Page 57 of Sin Bin
“Seriously?” I ask, because, no shit, if I found out somebody I knew had a MyFans account, I’d look that shit up fast. I’m a curious guy.
“I was tempted,” Fallon admits, “but it felt like an invasion of privacy. I mean, if I’m going to watch you get yourself off, you should at least get the courtesy of watching me watch you, right?”
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
This woman—my wife—is perfect for me.
“Seems only fair,” I manage to say, though my voice has probably dropped an octave.
“Well, then,” Fallon says, as I pull the covers up around us, “you’ll have to cue up one of your favorite videos so we can have a watch party.”
I came less than five minutes ago, so my dick should be spent, but it’s not. I can feel my length hardening as I imagine how hot that screening will be. As much as that thought turns me on, though, I’m beginning to realize that the most exciting part is going to be watching Fallon as she pushes past boundaries and explores what makes her feelgood. The initial thrill I got from creating content has long since faded, but the idea of experiencing it all again with her has me riding a brand new high.
“We can watch any video you want, any time you want to,” I tell her, “but I think my days of posting new content are over. I’m a married man now, so all my shows are just for you.”
24
Fallon
“Are you sure all this is necessary?” I say as I walk into the salon with Maggie and Viv. “I mean, we’re not recreating my wedding ceremony. We’re just going to a hockey game.”
Viv nods decisively. She can’t be taller than about five feet, but she’s a powerhouse. “It’s the first game of the season and given your recent nuptials, there’s bound to be near-constant footage of you tonight. There will be more reporters in that arena than ever before, and you want to look your best when your face is plastered all over SportsBeat, don’t you?”
“And besides,” Maggie says, chiming in, “Birdie works at this salon and she’s amazing. You’re going to love her.”
“That’s Mickey’s sister, right?” I ask. It’s my second year at Bainbridge, but I’m still learning all the names, faces, and connections of the hockey team. I guess all of that will be important now that I’m married to one of the players.
Me. Married. It’s…what did Ollie call it? A mindfuck. Yep, that pretty much sums it up. I never saw myself getting hitched, but it’s been nearly a week since Ollie and I said our vows in Vegas—a really good week, actually. I give marriage a ten out of ten for the sex alone.But being legally bound to one another and sharing the same bedroom has caused us to spend a lot more time together, and I have to admit that Ollie is a whole lot of fun. I find myself wishing that we’d met under different circumstances. Maybe if it all hadn’t gone down in such a messy way, Ollie and I would have become friends so much sooner.
When we make our way to the back of the salon, a tall, curvy redhead is waiting for us. Her hair is a more vivid shade of red than Mickey’s, but the smattering of freckles on her face, the fair skin, and the green eyes are all the same.
I’m not usually one for spa treatments and pampering, but when Birdie starts to massage my scalp, I consider ditching Ollie and marrying her. My hearing aids are off because of the water, but that doesn’t bother me. I can tell from looking around the room that everyone is chattering away, but I’m content to sit here and let Birdie do her magic.
And magic it sure is. A little over an hour later, I emerge from the salon with loose curls, natural makeup that makes me look sun kissed, and a manicure and pedicure that show off my Bainbridge pride.
A few hours later at the game, I realize Viv knows what she’s talking about. I’ve been approached by reporters and so have the other girls. I would never have thought that a college hockey player’s wedding—even in Vegas—would be newsworthy, but what do I know? Not much when it comes to styling products or to college sports coverage.
But I do know hockey.
When the Wolves take the ice, the whole arena goeswild. They’re fresh off a national title, and this crowd is hungry for another one, even though it’s literally the first game of the year. I watch with rapt attention as the puck is dropped, and play begins. Because I’ve watched hockey my whole life, I have no trouble tracking the puck or making sense of the calls. I’ll admit to being a little distracted, tonight, though, because regardless of what’s happening in the game, most of my attention is concentrated on number sixty-nine, Ollie Jablonski.
As a defender, his primary objective isn’t to score, it’s to keep the other team at bay while the offense scores. So far, he’s doing a solid job of it. I know it’s been hard for the team to accept two new players who used to be their rivals and I know Ollie has worked hard to help a lot of the guys leave their differences behind and play like a team. Coleridge, the team they’re battling tonight, has been relentless. But so has Ollie. He’s popped the puck out of corners, chased down wingers, and he even had an assist.
When the game is over, and we’ve beaten Coleridge three-to-one, the only thing I really want to do is congratulate Ollie in the privacy of our bedroom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like that’s happening any time soon.
It takes a while before the guys are done talking to the media, showering, and having their little pep talk/rally cry in the locker room, but I don’t mind waiting for Ollie in the hallway. It’s a place where friends and family gather, and while I’ve been here before to wait for my brother, this is entirely different.
I watch as Ollie strides toward me. He doesn’t notice the group of sorority girls calling his name, or the guys who want to get a picture with him. As he leans up against the wall, nearly caging me in, every ounce of his focus is on me. Ollie kisses me as though we don’t have an audience, or even a group of friends who are waiting for us.
I have to admit that I could easily get addicted to this much attention.
“Nice job on that assist,” I say, taking his offered hand as we weave our way through the crowd.
“You liked that? Do I get a prize for doing such a good job?” Ollie’s grin is playful as we step outside and into the parking lot, but when his phone buzzes, a frown mars his handsome features.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly. “My folks are in town for the game, but since it was a long day of travel, they’re back at their hotel already.”
