Page 19

CHAPTER 19

ETNA

It’s me, Morgan, and Patrick on the ice for overtime. We’ve gone with a full offense and no defense. Which is really a bummer. Either Hilt or Keno are good at both, and we could use the defense against Detroit. They’re aggressive in our zone.

Having no defense may be a good thing for them, but for us, it’s not quite as good. Thus why having a defenseman would be a bonus. It’s a full five minutes of insanity.

Taking a breath, I block out everything around me and give my entire attention to what we’re doing. The puck drops and Detroit gets it. We immediately huddle around Horny in goal, keeping him as our center while we move around him to get the puck back.

Detroit’s number six brings the puck around the back of the goal and we shift so we’re facing the side he comes out on. He passes the puck to eleven, who takes a shot. I pull my stick up and the puck hits the lower part of the handle, ricocheting off and into the nets above the glass.

The ref blows his whistle, and we reconvene around the circle to the left with a new puck. Detroit takes the puck again when it drops and I’m momentarily irritated that Barren can’t get his stick on it. Detroit eleven immediately tries to take a shot, but Horny blocks it.

The game remains in play as the puck hits the ice again. This time, Morgan recovers the puck and we finally move to the other end of the ice to take our shot. He passes it to me from across the ice and I take a shot.

I’m not sure what happens. The goaltender throws his arms out as the puck comes at him and he loses his stick. The puck bounces off his pads but Barron is there to recover and shoots again. Without his stick, the goalie dives forward and lands on the puck to stop it this time.

The whistle blows and I laugh, shaking my head. What the hell just happened here?

During the next play, Morgan loses his stick, but since there are only three of us and the puck is heading in our direction, he doesn’t go to get a new one. Instead, he makes a dive on the puck with his gloved hands to stop it heading for Horny. He catches it and swats it away.

The next time it comes down, he throws his body in front of the puck to stop it. Morgan plays the last minute of the game without a stick, and seriously, besides him having a complete disadvantage and being unable to attempt a goal, he does damn well defending.

“Nice job, Walsh,” Coach calls as the equipment manager hands him a new stick. “Take a drink. Etna, Patrick, Morgan. You’re up for the shootout.”

I glance at Horny in goal. He’s leaning against the net with his head back and his eyes closed. Doing a little meditating, maybe. He hates shootouts, but he’s been working really hard to focus on one-on-one during practices.

“You got this,” Keno murmurs.

He’s looking at Horny, sending him good, strong vibes. Then his eyes meet mine. “You do too.”

“Thanks.”

He smiles. My stomach flutters. I want to lean in and give him a kiss. But we’re surrounded by people and maybe that’s not a good idea. Unless it gets into Detroit’s heads. Keno places his gloved hand over mine. “You got this,” he repeats, this time to me.

I smile, nodding. Taking another sip, I climb onto the wall and wait for my turn. Morgan’s up first. He’s a bit of a wildcard when he’s in a shootout. Sometimes he’s slow as fuck, and other times, he takes off immediately. Other times he messes with the goalie, zigging and zagging on the ice.

It’s what makes him so good at shootouts. This time, he takes off immediately, but he doesn’t make an attempt on goal. He isn’t even aiming in that direction. He skates around it, but as soon as he clears the side, he has the puck off the ice and flying through the air. It clears the goalie’s shoulder and hits the back of the net.

I grin. “Fuck, yeah.”

“He’s the best at getting in their heads,” Julian says.

The next handful of minutes is just as stressful as the first as we each take our turns alternating with Detroit. Horny blocks all three shots, though he claims one of them was just sloppy and not even trying. In truth, he did a damn good job.

We win by Morgan’s point and it’s a damn good feeling. Time to go celebrate. I’m yawning before I’m even off the ice.

I yawn for maybe the hundredth time since climbing into the car. I don’t know why I’m so tired. Yes, I do. Between practice, conditioning, an average of four games a week, and six months’ worth of wedding planning stuffed into a single month… yep, I’m tired.

The door beeps and Keno shoves it open. He’s quiet, which means he’s tired too. It was a good game. Detroit is a good team, though their division standings aren’t any better than ours. I suppose what makes it feel like a good game is the refs not trying to be a part of it.

I don’t know what it is lately, but I swear, the refs are trying to swing the games by calling stupid shit that shouldn’t be called and ignoring penalties a three-year-old could spot. A good, neutral set of refs is what every team hopes for. You don’t want to be the team who wins because the refs handed it to you.

We’ve been on the losing end of that already this season. More times than should happen.

Silently, we drop our gear bags into the spare bathroom and head for the bedroom. We strip off our suits together, tossing pieces over open drawers instead of putting them away.

“I feel sticky,” Keno complains with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to take a shower again.”

I nod and follow him into the bathroom so I can brush my teeth. It’s not the biggest bathroom. I feel like whoever built it did so just so they could sell it as an ensuite. There’s a single pedestal sink with no counter space, a shower just barely big enough for two regular sized people—not big hockey players—and, of course, a toilet.

There’s zero storage for anything. Just a couple of shelves by the mirror for bathroom items like a toothbrush and razor. If I remember correctly, Keno told me there hadn’t even been towel bars or hooks when he moved in. It made me wonder what they did with their dry towels or what they dried their hands with. Did they just drape a hand towel over the side of the sink? The shower towel on the doorknob?

I stop at the sink as Keno turns on the shower. Grabbing both of our toothbrushes, I add a dot of toothpaste to both and hand him his when he stands beside me. Keno gives me a tired smile in the mirror.

We brush our teeth together, taking turns to spit into the small sink. I let him finish first so he can get into the shower while I watch his reflection take his underwear off.

Keno is a sexy man. I don’t know why I never realized it until recently. It’s so stupidly obvious. My eyes track him as I finish rinsing my mouth and washing my face. He moves slowly under the spray of water. The glass panels begin to steam, slowly obstructing my view of him until he’s just a blur.

After finishing getting ready for bed, I straighten up and dry my face. When I turn around, Keno meets my eyes.

“Shower with me?” he asks.

My breath stutters as I stare at him. In answer, I shove my underwear down and open the glass door to step inside. Keno makes room for me under the spray of lukewarm water.

We stand close, within inches. Partly because we don’t have a choice. The space is just that small. I can feel his breath on me through the spray of the water. My eyes trail down between us, running all along his wet body, catching on where his semi-hard dick lays against his thigh.

The absent thought, he has a nice dick, drifts lazily through my mind. I glance at my own and wonder if I have a nice dick.

Realizing what I’m thinking, I shake my head a little. What’s wrong with me? Am I that tired?

I reach for him at the same time he places a hand on my stomach. His fingers move along my abdominals, dip into my navel, trail up to my pecs, and gently flick my nipple. With my hands on his hips, I pull him closer. Just a little. A shuffling of feet until our semis are brushing against each other as we breathe.

His eyes meet mine. The water feels a lot hotter suddenly. Like we’re boiling. We lean in at the same time and our lips press together. It begins as something light. Tired, just like we are. But as our hands move over each other, it transforms into something more sensual.

Deep, licking kisses. Not necessarily leading to sex, but definitely something more intimate than a quick peck. His hands continue to move over me, slowly. Exploring my shape, my muscles, the way my body reacts to him. His touch is hot. I can feel it inside me, stoking the humming fires that burn just for him.

His hands press flat against me, slide up my chest and over my shoulders until he presses the length of his body flush to mine. Keno’s fingers tangle in my hair, making my entire body tingle with pleasure.

When he touches me like that, I try to let him do so without distraction. There are times when Keno is still shy. Still unsure. Waiting for me to tell him I’m not into him. They aren’t words he’s said, but I can see it in the way he looks at me. The nervousness in his eyes. There’s always a quiet question there. ‘ Is this okay? ’

But now that he’s done exploring, I wrap my arms around him and trace my fingers down his spine. Touching every vertebra straight down to the start of his round, plump ass. I keep my touch light and slow as I drag my fingers over said ass. Keno rocks into me a little, humming into my mouth.

“Are you clean?” I ask.

His eyebrows knit together. “Yeah. You saw my test results.”

At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Then I laugh. Ah. Those test results. We received our STI panels last week, and as we suspected, we’re completely clean. For everything. We made sure they ran the full check, even the things that aren’t as commonly tested for as they should be.

I chuckle. “No. I mean, from the shower. Do you still feel sticky?”

“Oh.” He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

He nods and moves toward the glass shower door while I turn off the water. He hands me a towel and we shuffle around each other in the small space. This bathroom isn’t meant for two people to get out of the shower at once. For one, the floor is now soaked. We should have put down another floor mat. And two, the door only opens so far before hitting the sink, which means we have to shimmy a little awkwardly, which almost always leads to laughter.

As tired as we are, Keno cracks a smile when his ass is pressed to the sink while I press between him and the shower door. Maybe just a little unnecessarily close, but whatever.

We dry off a bit sloppily and head into the bedroom, not bothering to put any underwear on. Keno shuts off the bathroom light and we’re plunged into darkness since we hadn’t bothered to turn on the bedroom light.

No matter. We know where the bed is. Together, we climb on, and immediately, our limbs tangle as our mouths meet once again. His arms go around my neck, picking up where we left off.

This time, I trace his front; down his sternum, the center of his abdomen, and dip my finger into his navel. My fingers stop when I brush the crown of his dick. Keno shivers, his hips rocking subtly. Almost reflexively.

I wrap my hand around him, just to feel his girth pulse in my hand. His warmth. The way his dick moves on occasion, almost as if prompting me to do something.

I don’t do any more than hold his dick like a joystick. My thumb is on the head, making little circles.

Our kissing continues for a while before it naturally tapers off and we’re just sharing air. I shift into him, pressing his back a little further into the bed and hooking my leg over his. Keno hums, which I’ve translated to mean he’s content and happy. It makes me smile.

“You going to hold my dick all night?” he asks.

“Yes. In case I fall out of bed, I’ll have a handle to pull me back up.”

He tugs on my hair, and I laugh.

We’re silent for several moments. I’m just about to drift off when he says, “Stop rubbing my head or I’m going to be awake all night.”

Grinning again, I drop my thumb so I’m holding his cock like a bat instead of a joystick. That’s fine. This will work too.