Page 29 of In the Net (Sin Bin Stories #5)

SEBASTIAN

W e’re back at our home arena for our fourth game of the season.

There’s one aspect of this season I’m proud of, though, and that’s Jamie’s performance as captain.

He’s been unflappable since that pep talk I gave him when I saw him looking depressed after our first game. He hasn’t shown any cracks in his confidence, broadcasting to everyone that he believes in this team and won’t stop believing in it.

Under his leadership, there’s been no blame thrown around about the disappointing start to the season. Only support, responsibility, and a renewed dedication to keep working together to get better.

Everyone knows this is a team of great players. It’s cooperation and experience on the ice together that will sharpen us into a great team that can make another run at the playoffs.

Thanks to Jamie’s leadership, the whole team has been able to keep that fact centered through this rocky start.

I feel good about tonight’s game.

Our last couple practice sessions have been great.

The on-ice chemistry with the new players is starting to fall into place.

Even though we’re up against Boston College, one of the best teams in the college league, there’s a competitive spark in my chest that makes me feel like tonight is the night we remind everyone that the Brumehill Black Bears will always be a force to be reckoned with.

There’s another reason that my anticipation level is heightened tonight.

Harper is going to be in the crowd.

Obviously, it wouldn’t do for my girlfriend to never show up to any of my games. If we’re going to sell this thing, we have to put an effort into acting like we would if we were actually dating.

Thinking of Harper immediately sends my mind back to Starlite the other night. When we danced together.

I huff a silent chuckle as I step into the locker room.

Dance isn’t exactly the word for it. We shamelessly grinded on each other, overcome with lust and raw, animal craving.

I’ve never seen Harper so undone before, and I can’t pretend that it wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

Every single shower I’ve had since that night, I’ve furiously fisted my cock to the memory of it.

My groin tightens just thinking about it. Fuck, her body felt so damn right against mine. The firm swell of her tits, the shape of her hips and waist that my hands couldn’t get enough of, the silky strands of her hair, the heat between her thighs that I wanted to feel with so much more than my leg.

I tighten my ab muscles, willing away the erection growing in my pants.

“Holy shit, guys,” Carter says, eyebrows rising as he looks at his phone.

“What?” I ask.

“Check out the group chat,” he says.

Carter, Jamie, and I have a chat where we keep in touch with the guys who graduated last year: Lane, Rhys, Tuck, and Hudson.

I open it to find that Tuck just posted a photo in the chat: it’s the hand of his girlfriend, Olivia, with a big, glittering ring on her finger.

Just then, a message from our former teammate comes through.

Tuck

I’m engaged.

Beat all you assholes to it.

A smile ticks on my lips as read receipts from the other members of the group quickly come in, followed by reactions to the news.

Hudson

You would get engaged just to brag that you’re first.

I laugh. Tuck and Hudson are as different as two guys can be, but they became best friends during the two years they lived together. Funny enough, Hudson’s girlfriend Summer and Tuck’s now-fiancée Olivia are best friends, too.

Tuck

Don’t worry, Hud, you can always be the first divorce once Summer comes to get senses.

Laugh reacts flood Tuck’s message, even though we all know that Hudson and Summer are so in love with each other that there’s zero chance they won’t be together forever.

Another message pops up on my screen, from Harper this time.

Harper (ugh)

If you guys are winning by halftime, can I leave early?

I roll my eyes at her, but my mouth still curves.

First of all, hockey doesn’t have a halftime.

Second of all, no.

I don’t want her leaving early. I want her to watch the whole game.

Why, though? That’s weird, isn’t it?

I wonder if she’s wearing my jersey. I picture the sight, her with my name and number on her back, and a strange feeling beats in my chest. A proud, satisfied feeling. Now I can’t get the thought out of my head.

I send her another message.

Are the girls with you? Maddie and Scarlett and Jasmine?

Harper (ugh)

Yeah. Why?

If Maddie and Scarlett haven’t heard about Tuck’s engagement yet, they’ll want to know. Giving them the news is the perfect excuse to see if Harper has my jersey on, without having to wait to skate out onto the ice and looking through the stands for her.

I ask Harper where they are, and she tells me they’re in line for food. Most of the crowd at home games shows up well before the team skates onto the ice, treating games as a big social event. I tell the guys in the locker room where I’m going and head to deliver the news.

Disappointment sinks in my chest when I spot Harper and see that she’s not wearing my jersey. It’s no surprise, but after the image flashed so appealingly in my head, it’s a letdown.

There’s a stand selling team jerseys right down the hall, though.

I’m not ready to give up on seeing Harper wearing my jersey. Not ready to give up on finding out if the real thing would have that weird, possessive feeling fluttering through me just like the image in my head did.

Forgetting my excuse for coming out here in the first place, I fix the usual teasing expression I use with Harper onto my face as I stroll up to her.

“Not wearing your boyfriend’s jersey to his game?” I ask.

A challenging look sharpens in her eyes. “In your dreams.”

Ever since that night at the club, she’s been acting more stubborn. As if giving me an attitude could make either of us forget that I almost made her come against my leg.

“Don’t you want to be a supportive girlfriend?” There’s a mocking tone in my voice. Luckily, this area of the arena is pretty empty right now, and she’s the last person in line, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard as long as I keep my voice low.

She lifts her chin with a defiant tilt. “Maybe we’re having a fight. Maybe I’m mad at you and don’t want to sully myself with your name on my back.”

My blood pumps thicker. I’m not sure when her acting combative like this went from being annoying to being thrilling.

“I’ll buy you a jersey to wear. It’ll look better. What kind of hockey girlfriend comes to a game without wearing her boyfriend’s jersey?”

“No need,” she protests.

My jaw ticks. Verbally sparring with Harper might be growing on me, but the idea that she really doesn’t want to wear my jersey has a bitter taste filling my mouth.

A color peeking from the tote bag slung over her shoulder catches my eye. It’s the same shade of blue that’s strewn all over this arena.

“What’s this?” I ask, my eyes pointing to her bag.

Harper’s cheeks turn a rosy shade. Embarrassment seeps into her expression. “Nothing, that’s just …”

Ignoring her, I grab the blue fabric and tug on it—pulling a Brumehill Black Bears jersey out of her bag.

I hold it up to let it unfold, finding none other than my own name and number on the backside.

A cocky, triumphant grin beams on my face. Harper’s face is so red it’s almost glowing.

“You had my jersey all along.” Without even seeing her wearing it, just knowing she has it with her, a possessive, primal feeling pounds in my chest, even stronger than I imagined it.

She tilts a shoulder, trying and failing to act casual. “I thought?—”

I interrupt her by stepping forward into her space. “Know what I think?” I dip down, my voice lowering to a rasp next to her ear. “I think you wanted to wear my jersey, but only after I told you to.”

A look of recognition crosses her deep green eyes, like she’s been caught out. “That’s ridiculous.”

My smirk is devilish. “I think my girlfriend likes to tease me. And I think she likes me telling her what to do.”

Harper’s face is incandescent. Her cheeks look warm enough to use as a space heater.

I grab the strap of her bag and tug it off her shoulder, holding out my jersey to her in my other hand.

“Put it on,” I command.

My voice is firm and demanding. I imagine Harper and me in my room, or hers. I’m using the same demanding voice, but I’m sure as fuck not telling her to put a piece of clothing on .

I watch the slim column of her neck bob on a swallow. Wordlessly, she takes the jersey from my hands and slides it over her head.

Masculine pride thrums through me as I take a step back to get a full view. A pleased hum rumbles in my throat.

“Good girl.”

The words leave my mouth instinctively, and a jolt goes straight to my cock when they do.

Judging by the round shape that forms on Harper’s pink lips and the glimmer that sparkles in her eyes, I think she liked them, too.