Page 13 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

“Like your mom.” I shrugged at his cocked brow. “I did a deep-dive Google search.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it was…kind of intimidating,” I admitted with a wry laugh.

“I know.” He snorted, opening his arms to encompass the room. “My mom would have thought all this was cute. And my mom didn’t do cute.”

“ Hmm . How come there’s nothing about your parents online? You don’t have to answer,” I added hastily. “I’m just curious as fuck about them. And you.”

Walker studied me, probably mentally weighing the risk of letting a relative stranger in on family lore. After a long moment, he spoke.

“The Woodrows had a lot of media influence, and they conveniently erased that chapter from history.”

“Why?”

“Because my parents’ marriage was a mistake, and the Woodrows don’t like mistakes,” he said evenly.

“ Huh . Did your dad?—”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have a lot of Ketchum Clomsky lore to share,” Walker intercepted.

“He’s in my life on the periphery…like a long-lost uncle.

It’s been that way for years, and I highly suspect that I created what fond memories I have of him on days that I wished my family looked like a fairy tale with two loving parents and cool albeit slightly annoying siblings.

I understand that you’re curious about your hockey hero, but I don’t know him.

Here’s what I can tell you: My parents were divorced, I went to boarding schools, my mom was killed when I was thirteen, and the only family I saw during holidays and breaks was my Aunt Kay and her family.

She’s my father’s older sister and the best person I know.

Ketchum is…a stranger who comes around once in a while who my aunt is fond of.

To me, he’s a sperm donor and just another hockey player. ”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Sad, tragic, too bad?” he suggested. “Not really. It’s life.

I have childhood memories of a big man who smelled like soap and pine needles, drove a red car with dark windows, and always showed up with stacks of coloring books, and oddly…

a bicycle. I inherited a closet filled with his jerseys and signed memorabilia that I assume had been accidentally left at my mother’s New York City apartment, but…

that’s it. We’re far removed from days of coloring books and bicycles, and I don’t know why that happened.

Maybe he didn’t want to be a father. Or maybe he didn’t want me to be his son.

It doesn’t matter. He’s not a significant person in my life because he chose not to be, and now… things are different.”

“Fuck, that’s…disappointing.” I blew a raspberry and sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

I scoffed. “What are you sorry about? Clomsky sucks.”

Walker gave a half laugh. “Yeah, he kind of does. I knew my mom better…obviously. However, she wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type either.

She wanted to save kids in war-torn nations, not deal with carpools and piano lessons for her own child.

But at least she acknowledged my existence.

Oh, well…things might have been different if I liked hockey. ”

I scowled, grasping at any segue that might lighten the mood I’d killed with this topic. “You don’t like hockey?”

“Do you want the real answer?”

“Yeah, lay it on me.”

“Okay…I hate it.”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, no, no. You don’t hate hockey. I distinctly remember you telling Jett that he was your favorite player during one of those locker room interviews you do sometimes.”

“I was lying,” he deadpanned.

“No way. You might think you hate hockey, but you don’t.”

Walker frowned and set his hands on his hips. “I do. I really, really do. There’s too much fighting, it’s too intense, and too dangerous. The potential for head injuries and long-term brain damage is astonishing.”

I made a thumbs-down gesture. “Boo. Those are terrible reasons. C’mon…fighting is a small percent of the game, intensity is a good thing, and crossing the street or slipping in the bathtub can be dangerous too.”

“True, but I have a strong aversion to putting myself in dangerous situations. Or watching others do it.”

I shrugged as if I couldn’t argue with the sentiment. “But you’re still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“I am. One cannot interview a hockey player for a special feature and not attend one of his shows,” Walker replied.

“Games,” I corrected with a lopsided grin.

“If you say so.”

“Are we keeping our shirts on or off during the locker room interview?”

“Off, please.”

I snorted and raised my hand up for a high five, chuckling as he punched my palm with his fist. I knew he was hamming up the awkward act, but damn, it was cute. I impulsively caught his hand and held it.

And didn’t let go.

Drop it. Don’t start something you can’t finish. Don’t be a fucking idiot.

Did I listen? No, I told you I wasn’t so smart.

I loosened my grip, sliding my fingers to circle Walker’s wrist. It was fine-boned, almost fragile. My hand looked like a lion’s paw on top of a kitten’s, I mused, mustering the courage to meet his gaze.

Fuck . This was kind of scary. I didn’t know what to say, which was weird ’cause I could usually talk myself out of trouble. Tell a joke, tell a lie, make a mad dash for the door.

I stayed put, massaging the delicate flesh, my thumb brushing the blue veins on his pulse point. Walker watched me with a surreal intensity, but he didn’t pull away.

So…I took a chance and moved my hands to his hips. His breath caught on an inhale, and that was when I leaned in and slanted my mouth over his.

There was a half beat of uncertainty. We froze the way we had last time, but then he moaned into the connection and slid his tongue between my lips.

Fuck, it was good.

The kiss was sweet and unhurried, a lazy exploration that lit me up inside. My blood zinged through my veins as I savored him, nipping his lips and licking a path down the column of his neck before sealing our mouths, devouring him again.

Walker flattened his palms on my chest and lowered them to my sides, tentatively circling my waist. His hands were on my ass, our tongues were tangling, and he was rubbing up on my thigh.

I pushed him to the wall, caging him between my arms, our lips fused. My dick needed friction…or breathing room. I bent my knees to accommodate our height difference and ground my aching dick against Walker’s. I wasn’t sure where we were going with this. I only knew I didn’t want to stop. Not yet.

Our momentum grew with every stroke of tongues, every nudge of our erections. We weren’t making out now, we were feasting, humping, grinding.

Walker grabbed my belt loops, pulling me close.

I bit his earlobe, rubbing my bearded jaw along his smooth one and lifted him, holding his ass while I dragged my denim-clad hard-on over Walker’s.

He whimpered, throwing his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist. I kept him anchored to the wall for support, swaying into him, and fuck… it was so damn good.

He had no idea how much I needed this. I was so hot for him, starving for male touch. And kissing him…fuck, it was almost as good as the feel of his rigid dick through layers of clothing. So good, so fucking good.

My rhythm was off. I was too close too soon. I had to stop this. I had to?—

I broke the kiss, panting for air as I released Walker.

We did that staring thing again. If he was looking to me for any bright ideas, he’d come to the wrong place. I had nothing but nasty thoughts in my head. And that was a problem. Walker wasn’t like Carson. He wasn’t a “fuck him and forget him” kind of guy. Don’t ask how I knew that…I just did.

But I couldn’t stop kissing him. One more .

I bent to trail my tongue over his bee-stung lower lip.

“Christ, you taste so good,” I hummed. “I wish I could—what are you doing?”

“ Mmm , I’m going to do…something. Don’t argue, don’t tell me it’s a bad idea. I know it is, but I want it. And if you walk out of here and I never get another chance, I’ll regret it forever. So just…let me.” Walker threaded the leather strap from my belt buckle as he nipped my chin. “Please.”

I wisely shut the hell up and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

He undid my jeans and pushed me against the wall, sinking to his knees as he lowered my Levi’s and boxer briefs. What happened next could only be described as a master-class blowjob.

Walker squeezed my cock at the base, dragging his tongue from root to tip with his eyes locked on mine.

His gaze was equal parts seductive and rabid.

For a hot second, I wasn’t sure if he was just going to tease me or eat me alive.

I clung to the wall, hoping I didn’t embarrass myself as he licked my crown in lazy circles, sucking precum from my slit and swallowing my length, inch by inch.

His throat muscles contracted and holy fuck, that was unexpected. My desperate-sounding moan bounced around the room as I threaded my fingers through his hair, wordlessly begging him to keep going.

Message received. Walker got to it, stroking, sucking, and working all kinds of magic.

He fondled my balls and massaged the sensitive skin behind them while twirling his tongue…

too slow, too fast, then just right. The urge to take over and fuck his mouth was strong, but I didn’t want to ruin this by taking more than he was offering.

Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to last.

Sweat beaded my brow as pleasure tingled at the base of my spine. I tightened my hold on his hair and choked out a strangled, “I’m close.”

Walker pulled off with a pop , tapping my swollen cock on his bottom lip, wet with saliva. “Give it to me. I want it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growled, pumping my hips double time.

So much for any hint of self-control. I had none. I was reduced to feral beast mode, and damned if my cock didn’t look perfect sliding in and out of his mouth. That was my final thought before I came apart, shooting my load down his throat with a guttural cry.

The sexy redhead at my feet sat on his heels, looking mighty pleased with himself—like the cat who’d caught a canary.

I held my hand out to him, chest heaving as if I’d just run a fucking marathon.

Walker stood, snaking his fingers around my nape and thrust his tongue into my mouth.

I tasted myself, which…yeah, that was the idea.

I shouldn’t have liked it so much. It was a power-play move, and I had this thing about being the one who called the shots during sex.

To a degree, anyway. I wasn’t a selfish lover, but I didn’t bottom and more often than not, I wasn’t the guy on my knees. I would’ve done it for Walker in a heartbeat, though. Right then and there. I would have done anything he wanted.

Walker batted my hand away when I reached for his belt, though. “No, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I insisted. “You have a tent in your pants and I’m not going anywhere until I help you with it. C’mon, let me.”

I thought he might refuse, but he unbuckled his belt, unzipped, and fumbled to free his cock from his briefs.

Fuck, he even had a pretty dick. Not quite as thick as mine, but close, nestled in a perfectly trimmed thatch of auburn pubic hair.

Walker nudged me with his elbow as he jerked himself. “You don’t have to do anything. Just…kiss me.”

I could do better than that. I spit on my palm and took over, stroking him to the rhythm of our tongues. He stiffened and grunted in warning just before his orgasm hit, but he didn’t break the kiss. Cum spurted on my fist and his shirt and… Fuck…just…fuck.

We leaned against the wall, facing each other and ignoring the mess we’d made.

“How did that happen?” I rasped in a surprisingly steady tone.

Walker raised a brow and snorted. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Me either, but it was…wow.”

“Y-yes.” He grabbed a few tissues from the box on his desk and passed it to me. “There’s a bathroom down the hall. You probably need to wash up and—I should…um, get back to work.”

“Uh…right.” I cleared my throat and wiped my hands, feeling a little unmoored. “I guess I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

Walker’s even expression gave nothing away. If he were uncomfortable or unsure, I’d never know. He’d clean out the house with a good hand at poker any day of the week.

“Cool.” I headed for the stairs and paused at the landing. “Hey, Woodrow?”

Walker peered from behind the door. “Yes?”

“We did good today, huh?”

He blushed, then nodded. “We did.”

We shared a smile that felt like a conversation. This is good. We’re okay.

I strolled away with a bounce in my step, contemplating how funny it was to think of Walker as an ally rather than a foe.

An interesting one too.

I wasn’t ready to let him go.

Don’t ask me what I meant by that. Realistically, we were at the end of our association, and I should have just been glad it hadn’t ended badly.

And I was, but…I wanted more.

Five thousand followers.

Twelve thousand followers.

Fifteen thousand, twenty-one thousand, twenty-seven thousand followers.

The numbers rose every few minutes. I didn’t get it. Obviously, this was Walker’s influence. I thought it was a good thing, but it was weird.

Toby didn’t think so. “You’re blowing up, Czerniak! Blowing the fuck up! I knew that kid was something special. Stick close to him. He might just be your fast pass to some serious playing time in the AHL.”

I didn’t know about that, but…I wanted to get close to Walker. And it had nothing to do with racking up a social media following.