Page 39 of Poetry On Ice

His knuckles bump over the knobs of my lower vertebra. It’s a light touch that makes my ass quiver. He chases it with one that’s firmer. One that’s lower. Thick fingers slip between my cheeks, drawing a line down the middle of me. I’m instantly breathless. Panting into the wall, pressing my lips together to stop the whimper that threatens as his fingers move lower.

He moves fast, his touch sure and completely lacking in hesitation. A blunt finger circles my hole and finds the path of least resistance. There’s no time to prepare. I’m alone in my body one second, and the next, his finger is inside me. It’s a shock. An explosion of sensation. A sting and a burn and punch of arousal that makes me cry out.

He freezes immediately. Not just his hand but the rest of him too. He’s pressed up against me, so close I can tell he’s stopped breathing. I can almost hear the cogs of his mind turning.

“McGuire,” he says eventually, “you’ve done this before, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean no. I mean, yeah, like…not, not specifically.”

“Not specifically?” He eases his finger out of me and steps back from me. “It’s a yes or no question.” His voice lilts up in a way my dick doesn’t like. “Either you’ve taken a dick, or you haven’t. Which is it?”

I pull my pants up and make an unsuccessful effort to steady my voice before turning to face him.

“Well,” I start, “I-in that case, I haven’t.”

My cheeks—the ones on my face—are on fire. Shock, rejection, and humiliation jostle for pole position. It’s a fight, a close race. It ends in a three-way tie.

He takes another step away from me, eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them. He motions weakly to the wall he just had me up against and says, “I can’t fuck you like that if you’re a virgin.”

I hear a voice bouncing off all four walls of the room, though I’m not completely sure what I’m saying. I definitely hear myself yelling, “I prepped for this, you fucking asshole,” a couple of times, but mainly, I lose my shit to the point things go a little hazy.

I’m so angry and embarrassed and horny. My vision is blurry, and I can’t tell if I’m going to start punching him again or burst into tears. Neither are good options.

I pick up the wallet he set down on the counter when he came in and hurl it in his direction. I miss by a mile. While I’m at it, I pick up his duffel, fully intending tothrow it at him as well, but I don’t get a good grip, and instead of sending it sailing through the air, it lands on the floor near his feet with an unsatisfying plop.

Common sense, or something resembling it, lets me know it’s urgent that I make an exit, so I shove my wallet and phone in my pocket, slam the door behind me, and get as far as possible from Ant Decker.

Since it’s late and I don’t have my jacket on, the farthest I can go is the sky bar on the top floor of the hotel. By the time the elevator opens, the worst of the red mist has lifted and the full insanity of my behavior is starting to hit me.

I run into Bodie, Luddy, and a few of the guys at the bar. They’re getting ready to call it a night. Pejic pleads exhaustion, and I get it. I remember all too well how hard a rookie season is. Luddy says he needs to call Amber and check on her and the kids, and I can’t hold that against him either. Luckily, I manage to talk Bodie into having a drink with me because I’m in no mood to be alone.

“Whiskey,” I say to the barman, taking a seat at the bar. It’s a vast space with dark timber floors and a dark timber bar. It’s dimly lit with so much glass and crystal on display that I feel underdressed, out-of-place, and even more stupid than I was already feeling. “And make it a double, please.”

“You okay?” asks Bodie, casting a concerned glance my way. I nod and shake my head and attempt a smile that wobbles and ultimately fails spectacularly. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he slings an arm over my shoulder and pulls me in for a hug. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” I down my drink in two big glugs that make my eyes water.

“If Decker’s being a dick, you can sleep in my room. We can call down for a bed, or I’ll take the sofa, I don’t mind. Coach is way out of line on this. You shouldn’t have to room with a guy who’s a constant asshole to you.”

The whiskey seeps into my blood and takes effect. Some of the tension in my joints releases, and I take a couple of long breaths, leaning into the firm pressure of Bodie’s hand on my shoulder. The haze is lifting, and I’m getting a really bad feeling when I think about what went down in our room.

“That’s the thing, Bodes,” I reluctantly admit, “I’m pretty sure I’m the asshole this time.”

“What? You? Being an asshole? Never. Come on, bro, when have you ever treated someone like shit? That’s not who you are, you know that.”

Um, well, I’m pretty sure it was textbook asshole behavior when I yelled at Decker and threw his wallet at himbecause he didn’t want to fuck me.A fresh wave of burning heat washes over me. It creeps up my torso and settles in a heavy band across my chest.Oh God, did I really do that? Oh please, no. And did I seriously try to throw his duffel at him as well?

And did I miss both times? Oh Jesus. How embarrassing.

Why the fuck did I do that?

Who the hell do I think I am?

It’s too much. I hate it. I’m not like this. I’m literally never like this. I’m not this person. Of course he doesn’t have to fuck me. Why would I think he does? No one’s entitled to someone else’s body. I hate that kind of thinking. I look down on it. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t like it. I can’t act like this. I can’t go around throwing tantrums because someone doesn’t want to put his dick in me.

To make matters worse, now that I’m calmer, I keep seeing what Decker’s face looked like when I was losing my shit. It wasn’t anger or even surprise. It was concern. I was too hot-headed to slow my role, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure that as I walked away from him, he called after me. His voice was gruff like usual but laced with something quiet and gentle.

Now that I’m calmer, his words ring in my ears. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

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