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Tanner
Dating in secret?
Not as easy it bloody looks.
Especially not around the holidays.
I swear I’m one team soc’ event away from leaving the best season I’ve ever had in my professional career just to be able to kiss my girlfriend in front of the boys.
And don’t even get me started on the media frenzy I seemingly can’t avoid.
Browsing the lingerie section had them reporting I must be involved with a lingerie model.
Politely chatting with an attractive pediatric nurse during a charity Christmas caroling competition I attended with Cap resulted in speculations that her and I were a thing – which she then posted pictures of her husband to clarify that we weren’t.
And cheerfully signing the coffee cup of a hot pink cowgirl hat wearing bombshell next to dangling mistletoe meant I was cheekily giving her my cell.
Thankfully, Arden doesn’t immediately believe the reports like she used to, but I look forward to the day I do not have to constantly explain myself.
That she simply sees them and knows.
Believes.
Which would be a day that could grace us with its debut much sooner if we weren’t on the same team – so to speak.
Two taps on the guest bedroom door in my apartment inform me that it’s not actually closed; however, when I stroll inside, Becks’ immediate frozen disposition clearly displays he believed otherwise.
My eyes cut the half empty bottle of vodka in his possession a curious glance before closing in on the hand that’s partially hidden by the charcoal comforter. “Tell me your dick is in your other hand.”
He swiftly reveals to me the bottle of prescription pills with a cheesy grin.
“Honestly would’ve preferred you wanking it, mate.”
“To killin’ my pain?”
“To killing yourself. ”
He rolls his head as well as his eyes. “Get off my jock about that shit, Frosky.” It takes no more than a flick of the thumb to move the lid. “I’m not crashing here for you to lecture me in between banging your broadskie, aye.”
He’s crashing here because he didn’t have anywhere else to bloody go.
No bunnies were willing to house a hockey player that doesn’t actually play hockey.
No so-called friends in other leagues were willing to have an out-of-work couch crasher.
And no other ex-teammates were willing to even answer his call to share a hotel discount rate that most of us get through a rep.
It’s like once he left the league the world stopped giving a fuck about him.
Overlooked that he even existed.
Being Gretzky is every puckheads greatest dream…while being completely forgotten is every puckheads greatest nightmare.
One that he is most certainly living.
“Becks-”
“ I’m fine ,” he insists prior to shaking the container into his open mouth, clearly giving no shit about the dosage. “ Juste une petite douleur dans ma jambe , bud.”
Yesterday the “little pain” wasn’t in his leg but his shoulder.
Last week it was his back.
Before that it was his ankle.
Becks always claims he’s in some sort of pain unless he’s got a crest on his vest, which tells me the real pain isn’t physical.
It’s bloody mental.
And no amount of pills or booze is gonna handle that.
I casually lean my black sweater covered bicep against the door frame and announce, “I’m headed out for the holiday-”
“Already?” Becks pours an entire mouthful of liquor, gulps it in one go, and uses the back of his bottle holding hand to wipe away any remains. “I thought your flight to Highland wasn’t until late tonight.”
“It is; however, my gift to Hoss is a road trip away from here, hence why my ass is up like I’m headed for pracky rather than to pick her up.”
He does his best to smile yet falls short.
“You sure you’re going to be alright for a few days?”
“ Oui ,” Becks brushes off post another swig. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Perhaps because it’s Christmas Eve.”
“And?”
“And not everyone wants to be alone during the holiday.”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got , Ramirez and Warren,” his chin kicks to the flat screen on the wall opposite of him where STN seems to always be playing, “plus I’ve got a great dinner already going.” He rattles the bottle of pills around. “ Et le dessert. ” Becks tips the bottle in my direction on a half-hearted grin. “ Cheers. ”
I watch him chug down a few more ounces before offering an exiting nod.
Logically, I know I can’t save someone from themselves.
It’s similar to taking a shot from outside the crease when there are three bodies blocking the way. You’re tempted to do it anyway – after all you’re encouraged to always take the shot – yet you know it’s pointless.
That it’ll most likely result in you losing possession of the puck.
Granting the opposite team the opportunity to score.
Still.
The temptation is there.
The desire to do the logically impossible to hear the crowd cheer for you is so goddamn strong, but it’s still the wrong call.
Wrong move.
Not the one that serves anyone except you.
And that’s not being a good teammate.
Which is what Becks needs more than ever.
Particularly because he doesn’t have an actual one to be there for the assist.
Getting to Arden’s house, her and Bear into her jeep, and us on the road basically happens in a blur.
Hell, it isn’t even until I feel an unexpected long, wet swipe of my ear that I break out of the melancholy fog I didn’t realize I was trapped in. “ Bloody hell, Bear! ”
“Atta boy,” my girlfriend praises while offering him an open palm for a high-five.
“Why are you training your Madagascar icon back there to attack me?”
“Why did you put us in my jeep to ignore us?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“We’ve been on this ‘Highway to Hell’ for almost two hours and you’ve said exactly that many words to me.” Arden pulls her light gray workout pants covered legs into her seat and rests her arms on top of them. “You didn’t even blink twice when I offered to let us listen to Dropkick Murphy’s post my top cheddar Shakira joke.”
It’s impossible to not toss her a mirthful glance. “You made another bad ‘Pucks Don’t Lie’ pun, aye?”
“Excuse you,” she sasses with an irresistible smirk. “ I sang it. ”
“And why is Shakira always on your speakers?”
“Why isn’t she on yours?” Arden promptly pokes back. “She’s like a five-foot nothing snipe with more moves than Jágr.”
“The ageless wonder.”
“That’s exactly what she is.”
“I meant him.”
“Only because you don’t understand the power of her.” A small adjustment to her aid is given. “I love Latin music and reggae and hip-hop and really any music with rhythm I can feel the vibrations of, aye, but there’s just something so mesmerizing about her. She has this unique and distinct voice. A banging bod. Stats that aren’t fucking talked about enough…”
“Should I be jealous?” Another teasing look is delivered. “Concerned you’d be sleeping in her number if she had one?”
“Absolutely.” The dropping of my jaw gets her giggling, dissipating any lingering dejection I didn’t realize was still following me. “However, she doesn’t have one – yet – so you’re fine for now.”
“Ever been to her concert?”
Arden quickly shakes her head as Bear rests his in the space between us. “Hockey season and concert season don’t exactly overlap forgivingly.”
“True.” Switching lanes to get around a minivan proceeds a follow up question. “Would you be comfortable going?” I give a casual gesture to her ear. “ Could you go?”
“I’d wear plugs like I do for the game.” An innocent shrug bounces her fuzzy gray zip up covered shoulders. “It’s like a totally growing norm now.”
“Have you ever been to any concert?”
“Nopeskie.”
I warmly grunt at the new information.
How many different things has she missed out due to her condition?
Do people assume what she can and can’t do?
Wants and doesn’t want?
Perhaps it’s something else?
Most people tend to go to concerts with their mates, yet outside the boys it doesn’t appear as if she has one, although she is rather friendly with her neighbor.
Oh, and Bear’s college-age sitter for roadskie stretches.
Then again… their relationship most certainly has more of coach-player cordial vibe than anything else.
“Your turn , Onrait,” my Slayer pushes while reaching into the rubberduckless cup holder for the gum container. “I’ve completed your interview, you complete mine.” She pops the top similar to the way my mate did. “What’s got you moping like a duster instead of the stud you are?”
The nonchalant action has me quietly confessing, “I don’t wanna end up like Becks.”
“Okay?” Cluelessness accompanies the gum finding its way into her mouth. “Then don’t get addicted to oxy.”
“It’s not like he purposely got addicted to it, Arden.”
“And it’s not like he couldn’t purposely stay clean when he got out of the program, Tanner.”
“We both know that program is a bloody joke.”
“We all know that program is a fucking joke,” she echoes, pausing to toss a piece into my own open mouth, “but he chose to go back to his old fucking ways afterward instead of getting his head back into the game. He chose to chase bunnies instead of pucks. He chose to make headlines instead of headway. He chose to get wasted before tryouts instead of putting the work in. He chose to look for answers at the bottom of a bottle or bag of coke instead of in the fucking mirror because it’s so much easier to look out than it is in.”
My shoulders sag in agreement, yet my words maintain the fight, “I don’t want to end up with nothing when I have to hang ‘em up.”
“Then I suggest investing in furthering your employment options rather than your ecstasy collection.”
“He didn’t have an E collection when he played for us.”
“He didn’t not have one.”
Huh.
Really?
No.
I would’ve known.
Fuck.
I should’ve known.
How did I miss that?
How did she catch that?
“What would you be interested in doing post life in the barn?” Soft snores from Bear warrant her stare to lovingly fall to him. “Analyzing?”
“Strategy is not really my strong suit.”
“Speaking?”
“It’s like Hot Ones. I’d rather play hockey than simply discuss it.”
“Coaching?”
“No.”
“Training?”
The idea receives an intrigued hum.
“Oooo,” my girlfriend purrs, turning her unbuckled frame towards mine. “Does Hamster Boy like the idea of training other players?”
“He doesn’t hate the idea.”
“Let’s talk shop then…”
For almost the remainder of our drive, we cycle through where my skills as well as what I’ve learned could be put to good use post hockey to a soundtrack mixture of Maluma, Shakira, and Bear’s loud – almost otherworldly – snores.
Our arrival into the small town not only instantly receives the jaw dropping response I was hoping for but the kid at Christmas one most adults don’t get to display themselves. “ Ohmyg… ” She cuts herself off by frantically tapping my bicep. “ Ohmyg… ” Girlish shrieks escape prompting Bear to lift his head. “ Ohmyg… ”
This time our fluffy backseat passenger releases a low woof in disapproval.
“I know, mate,” I playful poke while pulling over to the side of the downtown road. “She really should finish at least one of those.”
A sassy sneer is twitched my way before asking, “How did you find this place?”
“You mean how did I locate one of your best kept secrets?”
“It’s not a secret,” she argues at the same time I kill the engine. “I told you about it the first time we hung out alone.”
“Ah,” one finger lifts into the air, granting me a moment to turn to face her, “you told me Dos Santos and a food truck, not the location- ”
“Figured it would be pretty obvious considering you can drive through the whole downtown area in like seven minutes flat.”
“ Nor the name of the truck.”
To that she surrenders a small shrug.
Weak dub, but I’ll take it.
“Locating your father’s cousin’s food truck – post a failed google search – required shoving a mountainous amount of tequila and nachos into Wahl,” I unlock the doors for us to exit, “convincing him to text his half-brother whose mom lives here and then making sure he followed up with his brother to get the name of the truck as well as where it is typically parked.”
Mirth glimmers in her gaze. “So much work just to take me out for wings.”
“The best wings.”
“The best wings,” she echoes between snickers.
“ And you are worth the work I put in, Arden .” Leaning slightly over mindlessly occurs. “ Every. Time. ”
Her lips brush against mine yet instead of slipping her tongue into my mouth – like I’m wanting – she coos, “ I’m starving. ”
Light laughs precede me delivering a quick peck. “Let’s get my Slayer fed then.”
The two of us exit her jeep and retrieve Bear together.
His excitement to sniff and guard and sniff everything in sight for the short distance over to the truck parked between two corner buildings adds unexpected elation to the moment.
Seeing her happy that he’s happy, has me happy at seeing her happy.
It’s basically one giant circle jerk of joy.
And easily becoming the best Christmas Eve, I’ve ever had.
Our arrival at the truck is immediately acknowledged by her relative who leans his jean jacket covered forearms onto the countertop. “ Reserva para dos, ?si? ”
Arden open mouth chuckles at the male I’ve only been in contact with by email. “You don’t take reservations , álvaro.”
“I do when it’s Nochebuena and Maria is steadily making wedding cookies and I’d prefer to be closed.”
“You’re closed?” Concern carves itself into her stare as Bear sits attentively between us. “The food truck is closed?!”
“ For the holiday ,” he warmly informs on a crooked grin. “I opened today only for Romeo here. Between the cost he was willing to pay and the drive he was willing to make simply for you to have ‘the best wings you’ve ever head’, it was impossible not to.”
Arden’s fingertips sweetly cross behind Bear’s head to touch mine.
“The truck itself is doin’ muy muy bein, though . ” Pride expands itself in his expression. “We may open another next summer.”
“In Dalvegan?!” She teasingly pushes. “Because you know me and Dad alone could keep you in business.”
“Put it in the Locker District and you can easily plan for a third and fourth. Puckheads love wings.”
Our host extends his open palm towards me. “álvaro.”
“Frosky.”
“ Y él es de ese color, ” he chortles, prompting her to do the same.
“I am not that pasty,” I casually counter.
“You speak Spanish?” inquires the longer haired male.
“More like understand a bit of ‘Tex-Mex’.”
“Ah,” her relative chuckles again, “the contemporary cultural blend. What you,” his chin kicks in her direction, “your dad and most of my kids speak. Yo apruebo. ”
A questioning glance is tossed to my Slayer to which she translates, “He approves.”
Good.
Another dub.
Perhaps if he likes me…when the time comes – and it will come – her father will as well.
“I’ve got two orders of Mexi-Texi chili-lime wings coming right up and our new elotes to enjoy while you wait.”
There’s no stopping confusion from carving itself on my face. “E…what now?”
“ Elotes ,” repeats Arden, snark clear as the Christmas Eve afternoon sky. “You’ve never had elotes ?”
“I can’t even say the bloody word.”
“Oooo…your fake Britishness prevents your mouth from curving that way, aye?”
“You’re chirping an awful lot for someone I drove five hours to enjoy wings.”
“You definitely win for DoorDash driver of the season,” she teases while reaching up for the stick treat. “Why don’t we share mine like a taste test, and if you like it,” her figure twists towards mine, “then ál can give you your own.”
“ Sí. ”
“Alright.” Bear and I both watch her rotate the sticked object in her possession; however, it’s me that inquires, “And what exactly is that unkempt creation dirtying your mitts?” One thick, white glob casually lands on Bear’s eager tongue. “And now your security guard?”
“Mexican street corn,” launches loose prior to a good-sized bite being taken. “Typically, it’s mayonnaise or crema,” she continues to explain around her smacking, “but this tastes like it has both-”
“It does,” calls out ál from somewhere inside his truck.
“Butter…”
“That too,” he confirms once more.
“Great hint of lime,” my girlfriend precedes to explain around another chomp that results in Bear craning his neck at an angle to catch the falling kernels. “There’s cotija cheese, Tajín habanero, and,” Arden swipes away the red sauce lingering on her lips, “what tastes like some sort of hot sauce drizzle.”
“ Secret hot sauce,” informs our food truck chef.
“Adds just enough extra kick,” she breathes out, mouth a gape to welcome in air to counter the burn. “This is definitely top cheddar shit.”
I quirk a curious eyebrow. “Would you say it is the best?”
Arden looks upward.
Contemplatively hums.
Purses her lips to one side.
The other.
Contemplative hums again and meets my stare. “I think so.”
“So…then…my real gift would be taking you out for the best wings and elotes you’ve ever had?”
Rather than give me the victory I clearly seek, she cringes, “Why does it sound like you’re saying ‘and loadies’?”
“Why is it so difficult for you to put my points on the board?” The jab is followed by a cocky lean forward to indulge in my first bite. To no surprise, the woman I’ve fallen in love with – or more accurately been in love with since the start of the season – rolls the treat around, successfully sending crema up my nose. “ Damn it, Ducky! ”
Loud, juvenile laughter leaves her alongside a feigned, “Oops.”
“You lose your stick privileges,” I good naturedly grumble while grabbing a napkin from the holder on the counter to remove the burning concoction. “Hand it over.”
She triumphantly giggles and gingerly surrenders it.
This time, she curiously watches me indulge in the treat, hope that I love it as much as she does so palpable I’m prepared to lie even if I don’t.
An odd combination of flavors suits up and skates across my tongue straight for the empty net, fully aware of my open mindedness when it comes to food.
Creativity is always major league.
Flavor is typically minor that gets called up on the occasion.
“This is strange.” Slow chewing continues during my external debate. “Faintest bit of sweet and tang, yet all the spice to make shitting super uncomfortable for at least a sesh.”
More cackles come from her in tandem with additional scrap licking from Bear.
“So odd…” I indulge in another sampling, “so fascinating…” my eyes latch onto hers, “such a bloody beauty,” offering her a turn to taste is attached to me whispering, “ like you. ”
Redness rips through her complexion, but she doesn’t verbally brush off the compliment.
Which means she’s doing her best to accept it.
Accept that I believe it.
That I only say shit like that when I mean it.
Finishing up both elotes with Bear’s minor help is succeeded by deep diving into the Mexi-Texi chili-lime wings at a nearby small metal table.
ál happily joins us, explains how he fell into food rather than coffee, and even shares a couple of the wedding cookies he snuck out of his wife’s supervision earlier in the day. Learning more about Arden’s family – outside her twin – feels like it’s my gift from her. Opening up – even now that we’re on the same page about dating – still requires some practice and coaching and trust exercises.
Like I said earlier.
She’s worth all the work I put in.
Every. Time.
Despite only having a couple hours to hang out in the small town before our long drive back to the airport – I’m leaving my car at her place while I’m visiting my parents – we undeniably make the most of it.
Sounds of Flogging Molly flow from the speakers at first; however, when she curls in closer to me, resting her head on Bear who has his head resting against my side, I switch to something more mellow.
Easier to sleep through.
Arden plants one palm lovingly on my thigh and lets her eyes drift shut as the sun begins to set.
And in the uncomfortable pretzel position is exactly where she stays for most of the stretch home.
I occasionally steal glances at the sweet sight of her legs tucked into the seat.
Random messy strands sticking to her cheek.
Forehead.
Without warning or real reason, I randomly push them away behind her ear.
Let my touch linger on the ear that houses an aid.
An aid I’ve learned she’s still super self-conscious about.
It doesn’t help that Audrey tends to chirp her about it, especially in front of me.
Light murmurs over the touching precedes her popping an eye open, forcing me to come up with an excuse for waking her. “I’m about to stop for gas.” Pulling off at the exit occurs next. “Would you like anything?” I drift all the way over to the lane I need. “Water? Candy?” A playful smirk slides into place alongside an eyebrow wiggle. “ Nuts? ”
The gagging sound that escapes causes me to laugh, something it seems like I never stop doing when we’re together.
Truthfully?
I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed as much as I do with Arden in my entire life.
Post pumping gas and her taking Bear on a short bathroom walk, we get back into the jeep in tandem, an action that seems to occur just in time to beat the lights in the area shutting off.
“Impeccable timing,” mirthfully escapes me. “Yet again proving I am incredible.”
“You are incredible,” Arden surprisingly states, summoning me to fully turn in my seat to face her.
“Pardon?” There’s no stopping my head from falling at an angle. “I’m not sure the fans in the top level heard you.”
“ You are incredible, Hamster Boy. ”
“I don’t think they needed to hear that nickname.”
“ And so fucking thoughtful. ”
“I try.”
“ And so about to get laid… ”
“I am,” cockily falls from my lips before they’ve properly had time to be processed. “Wait.” Confusion crinkles my forehead. “ I am? ”
There’re no additional words.
Or clues.
Or signals.
She simply hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her yoga pants and begins to wiggle them down past her shoeless ankles.
“ Very well then, Slayer… ” Casually freeing my swelling cock is done in tandem to her lower half becoming liberated. “ I suppose I am. ”
“You have time, aye?” Arden carefully crawls across into my seat after delivering a hand motion to the pup to lay down in the back. “You won’t miss your flight?”
“Who gives a fuck if I do?” I roughly grip her ass to assist in lowering her onto my dick at the same time I gravelly proclaim, “I’ll book another one.”
Whatever snarky comment she was prepared to unleash swiftly becomes replaced by a smutty moan instead.
White-hot wetness unforgivingly engulfs my shaft.
Soaks it inch by inch.
Squeeze by fucking squeeze.
Leaves no territory untouched as her tight, slick muscles are steadily stretched in two.
Forced to accommodate more than they’re screaming they can handle.
Arden’s entire body crinkles forward, hard nipples brushing against my chest, face nestling itself into my neck, teeth scraping whatever skin it can reach underneath the very edge of my shirt, creeping towards my script tattoo.
“ That’s it, Slayer, ” floats off my tongue alongside one hand harshening its hold on the curve of her ass, knocking into the steering wheel. “ Nice and slow. ” Her hips roll in a slightly more exaggerated nature. “ Holyhell you feel so fucking good. ” The other set of fingers tangle themselves into the back of her hair. “ So fucking perfect. ” Shudders over the proclamation prompt me to growl against her ear, “ So fucking mine. ”
Needy scratching finds its way underneath my shirt barrier to sink into my skin during an airy whimpering of my name, “ Tanner .”
Stopping my balls from clapping in approval is impossible.
Not groaning over the way her wetness is drenching my nuts is improbable.
And not yanking her into me so that I hit the hilt every time she grinds herself harder is implausible.
Additional shivers tear through us both as I buck a little sharper.
Faster.
Increase the speed yet maintain the intensity.
“ That’s it , babe ,” I purr while gently yanking her hair. “ Keep going. ” More tugs are delivered to the same pace of my thrusting. “ Show me you’re mine. ”
Louder, headier moans reverberate around the vehicle before she begins rocking faster.
Biting my throat.
Swaying wilder.
Nipping my neck.
Letting her knees knock into the door…our drinks…the seatbelt…in her pursuit for more.
More caress for her clit.
Nipples.
Deeper dives.
Barbaric bucking.
She continuously throws herself into my pitiless pumps, nails imploring me not to stop with each scrape, to go even faster with every bite, to break her and keep breaking her and only stop breaking her when she’s a sweating, shaking mess that can’t even remember how to say anything other than my name.
Feral snarls seeping loose barely precede me fucking faster.
Breathing harder.
Bouncing her ass forward to ensure she matches me stroke for stroke.
That her thrumming muscles ceaselessly clamp down on my cock.
Call for it to just let go.
Command for it to come.
Plead for it to fill her sopping wet pussy to the brim.
To the point it spills over onto my jeans.
Goddamn, I want that shit too.
“ Make a mess for me, Slayer, ” mindlessly seeps through my gritted teeth, adding more steam to the thick humid filled air. “ Come all over me. ”
“ Fuckkkkkk ,” she choppily huffs against the skin her teeth have branded her presence into. “ I’m…I’m… ”
My girlfriend abruptly squeaks.
Shakes.
Squeaks again.
Begins screaming and coming on my cock in such a rapid succession that there’s no way to stop my own searing surges from shooting deep inside as I praise the carnal combination of actions, “ You’re such a fucking beauty when you come for me, Arden. ” Throatily saying her name simply inspires her to howl mine. “ Such a fucking beauty when you’re all mine… ” I wolfishly brush my lips against the shell of her ear. “ And only mine… ”