Page 7 of Voices

Taking another sip of my water, I sit back and look at the darkening sky. This is the perfect spot to stargaze. We’re far enough from Chicago that the lights and pollution don’t affect viewing the bright stars, yet we are close enough that it only takes about thirty minutes to get to downtown.

“I need to know his name, Ry. It’s going to drive me crazy not knowing.”

Getting off the ground, he pushes his short, dirty blonde hair off his forehead, sits back down, and pins me with his stare.

“Well, Mr. Hawkins, how exactly do you plan on doing that? I haven’t seen him before today and Gannon is too big for you to just walk around, hoping to run into him again.”

Wait. That’s it!

“You’re a genius, Ryder!” I jump out of my chair.

Confused, he lifts a brow. “I know I am. But care to share with the class why I’m a genius?”

“I’ll go back to the same spot in the quad. That was the first time we’d been there. Maybe he walks through it to get to one of his classes.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that when all your classes are on the other side of campus? You can’t miss them trying to find this guy, Shane,” he says like the level-headedperson he is. “Also, if you fall behind this early Coach Q will have your ass. And then mine because we live together. Apparently when one of us fucks up, we both fuck up.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I lean against the rail and look at the stars.

I let out an exasperated breath. “You’re right. I’ll have to think of something else.”

I hear him get up, then he’s next to me.

“Don’t stress too much about it. If he really needs his book back that badly, all he has to do is look up the hockey team. As captain, your ugly mug is one of the first faces he’ll see.”

Laughing with him, I shove his ass out of the way as I make my way inside.

Deciding I’ve had enough for today, I say goodnight to Ryder and head to my room.

I won the master suite thanks to my amazing skills at pool. Ryder bitched for all of five minutes before he saw the size of his slightly smaller room and the bathroom that was right next to it. His room is on the opposite side of the condo, so we never have to hear each other’s extracurricular activities. Which was a necessity for the number of women that man brings home.

Closing the door behind me, I head to my bathroom. Turning on the shower, I strip. Stepping under the warm spray, I lower my head and let the water cascade down my neck and back, relaxing my sore muscles. Adding body wash to my sponge, I start cleaning my chest and stomach, then move lower to my semi-hard dick. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had anyone in my bed, and between the intense hockey practices and the mystery guy, I need this.

Dropping the sponge, I add more soap to my hand and grab my shaft in a firm grip, slowly stroking it to full mast. Closing my eyes, I move a bit faster when I see those golden-brown eyes looking up at me.

Damn, he’s beautiful. Ineedto find him.

Reaching down with my other hand, I gently tug on my balls. The dual sensation bringing me close to the edge. Stroking faster, I imagine that we kissed instead of him running away. He jumps into my arms, and we devour each other. He’s saying my name over and over, and then I’m coming all over the shower wall.

God damn.

Breathing heavy, I release my softening cock and open my eyes.

What the fuck was that?

I don’t even know if he’s gay or bi, like me. I haven’t came that quickly since I was like thirteen. What the hell is this guy doing to me?

Not the least bit relaxed, I quickly finish up. Back in my room, I throw on a pair of boxer briefs, turn off the light and get in bed. Making sure my alarm is set for five AM, I roll over and stare at the ceiling.

I shouldn’t be thinking this hard about someone I just met. I should have just turned his book into the Art Department and left it at that.

I look at his sketchbook on my nightstand. Turning on the bedside lamp, I pick it up. Still lying on my side, I open it. His drawings are so detailed that they look like someone took a picture in black and white and glued it to the page.

The first drawing is of a man’s face without eyes. His mouth is in a frown, and he has creases on his forehead like he’s worried. His hair is a mess as if he ran his hands through it a few times. Above his head is a bunch of dark swirls with sharp and jagged lines going through it. It’s dark and heavy like his thoughts are weighing him down.

Skipping a few pages, I stop when I recognize the person on the page. It’s a picture of Benji, one of our alternate captains,holding up the championship trophy we won last year in the Frozen Four. He’s captured so many details in Benji’s face that it’s hard to look away at the other players he drew. Matt and Ryder are hugging with big smiles on the left, and on the bottom right, Williams has his back to viewer holding up his goalie stick in one hand and mask in the other. And on the top right, it’s…me. I’m cheering with my arms raised above my head.

I stare at it, beyond stunned. I can’t believe he drew me. And he even captured the scar on my left eyebrow I got when I was younger. It’s like I’m in that moment all over again. I can smell the blood and sweat of the guys. That was one of the hardest games of my life.

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