Page 9

Chapter Nine

Bash

How the hell is it only two thirty p.m.? I got an early start today, meeting up with Isaac for breakfast and then training with Carter and Leo. Then I had to get some photos taken and short videos shot by the Comets’ PR people.

They’re trying to keep fans engaged by following players in the offseason and checking in with short videos about what we’re up to. They came to my house and took some videos of me and Bruce and I told them about my offseason training.

I didn’t mention that I have a raging hard-on most days or that my roommate might drive me over the edge before the next season starts. Figured those things aren’t great for the team’s image.

Lainey has been avoiding me for six days—since our conversation on the couch. She breezes past me in the kitchen every morning, refuses to make eye contact, and gives me a perfunctory wave after grabbing her water bottle. If I ask her questions, she tells me she’s in a huge hurry.

Lie. She comes in late most evenings with a bag of ultraprocessed carryout in hand, bypassing the healthy meals I prepare.

I feel like a fucking scorned housewife, standing there by the meal I worked to make, or at least heating up if my chef made it, and being ignored.

All I need is an apron and some dishpan hands.

The texts I send her are glossed over; most of her responses include the word fine. It’s fine. She’s fine. Just busy. All good.

Bullshit. I asked her to carve out an hour for me this weekend so we could talk, and she said she couldn’t because she’s having an all-weekend sleepover with Mara and Suki at Mara’s apartment.

Which leaves me home alone with Bruce. I came so close to texting Andi, the nurse I hook up with from time to time. She has been clear from the start that she doesn’t want a relationship or feelings, which makes her perfect for me. When I go over to her place, we get right to it and then I leave.

I had my phone in hand, but for some reason, I couldn’t do it. I’m a tightly wound ball of sexual frustration, yeah, but being on the outs with Lainey is killing me. She’s meant to have a bright smile on her face, not a closed-off expression of resignation.

I’m also pissed as fuck at Shane. How fucking dare that douchebag play video games on weekends instead of coming to see Lainey? Cleveland is a blast in the summer. There are food festivals, concerts and farmers’ markets.

Bruce is sitting by the treat jar, his not-so-subtle way of asking for one. I take out a couple and give them to him, scratching his ears. Maybe I’ll take him for a hike. He’d like that.

When I start training camp, my full-time dog sitter, River, will move into the guesthouse in my backyard. He’s a hippie nomad who backpacks during my offseason. He walks Bruce three times a day. And I pay him well for it.

I should walk him more in the summer. Poor dude probably dreams about River when he’s gone.

“Okay, Bruce. Daddy’s gotta take care of a little business and then we’ll do something you’ll like. I can’t say the word because you’ll go apeshit, but it starts with a W . Cool?”

He swishes his tail back and forth.

I leave him in the kitchen and go upstairs with my phone. I can’t handle my perpetual erection any longer. I had to wear a cup during filming earlier to keep my dick locked down.

Stormi will be able to help me resolve this.

My teammate Lucien first introduced me to Stormi, a content creator with a massive following who calls herself a “meateorologist.”

We all make fun of Lucien’s fixation on Stormi because he’s open about being a premium paid member of her site who beats off to her videos daily. He said he liked to hammer on it every morning in high school by watching a hot local weather forecaster, so Stormi is his dream woman.

She gives fake weather forecasts that always end with her getting herself off. They’re mostly funny to me, but I’m in a desperate state here, and I won’t be laughing today.

I go into my bathroom, grab a few tissues, and drop my shorts and underwear.

When I start her latest video, she appears on screen in a tight, hot-pink blazer and skirt, with nothing on beneath the blazer. The one button it has is fighting for its life as her massive tits stretch the fabric. Her long hair is loose around her shoulders and she’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses.

“Thanks, Tom. Stormi St. James here with today’s forecast.” Her voice is breathy, her plump lips painted bright red. “It’s going to be hot today. So very, very hot.”

I lean my phone on a cologne bottle on my bathroom counter and wrap my palm around my dick. I’m not looking for anything elaborate—I just need to get off.

Stormi points at a weather map on a giant screen, the outline of a storm drawn over it shaped like a massive boner.

“Hold on to your headboards, ladies, because tropical storm Dick is bearing down hard . It’s going to give us such a pounding.” She slides a finger down one of her breasts, pulling her blazer open. “Oh. The forecast for the next hour is wet. It’s soaking wet.”

She cups her breasts in her hands, pushing them together. I stroke myself, an uninvited thought of Lainey doing this to her breasts popping into my head and making me punch my brows together.

What the fuck? Stormi is the opposite of sweet, brilliant Lainey. I’m a bastard for picturing that.

She does have really nice tits, though. Round C cups that look damn good in a T-shirt.

Stormi pulls her skirt up a few inches, spreading her feet farther apart. “Oh my God. We’re going to get six to nine inches. Six to nine desperately needed inches.”

I close my eyes and picture Lainey curled up in bed, wearing a modest short-sleeved T-shirt and shorts.

Lightweight, white fabric. I sneak into her room and curl up behind her, my erection pressing against her ass.

She wakes up with a start but then snuggles back against me, telling me how good I feel.

“Dick is going to make us so wet. Absolutely soaked.” Stormi pulls her skirt up farther, revealing her bare pussy.

I’m imagining myself sliding my hand down the front of Lainey’s sleep shorts. She gasps as I stroke the soft curls between her thighs, telling her how much I love her sweet pussy.

“Oh God. This storm swell is like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Stormi spreads her pussy lips to display her enormous clit.

I look down at the counter, envisioning Lainey flipping onto her back. I unbutton her sleep shirt and she tries to cover herself, but I hold her wrists above her head and suck on her nipples. Her moans make my dick throb, my balls aching with the need to feel her pussy clenching around me.

“Yes, Dick!” Stormi cries. “Give me a good pounding. I’m so wet and ready.”

Though I can hear her, my mind is elsewhere. I’m sliding Lainey’s sleep shorts off. I get on my knees, spreading her thighs apart. When I use the head of my cock to stroke up and down her slit, she moans my name, her soaked pussy begging to be fucked.

I thrust myself all the way in and she cries out, burying her nails in my shoulders.

“Yes! Give it to me, Dick!”

It’s Lainey’s voice I’m imagining, saying my name and rocking her hips up to take me deeper. Her cheeks are flushed and her expression is pure bliss.

I get the tissues positioned just in time, coming hard. I exhale heavily, glancing at my reflection in the mirror.

Fucking hell. The same brown eyes I’m used to are looking back at me. The two days’ worth of dark stubble I was expecting. Hair messed up, a couple pieces falling onto my forehead.

But this isn’t the man I thought I was. It’s someone different. A man who just beat off while thinking about sweet Delaney Morris.

She was the girl who bedazzled her hula hoop and begged Eric and me to time her as she spun it around her hips in their backyard. The girl who ran lemonade stands to raise money for the animal shelter. The girl who begged me to take her to her senior prom seven years ago, tears shining in her eyes.

But now she’s someone else to me. Someone more. She’s the woman I’m...

I shake my head and look up at the ceiling. I’m done lying to myself. I’m not just attracted to her. It’s more.

I want Lainey. All to myself. I don’t want Shane to touch her ever again.

What the fuck? How much of a dumbass am I that masturbating to Stormi, the meateorologist, is what it took for me to figure this out?

Carter and Leo have been trying to tell me this for a while now. Carter’s been beating me over the head with it, actually.

I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. This complicates everything.

I used to be someone Lainey wanted, but did I miss my chance with her? And, more importantly, can I be the man she needs? Can I commit myself to her, and only her, forever?

I’d never give her less than everything. She means too much to me.

Fuck. I hate having to tell Carter he was right.