Page 28 of Pucker Up
I groaned and shuddered as I came, imagining Goldie’s lips wrapped around my cock. “No more,” I promised myself. That was the last time I was going to think about her. From now on, I would have to jerk off thinking about some random bunny.
Rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I realized that the idea of a random bunny felt…boring. Yeah, there were plenty of smokin’ hot girls out there, but they didn’t have whatever it was that Goldie had, and I wasn’t even sure what that was. Was it her intelligence that set her apart? She was witty as hell. I shut off the shower and toweled off. Was it her humor? She was damn funny. Was it the fact that she didn’t give a shit that I was a hockey player?
The last few notes of side A of the record played and then I was met with silence.
Or was it because I couldn’t have her? Rejection was new territory for me, and I didn’t like it. But I had more important things to think about, like the upcoming game and making it through practice with Mr. Punchy, my big brother.
I got into my practice gear, flipped the record, and gave it more volume. Flopping onto the sofa, I draped my arm over my eyes and listened to the music. Growing up, our parents made us choose one thing, and it had to be a sport. It’s not like the kids today, getting chauffeured from hockey to basketball to tutors to trampoline, or whatever they wanted, six or seven days a week. I didn’t regret choosing hockey; I fucking love it, and always have.But if I could’ve chosen one more thing, it would’ve been music. I wished that I could pick up a guitar and try my best to sound like Angus from ACDC.
Gideon had actually chosen tennis, but Dad didn’t want to drive all the way across town, so he told us we had to pick the same sport, and that he’d rather watch hockey than tennis. So I guess we were always going to be hockey players.
It was pretty shitty parenting, but hockey was huge in Michigan, and from our first day on skates, we were naturals. It sounds cocky, but we were born to play the game.
I pulled my arm from across my face, and sat up, cocking my ear. The bass on my sound system was amazing, but something sounded off. I stood to go fiddle with the dials when I realized that it wasn’t the stereo at all. Someone was banging on my door.
Hard.
I turned down the music and jogged across the polished concrete floor to peer through the peephole. It was Ethan. I opened it before he could pound on it again.
“What the hell, dude? I’ve been out here since ‘Highway to Hell.’” Ethan knocked the snow off his boots and stepped into my place. “Cold.”
Glancing to the thermostat, I furrowed my brow. “It’s seventy-two degrees.”
“No, man. It’s like a sales centre in here. Cold. You know, like where’s your personality?”
“Since when are you an interior designer?”
He wasn’t wrong; it was pretty stark inside the penthouse. “I just moved here. I haven’t had time to get out the color squatches.”
“Swatches.” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “My sister is a designer. I could get her to help you out. She did my place.” Ethan followed me into the kitchen.
“Let’s wait and see if I get fired or not.”
“They’re not going to fire you.” He leaned against the counter. “Traded, maybe.”
I held up a tub of protein powder. “Want some?” He shook his head and I dumped a scoop into my shaker. The wordtradedechoed in my head. “Have you heard something?”
“Nah, it’s just after yesterday…”
I sighed. “I know.” The wiry ball clattered against the side of the shaker as I did my best Vitamix impression. “Coach benched Gideon.”
“Giddy?” Ethan slid onto one of the barstools. “What the fuck?”
“First of all, I double dare you to call him Giddy. Secondly, I can’t believe you haven’t heard. Coach blew up at us, and Giddy…” I smiled a little inside at how much my brother hated that nickname. “Giddy talked back, called Coach the captain of a sinking ship.”
“Oooof.” Ethan grimaced.
“Yeah.” I chugged back half of the shake and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my warm-up jacket.
“Maybe that’s why Coach has called us in early.”
“Early?” This was the first I’d heard of another early practice.
“I tried to call you to make sure you knew about it. After last practice, we can’t fuck up anymore. You didn’t answer, which is why I had to come over and interrupt your rock concert. It was like the Engine City stadium in here.”
Engine City was a new state-of-the-art arena, with a next-level sound system. I found my phone in the pocket of my running pants that I’d left in a pile on the bathroom floor. Sure enough, there were three missed calls and multiple texts from Ethan, and one message from Jamie, asking us to be at the rink an hour earlier than usual.
“That’s it?” I held the screen so that Ethan could see the text.
