Page 118 of Stick It
It’s actually kind of hot to stand back and see the pleasure she derives from his touch and whatever filth he’s whispering in her ear.
The arena pulses with energy, a steady hum of voices blending with the pounding bass of the pre-game hype video playing on the jumbotron. Fans in Timberwolves and Marauders jerseys flood the concourse, laughter and conversation bouncing off the walls as vendors call out their sales. The scent of popcorn and beer clings to the air, thick and familiar. It doesn’t matter what arena I’m in or where in the world it’s located. They all sound and smell the same. They all feel like home. After a childhood spent bouncing between houses, never feeling like any of them were home, my local ice rink became my one constant. The one familiar in my life when everything else was a revolving door of change.
I should be taking in the pre-game buzz, lapping up the energy the way I typically do, but my attention is locked on the girl walking in front of me. Dylan is dressed tonight in a white crop top that shows off her toned abdomen, and dark denim skinny jeans that draw my eyes to the round globes of her ass.She’s straightened her hair and left it down tonight and has even put on makeup—something I’ve only seen her wear once, that night at The Stanley. To say she looks beautiful would be an understatement. Dylan always looks beautiful, even when she’s coming off the ice, drenched in sweat with her hair sticking to her head after a two-hour practice. But tonight…tonight she looks like something I want to make irrevocably mine.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since our moment in the hot tub. She was constantly on my mind before that day, but since…it’s on a whole different level. To say I’m obsessed would be an understatement. I’m bordering on Griffin’s level of preoccupation, and I don’t even care. If anything, it only makes me understand him better. How could henotbe stalker level consumed by her? Dylan is like a magnet pulling us all in, and I have no interest in being anywhere other than right by her side.
Griffin slings an arm around Dylan’s shoulders, pulling her close as we weave through the crowd. She doesn’t pull away. His fingers toy with the neckline of her crop top, his touch so casual it makes my teeth clench. Like he has therightto touch her so intimately. Like he’s done it so many times before that it’s second nature to him.
I mightunderstandGriffin, but that doesn’t mean I like him touchingmy girlso fucking familiarly. I don’t want Dylan to be here on a date withhim. I want her to be on a date withme. Withus?I think about that for a second as I cast a glance around our group. I decide I don’t fucking care, so long as I can touch her with the same carefree casualness Griffin currently is.
“Is this actually a date?” I bark, voice low and threatening as I wield a finger between the two of them. “Are you—” I want to say fucking. Based on Griffin’s smug smirk, that’s what he’s expecting me to say. At the last moment, I manage to wrap my tongue around a more socially acceptable word. “Dating?”
I might have slept with Dylan, she might consume my every thought, but we’ve never had thedatingconversation.
Fuck, why haven’t we talked about that?
“Yup,” Griffin answers with unfiltered haughty arrogance at the same time Dylan says, “No.”
Her quick denial is the only thing that stops my fist from flying into Griffin’s face, and based on the flash of excitement in his eyes, he fucking knows it. Sick, twisted fuck.
However, Dylan’s denial doesn’t seem to bother Griffin. He looks down at her with a grin, like he expected the contradiction. Like it amuses him. The way he looks at her, though… There’s something in his expression that makes my stomach twist—a softness that’s uncharacteristic for him. Dylan lifts her head, their gazes connecting. An intimacy passes between them that shouldn’t be possible in a place this loud and chaotic. She might deny this is a date, but there’s no denying there’ssomethingbetween them.
“No?” I press, a desperate need pressing against my skin. I look straight at Dylan. “So then you’d be open to dating other people?”
She shrugs, barely sparing me a glance before looking away as though surveying the crowd. “I’m focusing on hockey this year.”
It’s a bullshit answer. If she were really focused on hockey, she wouldn’t be here with Griffin. Wouldn’t be standing here with his arm around her while my skin burns from being close but not close enough.
Equally, if she wereonlyinterested in Griffin, she wouldn’t have agreed to let us tag along on their so-called date.
A smirk curls my lips.
She might not be mine yet, but she’s not his either. And that’s all the invitation I need.
We find our seats just as the starting lineups are being announced. Griffinslides into the row first, dragging Dylan behind him. I push forward, claiming the seat on her other side before Ethan can. He fixes me with a look before reluctantly sitting next to me, with Finn at the end, putting as much distance between himself and Dylan as possible, like he thinks space will fix whatever’s brewing inside him. I see the way he looks at her when he thinks no one’s watching, the barely masked scowl when she laughs at something someone else says, the flicker of jealousy every time Griffin touches her.
It’s easy to read because I feel the same way.
I don’t know when they got this close, when Griffin earned the right to be so fucking familiar with her, but I want that too. I need it. I’ve never felt this undeterred urge to call someone mine. When I started at BSU, I found a home with the guys. A camaraderie. A friendship. But this is different. Stronger. Like the home I’ve built over the past three-plus years has been missing something vital, and I’m only now realizing. Realizing there’s a void—a Dylan-shaped hole that needs to be filled.
The plastic digs into the backs of my thighs as we settle into our seats. Glancing to my right, Griffin catches my gaze, a smirk curling along his lips as he sinks lower in his chair and spreads his legs. His thigh presses against Dylan’s in a deliberate move while his fingers skim over the back of her seat, a barely-there brush against her hair. The entire time, he holds my stare with that knowing, smug smirk that I want to punch clean off his face.
Challenge accepted, asshole.
Slouching down, I mirror his posture. My foot nudges Dylan’s, my leg pressing flush against hers. The contrast of my large thigh with her much thinner, leaner one showcases how much smaller she is than me—than any of us. Yet, she’s not fragile. Hell, I suspect she might be tougher than us all. Her gaze shifts to where we’re touching, before she lifts her head. Sheglances between me and Griffin, her eyes flickering to the way we’ve effectively caged her in before she shakes her head, a hint of a smile peeking through.
Yet she doesn’t move away.
I smirk, victory curling through my chest.
The game gets underway, the Timberwolves facing off against the Marauders. The first period is fast, aggressive. The Timberwolves set the tone early, controlling the puck in the Marauders’ zone, their forwards relentless on the forecheck. A hard hit against the boards sends the crowd into a frenzy, cheers erupting as one of the Marauders gets laid out at center ice.
The game is paused while the ref skates over to check him out.
“Wow. Wild game already,” Ethan states, leaning forward to stretch out the kinks in his back.
I nod in agreement, but I’m distracted by Dylan shifting in her chair beside me. She cranes her neck, looking up toward the luxury boxes. Her gaze lingers there, as though seeking someone out, before an incomprehensible look of pain crosses her face.
