Page 22 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)

Chapter Twenty

Malachi

Apparently having a boyfriend means I become a horn dog. If we aren’t making out in the alley outside The Den, we’re holed up on my bed dry humping each other until we come in our pants.

I can’t keep my hands off of him, and he’s more than willing to let me slap his ass a little while I help him with his Music Theory papers.

“You two are sickening,” Micky says from the counter while I stock some of the CDs. It’s a pretty quiet day in the shop, and Zander should be getting out of class soon to remedy that.

“Hey now. I’m heard some stories about you and the boyfriend. Kinky fuckers if I recall.”

Micky’s face grows ten shades of red, and he flips me his middle finger. “Someone has to get fucked around here.”

An image of letting Zander bend me over the desk and sink inside of me makes my cock twitch.

Micky’s right, at least a little.

We’ve played around with our fingers, but there’s been no penetration of the dick variety.

Hell, my clothes haven’t even come all of the way off yet.

As the next hour ticks by and there’s been no word from Zander, I pop over to Micky and tell him I’m going to take my ten.

Mid-December means the temperature has started dropping, so when I step out the side door, I slip Zander’s NHU Raven’s hoodie on that he left at my dorm the other night.

For the first few minutes, I just enjoy the smells wafting through from the bakery next door and contemplate ducking out a bit early to bring Julian back a piece of the chocolate pie that he likes.

I pull out my phone and hit Zander’s contact info. It rings six times before he finally picks up.

“What?” His voice is gruff, irritation dripping from the single syllable.

“Want to rethink that greeting?” I ask, expecting his usual playful response.

“Not really. I’m busy. What do you need?”

I clench my jaw and try desperately not to grind my teeth. A bad habit from the group home days.

“Thought I’d check on my boyfriend since he’s nowhere to be seen, but apparently he got his phone snatched by a raging asshole.”

Zander groans loud and disgruntled. “Fucking hell, Malachi. You aren’t actually my Daddy. Lay off. You can come to the house after work and we’ll unwind. I can’t make it by today. Didn’t know I needed to ask your damn permission to have a life.”

There’s a dark feeling circling my gut. Like a sinkhole opening up.

“I’ll see you tonight?” There’s a hint of impatience in his voice, and I’m surprised he’s bothering to stay on at all.

“No.” I don’t like how this feels.

“No?”

“No. You don’t get to talk to me like that and expect me to sleep with you.”

His sigh is deafening. “Okay. Fine. Don’t come over. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

This time, he leaves no room for a rebuttal. The line clicks off, and I realize of all the responses I could have to his outburst, there’s tears prickling in my eyes.

I must stand there for too long getting my shit together, because Micky shows up and pokes his head out the side door.

“Hey, man. You good?”

I stuff my hands in the pocket of the hoodie and nod. When our eyes meet I can tell he sees the redness in mine.

“Hale texted me,” he says. “His family showed up out of the blue.”

And that would have been such a hard thing to tell me?

“Do they not get along?”

Micky seesaws his hand. “He’s always real touchy when they come up. I stopped asking him about it, you know? I’ve met his sister, Liliana, once, but that’s about it.”

I didn’t even know he had a sister.

“He can be a jerk sometimes,” Micky says. “Don’t be afraid to call him out on his shit. Too many people give him a pass because he’s good at what he does or because he’s stupidly happy most of the time.”

“So he makes a habit out of being a random dick?”

“When he can’t jump on a random dick? Absolutely.”

The sludge in my stomach grows thicker. Even before the boyfriend thing, Zander and I were exclusively sleeping together. He said he’d respect that, and I have no reason to believe he’d go back on it now.

Except he didn’t sound reasonable on the phone.

No, I’m just projecting because of Mack.

But the rest of my shift is spent in a constant state of fight or flight.

Even the thought of going home and pretending to try and sleep feels like it’ll just piss me off.

So I park my ass on the curb of the Jock House and stew. Maybe by the time Zander shows up, I’ll have something productive to say and not just a well-deserved earful.

It’s several hours later by the time a car pulls up and stops in front of the house. A door opens, and Zander steps out with a scowl on his face and a buzzed flush on his cheeks. He leans into the driver’s window and says something.

I’ve got some beat-heavy pop music playing through my earbuds, and I pull one out as Zander stumbles toward the sidewalk.

He doesn’t notice me, coming to a standstill beneath a falter streetlamp and running a shaking hand through his hair. I watch him. How he hugs himself with one arm and braces his weight on the pole with the other.

I don’t know how long he stands there, eyes closed, basking in the moonlight.

My anger died away long before now, leaving behind this ugly, carved out wound I haven’t figured out what to do with.

Pushing to my feet, I shove my phone and earbuds into the hoodie pocket, and close as much of the distance between Zander and I as I dare. There’s a good two or three feet left, but Zander was right when he said we barely know each other.

It’s been a whirlwind few weeks, but I can’t say I know how he’ll act in a fight.

“Wildfire.” Because if I say his actual name, my voice might break.

His eyes open slow and tired. “Malachi. Thought you weren’t coming.” He says the words steady and quiet.

“I don’t think I made this clear,” I say, matching his tone. “But dating me means giving each other mutual respect. Something that phone call wasn’t.”

Shadows play over Zander’s face, making his expression hard to read.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” he says with a shrug, as it that absolves him of his attitude.

“That’s a crappy way to apologize to the one you have now.”

His eyes find mine, and honestly they just look tired. Worn down.

“I didn’t think I could hurt your feelings.” He pushes off the pole, slightly unsteady but holding himself well. “You keep them so bottled up.”

“There’s a reason for that,” I say, standing still as he takes a step forward.

“Yeah? Who hurt you, Blanchard? Who made you so overbearing and needy?”

He just wants to get a rise out of me.

Unfortunately, it’s working. I have the reputation of having a short fuse, and there’s damn good reason for it.

“You need to stop and go sober up.”

“You came looking for me!” He scoffs and wraps his fingers around my elbow.

The touch feels like an inferno, but I don’t pull away.

“Because I was worried about you.” I keep my voice low and steady. “Because Micky said when you get like this, you?—”

“I what?” He leans in close, nose brushing my cheek. “What do I do, Daddy?”

I swallow heavy and shut my eyes. “You want to fuck around.”

“Fuck around?” He chuckles and then grows silent. Seconds tick by, and he pulls away, but I still feel his breath across my face. “You thought because you said … Malachi.”

A hand covers my cheek, thumb stroking the skin. “Look at me.”

Slowly, I do, to find muddied pools of sadness and confusion staring into me.

“I want you.” He says each word deliberately. “Even if I’ve pissed you off, and you don’t want me back.”

I do. I fucking do. But you do shit like this, and my heart won’t let me give in.

“You honestly think I’d cheat on you? Because I need to blow off some steam?”

I can’t tell if he’s angry or just hurt, but it mirrors the tangle of feelings I’ve been sorting through myself.

“I’ve had men do worse.” I don’t mean for it to slip out, but the way he’s touching me and looking at me has my barrier thinned.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, and I can already see the calm evaporating. His breathing speeds up and his brows draw in tight.

“It means when I don’t give men what they want, they do what they can to hurt me.”

There’s a brief moment of recognition in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of understanding, but the adrenaline in his system wins out.

He slams his mouth into mine, and though I don’t shove him away, I also don’t reciprocate. His teeth dig into my lip so hard it bleeds, and when I gasp in pain, he shoves his tongue inside and drags me closer by the hip.

If this is what he needs, he can take it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he growls, shoving his hands under the hoodie and reaching for my skin. “I wouldn’t cheat, and I wouldn’t force you.”

Part of me wants to pull away, but the need to be close and seek his comfort is stronger.

“I’m not angry at you, I’m fucking …” He bites back a scream and screws his eyes shut tight, digging a palm into them. “I’m fucking hurt. And when I’m hurt I want to …”

“Hurt people, hurt people,” I say, and he jerks his head in a nod. “Is that what you need? To hurt someone?”

When his eyes open—dark and full of unwanted desire—I reach out and dig my fingers into his hip bones.

“You can hurt me, Wildfire. I’m not easy to break.”

It’s a half-truth. There’s any number of things he could do or say that would put an end to us. I’d pack up and leave without a word, just like I did with Mack.

But I know this side of him. I trust that he’d never throw more at me than I can take. Even if he’s half out of his mind.

“What if I want to break you?” he asks as his voice wobbles, eyes unsteady. “What if I want to pull your hair and shove you into the dirt? Mount you like a fucking lion and rut you into the ground until you bleed?”

His breathing comes out quicker. “What if I want to make you cry and beg and—” He clamps his mouth shut and tears away from me. “Fuck. No. You’re right. I need to sober up. I shouldn’t be thinking …”

He stalks away toward the side of the building, likely going for the backdoor so his teammates don’t see him erratic and wasted. I follow, because every violent word out of his mouth has only served to make my pulse skyrocket.

Not out of fear.

Out of want.

“Zander.”

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. Just picks up the pace.

If he really wanted to out run me, I have no doubt Mr Star Hockey Player could do so even with a head clouded by alcohol.

The Jock House has a large backyard surrounded by dense forest; Zander often takes to one of the trails in the mornings for a run.

He makes a beeline for the trees, and I snatch his arm as we stand right there at the edge of civility and savagery.

I’m out of breath, but at least he doesn’t fight my hold.

“Do you need to fuck or be fucked?” I ask, and his attention snaps to me like a plucked rubber band.

“Malachi.” His voice wobbles. A warning? A plea?

I yank him closer until our chests bump together, placing my lips at his ear. “Do. You. Need. To. Fuck. Or. Be. Fucked?”

Each word is spoken with my mouth moving along his jaw, and I can feel every shaky breath he takes into his lungs.

When he doesn’t answer, I trail my hand down his abdomen until I brush the bulge jutting out of his pants and wrap my fingers around it.

“I need to fuck you,” he says in one breath, bucking into my hold.

I squeeze him only once, then let go and shove him toward the house. He stumbles, clearly caught off guard, and I let myself grin at the minor form of payback.

“Go find some lube and condoms.”

“You’re not coming to the room?”

Zander is hurting, and because of that he acts out. He’ll self destruct and implode his life before letting anyone help him. Before letting anyone in.

He wants to hurt me, but not to cause me pain. To quiet his own.

Something inside of me settles. One of the missing pieces has come back.

I step forward and grip him by the back of the neck, pull him to me and crash our lips together. It’s rough and fierce and everything Zander said he wanted. I only pull away when he lets out a broken moan into my mouth.

“You want to act like a wild animal?” I hook my thumb in the direction of the woods. “Fuck me like one.”