Page 79 of Slap Shot Scandal
The way we fit together, her pussy tight and slick as she rode my cock. Hard and fast, begging for more.
I’d love to give her more. Right the fuck now.
Unfortunately, she’s avoiding me. It appears she’s going to stick to the wholeone-time thing.
“You done warming up there, Cap? Or do you need more groin stretching? You know, to be on the safe side?” Bennett snickers down at me as I move through my pre-workout stretch routine.
“Fuck off, Bennett. And yeah, I’m done.” Gripping my stick, I ease off the ice as Coach Keller waves us over.
“Welcome to pre-season conditioning, boys. We’re going to run drills and sprints old-school style today, so I hope you’re nice and warm.”
Bennett elbows me and I hold back an eye roll. I want to make a good first impression on Keller—I don’t need any trouble with the new coach.
Digging my blade into the ice, I carve a small groove. A nervous habit I’ve had since youth hockey league. This is the first practice with a coach who doesn’t know shit about my leadership style, and I’m already off-balance. Keller’s the type who’ll strip that ‘C’ right off my jersey without a second thought. No need to give him a reason.
“We’ll start with blue line to blue line sprints. Captain, why don’t you lead us off? Take Bennett and Morrison with you. Line two, be ready. You’re up next.” Coach pulls out his stopwatch, and my nerves fire up as I skate over to the line.
Which is stupid because this is pre-season conditioning. I’ve been skating since I was two years old and these are my teammates, not rivals.
Still, tension’s thick, my muscles tightly coiled as I crouch down into position. Instinctively, I know I need to prove myself to Keller, and now’s as good a time as any.
The whistle blows and I take off, ice flurrying around the blades of my skates as I sail across the smooth surface. Bennett and Morrison stay with me, all of us needing to impress the new coach, none of us wanting to come across the line last.
Chest heaving and arms pumping, I fly across the line a split second after my brother.
“Bennett, 3.04 seconds, Weston 3.12 seconds, Morrison, 3.22seconds. Next.” Keller calls out the times but doesn’t offer any further commentary.
I skate around to the back of the group, trying to catch my breath and prepare for round two, ignoring Bennett’s victorious smirk.
Little shit.
Rolling my shoulders, I suck in oxygen and focus on staying loose. Not letting my brother into my head.
It’s crowded enough in there as is, what with Harbor’s voice echoing through my mind every time I close my eyes.
Her laugh, her moans, the way she called my name when she came apart on my lap.
Offense line two takes off, the scratching of blades on the ice bringing me back to reality. Line three’s up, then the defensemen, followed by the goalies, Callum and Klein.
“You ready, Cap?” Bennett shoots me a sideways glance and my jaw tightens.
“Of course I am.”
Coach blows the whistle and we take off, my quads firing. The swoosh of blades digging into the ice ricochets around the rink as we turn. Bennett’s right next to me, half an inch in the lead. I push harder, but he still outskates me.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, lungs burning.
In ten years of competitive hockey, no woman’s made me lose my focus during practice. Not even Bee.
Dammit.
Harbor Hayes is rewiring my motherfucking brain.
“What’s got you twisted, Cap? Usually takes a playoff loss to throw you off this bad,” Bennett mocks, and my gut clenches.
I don’t need my brother pointing out every tiny victory he manages to score.
“Letting you win.” I scowl over at him, arms above my head to increase lung capacity.
