sitting next to me.”
Warmth coats the hollow of my chest. What is happening to me? Two months ago, I would have boiled over with annoyance.
Today, I find his wisecracks endearing.
My eyes roll for good measure. Can’t give him goo-goo eyes simply because we’re friends.
He pats the seat cushion. “Fartless. Only the best for my girl.”
“Classy.”
“Always. Hey!” Wade interrupts himself, poking a hand between the seats ahead of us. “Eyes forward, Donovan.”
“ Ow !” The redhead pops his fist over, one eye screwed shut from getting jabbed, and smacks the top of Boehner’s head. Poor guy gets bopped back.
“Headphones, Fletch. Headphones!”
He pulls on a set of white over-the-ear headphones with a loud grumble.
“So authoritative.”
“You like that, huh? Finally, some privacy.” With a yawn, his arms stretch above his head and plop over my shoulder. I move my gaze from the hand placement to his dopey expression.
“And smooth, too.”
“So…?” His suggestive glance pairs with a goosebump-inducing caress against my thigh.
What was that I said about not getting fingerbanged on the bus?
“So…?”
“You wanna…?”
“Wanna what?” I have an idea, but I wanna hear him say it.
“Wanna watch a Bollywood movie?”
“You watch Bollywood movies?”
He gapes. “You don’t?”
“That’s all Indi. She made me watch them.” She made me join our uni’s dance crew, too—a hopeless effort to connect me with my Indian side. Only lasted one year, though. The basketball team’s schedule was too demanding for anything else but studying.
“Landon got me hooked. They’re so fun!”
I succumb to his puppy eyes. “Fine, I’ll watch. Did you have one in mind?”
Wade points to his tablet, where “ Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani ” finished downloading. “This one? It’s a favorite and came back on Netflix finally.”
“Sure.”
“Can we make out, too?”
The innocent question catches me off-guard. “Make out?”
“Please?” There’s a nudge of his nose against my cheek. The brush of his warm lips, his hot breath. Begging and begging.
My shoulder crumples, sandwiching him in the crook. “You wanna kiss me?”
“Only all the fucking time.” His words melt into my skin, buzzing with a desperate whimper.
“ Aww ,” I coo. “Okay.”
“Perfect. It’ll get you primed for my fingers later.”
“In front of the team? And management?”
“Didn’t seem to bother you on Halloween.”
“We weren’t working. My boss is sitting, like, five rows up.”
“Everyone’s gonna be passed out in a second. And if they hear, good. They deserve to know my girlfriend is well-fucked.”
Well-fucked indeed. The fake part of fake girlfriend seems to be withering away day by day.
No, no. Wade and I are friends.
Friends who fuck.
I tighten the belt of my pea coat in the cab.
Pretty Boy
Flight tracker said you landed
Me
You tracked my flight?
Pretty Boy
I’m fucking DYING to rail you seven ways to Sunday
Pretty Boy
What did you expect??
Me
You’re so dramatic.
Pretty Boy
Whatever
Pretty Boy
My ass is ready
Pretty Boy
Clean as a whistle
Me
And here I thought I’d surprise you.
Pretty Boy
Nah I’m too quick
Pretty Boy
Like a ninja
Pretty Boy
ETA??
A stiff edge of boot leather bites the back of my knee as I exit onto the curb of his building. The wind on the short walk to the door almost exposes me and my little surprise.
Anticipation has me so wet, my thighs stick together in the elevator.
Wade bounds from the bedroom, meeting my rushed strides. He wins the battle for dominance, and my back meets the nearest wall, pinned under the firm breadth of his chest in a frenzy of crossing limbs and crashing mouths.
My lips burst into a knowing smile between restless, slithery kisses, satisfied with the contact. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“You’re insufferable,” he groans. “Why are you still wearing your coat?” His question is closer to a lament and comes with a feverish attempt at removal.
I undo the top button of the coat. “You’ll see in a sec.” The towel does nothing to hide the hard curve between his legs. I toy with the tuck on his hips. “You haven’t been playing with my cock, have you?”
“ Your cock?” His eyebrows raise halfway up his forehead.
My neckline deepens with two more opened buttons. I confirm with a hum, cupping over the terrycloth. “ Mine .”
His eyes gasp with a fluttery blink. “Fucking fuck .”
“That’s not an answer.” I tighten my grip around the fat, heavy length.
A hiss follows. “No.”
“Good boy.”
He gulps, but the corner of his mouth twitches, twinning with his dick in my hand.
“Towel off.”
Wade drops it with a cartoonish speed, and his pink, rigid cock slaps his abs.
“Now turn around.”
Chocolate brown eyes brightening, he does as he’s told. “Should I bend over?”
The little brat thinks he’s cute.
Tongue wetting the seam of my lips, I deny him. “On the bed. Hands and knees.”
A fiery blush licks up his neck to the top of his ears. “What—?” His question dissolves, mouth agape as he watches me retrieve something from my pocket before the wool coat slips from my bare shoulders. Pupils blown, he gawks at the black harness cupping my pussy, unaware of how soaked I am. I pivot slightly, allowing a view of me adjusting the metal snap that secures the strip of leather lining my ass.
His statement is a barely audible breath. “Fuck me.”
“Soon.” Recognition of the black satin satchel strikes something wild in his heated gaze. Metal clinks and clangs when I pull the straps on my hips tighter, the fit deliciously nipping into the delicate flesh there. “But not yet.”
Brash confidence surges through my explosive smile.
“Face down, Pretty Boy.”