Page 33 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

I’ve never fucked like that before, and I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t think I can go back to how it was before, though, which is terrifying.

It’s not that he’s a man or that the sex is better in that way—I still find women beautiful; I’m still sexually attracted to them—it’s just, I don’t even know.

I love the way my fingers fit around his throat.

The way my teeth sink into his skin. The way he groans and begs for everything I have to give.

It’s nuclear. I love that I don’t have to be gentle.

I love even it more that he doesn’t want me to be.

Then I think about us growing up . . . Games.

That night he was drunk. The mottled bruises up his sides.

When my mind drifts back to our past I feel that same ache I always have.

I’ve missed him, and inside the tentative truce we have I’m realizing I don’t want to let him go again.

Have I forgiven him? I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now but how good it is to have him beside me again.

“How about we get a little father and son demo for the team?” I barely catch the end of that and I look back at Andre.

“Uh, what, Coach?”

“Why don’t you show everyone how to block the shots of one of the greatest centers of all time. I mean I’m sure you’re used to it by now. Unless you don’t want to?” Coach asks Tripp.

“Oh no, I’m sure Andre wouldn’t mind. He’s used to it.

It’s why he’s one of the best goaltenders of all time.

” The words are positive, but there’s this tension that flows between their eyes.

Is this the first time Andre’s seen him since moving?

There’s something so wooden about his demeanor now that wasn’t there when he was talking about the real housewives of the goal posts.

“Uh, sure thing, Tripp.”

Not Dad, though Tripp doesn’t seem to mind.

Andre’s eyes land on me for a moment before he skates slowly to Tiffany, putting on his helmet.

He gets into position and I nearly smile watching him.

Tripp grabs a hockey stick. There are pucks littered everywhere right now.

He chooses one behind the center line, then skates forward.

He gets close to the blue line, then drives it toward Andre.

The speed of the puck is insane. Tripp has always had one of the fastest shots in hockey.

Andre catches it, stumbling back a little with the impact. Tripp tries again, then again. Shot after shot after shot. Each one more aggressive than the last. Nearly a quarter of them make it through. I catch myself skating forward a bit. I’m not sure why, but something is off .

Tripp shoots the last puck, and it sails toward Andre, and he lets it go through. After the puck hits the net Andre takes off his helmet, throwing it aside and taking a deep breath before squirting water into his mouth.

All the guys cheer, but I look at Tripp watching Andre.

It’s like watching a tiger hunt.

Observing and calculating.

My unease hasn’t let up any once we’re back in the locker room.

Tripp disappeared with Coach and Andre disappeared into the showers.

I sit on the bench waiting for him to come out, and I play over watching Tripp’s shots to Andre.

There’s something there, some sort of feeling deep in my gut I can’t shake.

“Hey, we’re going down to Murray’s, you coming?

” Atlas asks. Andre comes out dressed in a black T-shirt that’s stretched across his broad chest and a pair of jeans hugging the most delicious ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of putting my mouth on. “Oli! Hello!”

“He’s coming,” Grey answers for me.

“I’m beat.” I’m not, but I want to talk to Andre alone.

“Andre, why don’t you come too?” Grey says, ignoring me.

“What’s Murray’s?”

“It’s a sports bar downtown. They have darts, pool, air hockey . . .” Atlas says. “We usually always go, but Oli’s been ditching us.” I have not! I’ve just been busy. Exhausted really .

“Sure, I’ll go.” Andre looks to me. I just want to get him alone. Maybe after. I don’t think I can calm until I ask him if he’s alright.

Maybe I can even get Andre to come over to my house after.

Walking into Murray’s is a completely different vibe than going to Ruby’s.

It’s a sports bar catering to a lot of athletes who share this city.

It’s noisy but not too packed as we walk in.

The decor is pretty basic, a lot of black on gray, but it’s comfortable.

Andre is behind me, and I just want to pull him aside and ask him about practice and see if he’s alright.

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since then.

“ If you like pina coladas . . . ” I roll my eyes.

“ And getting caught in the rain . . .” Atlas sings.

I smother his singing with my hand. “I’ll buy you two if you shut up right now.”

He pries my fingers off. “Daddy Grey!” Atlas whines. “Oli’s being mean to me.”

Grey shakes his head, sick of both of us by now. “What do you want to drink?” I ask Andre. “Anything you want.”

“Oh Oli, are you trying to have your way with me?”

“I’d need a lot less to get my way with you.”

“Dick,” Andre murmurs. “Get me something sweet, and strong.”

“Can I get two Long Island ice teas?” I put money on the bar. Atlas and Grey have left us alone, probably to play darts. Atlas loves playing darts. We wait for our drinks and I let the silence settle between us.

“What is it, Oli?”

“Huh?”

“You keep trying to look away from me, but also focus on me. You can’t fuck me here.” He lowers his voice. “I mean, unless you wanna try. Is public sex a kink in your roster?”

Even his jokes feel off. There’s tension lingering under his skin and I can’t help but pick at it. “I was actually going to ask if you were alright?”

“What?”

“You seem . . . off, I don’t know.” I watch the way his eyes unfocus.

There’s something he’s not telling me. It’s not like we’re in a place to share shit, and it’s been so long since we’ve even talked normally to each other.

I remember after my mother’s first round of chemo and seeing the way she looked after, Andre held me while I cried.

It was the first time it really sunk in that she was sick.

We used to share so much of ourselves, but we aren’t those people now.

I don’t even know the person he’s become, I just know the friend he used to be.

“I’m fine, Oli,” he sighs, thanking the bartender as he slides his drink over with mine. “Just didn’t expect to see dear old Dad is all.”

“When I escaped.”

The words play back in my mind. I want to ask about it but I let it go. I don’t know what place we’re at really. Maybe I can take his mind off whatever seems to be bothering him, though.

Andre’s dark brown curls are piled on top of his head.

Fuck they’re soft. I itch to run my fingers through them.

His face is a touch pale right now, letting the brown freckles across his nose really pop, and the ghost of a bruise cradles his right eye.

He got that during our last game when his helmet was knocked off after he collided with a player.

“What is it, Oli?” he says softly, sipping his drink. Nerves rattle my gut.

I take a drink instead, not knowing what to say.

“You look really handsome,” I say softly. Andre turns in his seat, cocking his head. “Sorry, I just—that’s what I was thinking.” While it’s colder than tits outside, in here the bar is a bit stifling. “That sweater looks good on you.” The black knit sweater he slipped on is rolled up to his elbows.

“What’s up with you today?” He takes a drink, then leans into me. It’s subtle, but the heat that flushes my face nearly knocks me off this bar stool. “You don’t have to be like this just because we shared an orgasm.” He smirks, taking another sip. “As fucking amazing as it was.”

It’s not that, though. Something is happening to me, and while the warning is there blaring in the back of my mind, I’m finding it easier and easier to ignore our past. Maybe because the present just feels so good.

I have him back—my friend—and I don’t want to let go.

He hurt you, dumbass! It’s not that I’ve forgotten or don’t care.

It’s just . . . I’m tired, and having Andre feels good, and maybe I’m giving in right now but I don’t want whatever this is to stop.

Call me weak, call me stupid, but I don’t want this to end. Not yet. “That’s not . . . Never mind.”

“What is it, Oli?” His voice is low, and the gravelly tone does things to my belly. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . . don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

Andre nods, looking ahead and drinking his drink.

“You still think it was me?” he says softly.

I open my mouth but I have no answer for that.

Nothing else makes sense. Part of me doesn’t trust him, but I trust myself even less right now.

I’m throwing common sense out. It’s not smart, but part of me doesn’t even care.

Maybe Grey’s right; maybe he made a mistake. We were both so young then, but we’re nearly thirty now and have lived a lot in ten years.

Andre finishes the rest of his drink, letting the silence eat the space between us. “Do you want to come back with me tonight? To my house.”

He turns his head to me, surprise written all over his face. “A sleepover?” He grins. “I think someone’s starting to like me.”

“I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. We’re two people who are having sex. Great sex. We aren’t friends, and I don’t know if I want us to be,” I lie.

Andre sighs, shaking his head. “Oli, one of these days you’re going to stop fighting how you feel, and I can’t wait to see it.

” He sighs, spinning around on the bar stool to look over the crowded bar.

“I do want to go back with you tonight.” He turns his head to me while I finish my drink.

“Let’s make it interesting, though. A game of air hockey.

Whoever wins gets to have anything they want tonight. ”

“So basically, I get whatever I want tonight.”

“Fuck you, Oli. I’m one of the best goalies in the world. You’re not getting past me.” I slip off the bar stool, and almost reach my hand out to him, but tuck it back before I can fully extend it.

“Prepare to be my good little zayka tonight.” I grin .

“I’m asking Viktor what that means as soon as I see him. If it’s bad, prepare for the bluest balls of your life.”

I know the threat is weak at most. We both crave this thing between us. I’ll let him have his way, though.

“Best of three, Oli. Let’s go.”

I walk toward the air hockey table then pass behind him, leaning in. “Prepare for an evening on your knees, Dre. I don’t like losing.”