Page 28 of Wanting the Winger

I clear my throat, pulling out my ponytail holder so I can hide my face behind a curtain of hair.Bruce jumps down from my lap as I start to stand up.

“You know what, my stomach’s bothering me again.”

Bash sighs heavily.“Lane, don’t go.”

“I need to.I think I just need to rest.”

I rush up to my room, relieved when I finally close the door behind me.Just in case he comes up to see if I was lying, I go into the bathroom and close and lock the door.

I’ll take a bath.Maybe it’ll relax me a little bit.I’m not pissed off this time.I’m just so hurt I can hardly keep from crumpling up on the floor to cry my eyes out.

This is where I have to live for the summer, but it doesn’t mean I have to spend much time here.I’m going to try just sleeping here and avoiding Bash because anytime we talk for more than five minutes, we end up arguing.

I’ve already had enough stress to last the entire summer.

ChapterNine

Bash

How the hellis 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 aW.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 Lucienfirst 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.

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