Page 31 of Puck Shots (Love The Game #6)
Cosmo
“ D o you want mac and cheese?” Eli asks, grabbing one of the boxes from the pantry.
“Sure. Do you want help?”
“It’s mac and cheese, how hard can it be?” he replies, turning the box over in his hands and reading the instructions with a frown on his face.
“I’ll grab the milk.”
“It doesn’t say it… oh, wait, yes it does. I’ll need butter, too. Do we have real butter?”
“Yeah, Jeeper went shopping yesterday, so we’ve got about fifteen sticks of it.” I reply, popping the ingredients on the counter and sitting on one of the bar stools to watch.
Jeeper is totally obsessed with extreme couponing.
He even had the pledges scouring nearby streets for inserts on more than one occasion during rush.
It’s how we ended up with fifty-three boxes of mac and cheese, too.
The pantry, off the large open kitchen, is huge, but it’s not big enough to hold all his stockpile, so we have the basement filled like a grocery store of all the extras.
We don’t keep it all. A lot of frats and sororities coupon, maybe not to the extent that Jeeper does—I swear this guy treats it like an Olympic sport—but his score of forty-seven bottles of fake tan were a good trade to the Zeta Omega Gamma sorority for a couple of kegs.
Now those are something you will never see a coupon for.
He puts the pot on the burner and adds the water, then measures out the rest of what he needs. Tipping in the packet of pasta when it does with a satisfied smile.
“So what do you want to do after we eat?” I ask, and he pumps his brows once, then leans forward over the bench and kisses me.
“I was kind of thinking the same thing,” I say into his mouth, cupping his face and deepening the kiss. I don’t know how anyone could get tired of this. And that’s how we almost burned down the kitchen. Not really, but the next time my eyes open it’s because I smell something burning.
“Shit, the pasta,” I say, and Eli turns and grabs the smoking pot from the stove top, tossing it into the sink and turning the tap on. It sizzles and hisses as the smoke clears.
The alarm above us starts to sound, and I grab a dish towel and start waving it frantically in front of it as a few of the guys come running in. Sam is one of them, and he’s holding a fire extinguisher.
“Where’s the fire?” he asks, and Eli switches off the tap.
“No fire, just smoke. It’s all under control.”
“Looks like it,” Sam replies over the blaring sound of the alarm. He climbs onto a stool and presses a button on the base of the alarm, silencing its siren.
“You have ten minutes to clear the room or it will go off again,” he says, jumping down. “And don’t forget to clean that pot.”
“Sorry,” Eli says, his cheeks bright red.
“It was my fault,” I say, and Sam turns with a raised brow.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I walked in looking this hot and it just went off.”
A few of the guys laugh, but Sam just shakes his head in disappointment and leaves the room.
“You’re hot enough to set off my alarm,” Eli begins as he tips the pot upside down, spilling out the partially charred chunks of macaroni. “So, I’m kind of not into cooking now. Takeout?”
“Pizza?”
“Perfect. You order; I’ll finish cleaning this.”
Thankfully, the local pizza place has twenty minutes or less guarantee, so the pizza is at the door by the time Eli is done scrubbing the black from the bottom of the pot, and we cuddle up on the couch to eat.
Without me even having to ask, he flicks the channel to hockey.
“Hey, ref, you dropped your whistle!” I yell at the screen. “Right in the ribs, call it!”
Eli chuckles beside me.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just love…your passion for the game.”
I wrap my arm over his shoulder.
“I’m passionate about a few other things, too,” I say, and he smirks up at me.
“Really, do tell.”
“I think I’d rather show you,” I say, and then I kiss him again.
***
I wake up, neck sore, Eli cuddled in at my side on the couch. I have no idea when we fell asleep, but waking up next to him is nice. His breathing mirrors mine, slow, and steady and he’s got one hand up the front of my shirt, resting on my stomach.
Lying here, it suddenly hits me. My life doesn’t start when I get drafted. This is my life, it’s already happening all around me, and it’s fucking awesome.
The weeks fly by in the best possible way, practice, games, meeting with potential teams, and spending time with Eli.
Scouts are at every game, and we’re playing the best season.
Given midterms are coming up fast, Eli worked out a schedule so he can study without me distracting him.
I’m not offended, the coach basically asked us to do the same thing, except he suggested a total separation until the season was over.
He didn’t want his players’ minds on anything but hockey.
Trouble is, if you take something away, it’s the only thing anyone will be thinking about.
I’ve never been so hooked on a guy the way I am with Eli. No one ever really held my attention longer than a hook up. I’d get what I wanted from them and then move on. All I can put it down to was, I got what I wanted, but not what I needed. Eli gives me both.
“You know people pay to go to college to learn, Mr. Parks,” Professor Grimes says, handing over my practice exam paper, a big red D circled on the top.
Fuck. If the real thing goes the same way, I’ll have more to worry about than getting drafted.
I can’t exactly show the NHL teams I’m the player they want to sign if I fail out of school and aren’t on the ice at all.
“This is why we did the test, people,” Professor Grimes says louder as he returns to the front of the class. “Now you know where your gaps are. Use the next few weeks wisely and fill those gaps before your mid-terms.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t actually been studying all that hard. It’s not that I don’t think I need to. This test proves I do, but every time I try to focus on anything other than hockey and Eli, my brain finds a way to make it about hockey or Eli.
I pull out my phone and text Eli.
ME:
Know any good tutors?
ELI:
In what subject?
ME:
Probably all of them if this practice test is anything to go off.
ELI:
I know one super smart, really kind, generous guy who’d probably love to help you out.
His rates are really affordable, too.
In fact, I’m pretty sure he operates on a trade system.
ME:
Do you mean Reddy?
ELI:
Mean.
ME:
You’ve already helped me way too much.
Besides, what would I even have to trade you for?
You’re already in the frat.
ELI:
I’m sure we can work something out.
I hear you’re really good at shower head.
***
“Come on, you know this,” Eli says with a grin as he lifts the hem of his shirt just high enough that I can see the slightly freckled skin underneath.
“Give me a second. Your reward is also a little distracting, you know?”
“Get it wrong, and a piece of clothing goes back on.”
“Those aren’t the rules.”
“It’s my game, so my rules.”
“Okay, so the difference between classical and Keynesian economic theory is… classical assumes the economy will fix itself in the long run, while Keynesian believes that the government has to intervene in some way to fix things like recessions or unemployment.” I’m only half confident in my answer, but he smiles and pulls his shirt all the way over his head and throws it to the floor beside my bed.
“Yes, okay. Ask me another. I want to see those pants hit the floor next.”
“Okay, here is a tough one. What is an example of opportunity cost?”
“I know this one.” I grin, and he climbs from the bed and readies himself to strip off his pants.
“Go on then.”
“Umm, so opportunity cost is like what you lose to get something.”
“I’m not sure that’s a college-level example there.”
“I wasn’t done. An example, okay. Well, this right here is a prime example.”
“What is?”
“If I spend the night studying economics instead of with you in bed making you moan my name, the opportunity cost is the orgasmic pleasure we miss out on.”
He starts laughing, shaking his head.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” I ask, climbing from the bed and grabbing him by the waist of his jeans and pulling him to me.
“Please don’t use that as your example if they ask in your real test.”
“Why? I think I’d get bonus points for originality.”
“You’ll make an impression, that’s for sure.”
“Study time’s over. I want my prize.”
“Then take it.” He grins, and I drop to my knees, taking his pants down with me, then swallow his perfect cock.