Page 83 of No Pucks

TWENTY-FIVE

ANTHONY

Logan dominates on the ice more every week. He’s actually listening to me, and the sex is even better, which I didn’t think possible. I don’t want to tell him, but I’m excited the rest of the team is gone for the holidays. We’ll still practice, but we get a whole week to ourselves and don’t have to practice late at night or early in the morning, with much less risk of anyone sharing the ice.

I step on the ice, testing out the feel. On bad days, I avoid it, but my leg has been good this week, especially after getting used to the cane, and the prospect of having him all alone out here is too great to turn down.

Logan comes out a few minutes later, lifting his brows. “You finally going to show me how sexy you are on the ice?”

“If making you suffer is sexy.”

He grins. “Big promises today, Ice Daddy.”

“Don’t fucking start, or you’ll regret it.”

“Will I?” He pulls his helmet on. “Try me.”

“Suicides. Start at the goal line.”

“Fuck,” he mutters but stakes to the line. “Puck or no?”

“We’re working on your handling. With the puck.”

“We’re working on my handling against an opponent.” He steals one of the pucks near the goal and starts without me telling him to.

He’s breathing hard when he gets back to the line after his last one. I check my watch and, after thirty seconds, tell him to go again.

When I can tell he’s fading, I toss him a bottle of water. He squirts it into his mouth between gulps of air.

“Your breathing is all wrong.”

“What the fuck do you have to say about my breathing?” he says on staggering breaths.

“Slow in through your nose, then blow it out through your mouth. I can’t believe no one taught you this.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. It’s going to slow your heart down and help you recover faster. It fills your lungs fuller too. Try it.” I do a couple of breaths with him.

He gets the hang of it. “How the fuck can you do that in the middle of a game?”

“Practice. It helps, and you’ll be even better than you are now.” I size him up, deciding on a whim to push his buttons. “Are you done acting up?”

“Never, Ice Daddy. Do your worst.”

“Crawl.”

“On the ice?” Logan asks, skeptical.

“You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to learn to trust me and do everything I say,” I throw back, but he has been, so it’s a bit of a bluff.

He looks me right in the eyes, lowering down to one knee and then the other. Gloved hands meet the ice, and he crawls. Granted, it’s a bit awkward, but he keeps his form.

I exhale heavily. “We’re done. Go shower.”

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