Page 25 of Top Shelf
When I got back to the hotel, I left the group chat. I couldn’t bring myself to see his name again. It would be too painful. It was easier to live with the ache when I didn’t have to watch him there, even if he rarely spoke to anyone.
With a sigh, I grabbed my hoodie and decided to head down to the little restaurant for breakfast and coffee. Grabbing my cane because my knee was absolutely not cooperating, I opened my door, then froze.
There was a little cardboard box in the shape of a perfect cube sitting on the ground. It was very obvious it had been deliberately placed there. My fingers shook as I bent my good knee and swiped it up with the tips of my fingers.
I swallowed heavily, then pried off the top. Nestled in a little bed of white polyester stuffing was a crocheted burrito with big, round black eyes and a tiny, curved slash of a smile. There was lettuce poking out of the top, and white, which was probably for sour cream.
My heart tumbled in my chest.
There was no note, but there didn’t need to be.
I held it in my head, a warm, heavy weight, then slipped it into the pocket of my hoodie. I had a feeling that this little thing wasn’t going to go far away from me.
At least, not often. And not for long.
Chapter Eight
Ferris
“You seem more workedup than usual. You good, bruh?”
I could barely hear the sound of Cosmo’s voice over my music. My pregame playlist was eclectic—not really loud, but the volume enough to drown out the din of locker room chatter. Most people didn’t talk to me during my pregame ritual because I didn’t speak to them.
It began with not being able to—the anxiety wrapping around my vocal cords and making me go nonverbal. Then, as I relaxed, not speaking became a habit. And then a pregame superstition.
Once—and only once—I hadonetwo-word conversation before a game, and we lost with the worst score we’d had all season.
I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
I looked up at Cosmo briefly, but I could tell he wasn’t expecting a real answer. He was busy tightening the laces of his skates. Everyone had their own routines. I didn’t pay close attention to anyone else but myself. I was already strapped tightly in my gear. The only thing left was my gloves, but I wouldn’t pick those up until I was ready to hit the ice and skate to the net.
For now, I let my fingers curl around the yarn and hook as I worked my way through a chubby little panda. It helped keep my mind focused and present because otherwise, it was going to be elsewhere. It was going to be back with Quinn in that hotel room. It was going to remember a little too well what it felt like to have his warm hands on me and his tongue in my mouth. And his dick in my ass.
I’d spent way too long staring in the mirror, trying to see if he was wrong. To see if I looked any different now that I wasn’t a virgin, but I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even reallyfeeldifferent. The only change was that I now knew what it was like to orgasm from someone else.
It was better than doing it by myself, of course, but part of that was probably because it was Quinn. He’d spent all evening studying me, and by the time he kissed me, he seemed to know exactly what I wanted before I even asked for it. He played every single inch of me like I was his perfect instrument. He knew where to touch and how. He knew where to kiss and where to bite.
He knew the perfect angle to make me see stars.
Walking away had been the smart choice. It was the only choice, really. But it also felt like the worst one too.
“Come on, bud. That’s our cue.” Cosmo elbowed me gently, so I reached up and dropped my headphones on the bench, along with the ball of yarn, hook, and nearly done panda. It would be waiting for me when I got back.
The walk to the ice was long, but I was used to it. The hardest part about hockey had always been keeping my balance on my skates when I was off the ice. I kept close to Colt and Matty in case I felt like I was going to fall, but before long, the surface beneath me was slick and forgiving. I skated several circles, warming my body up to the sounds of the arena playlist.
The stands weren’t very full. They never filled up unless we were playing Boston College. Any Green Line game was packed. Those games were more fighting than trying to get a shot on goal, and usually, half the guys on each team spent more time in the sin bin than they did in gameplay.
The fights always extended to the stands too—people drinking too much and mouthing off and getting all riled up. And for what?
I never did understand it. But then again, my place had always been apart from everyone else. I loved being a goalie, but it was hard at times. Lonely more often than not. Isolated. I was never part of the strategy except to protect the goal and stop the puck. The guys were protective ofmethough.
They wore murder on their faces and watched me like a hawk.
I got hit a lot—that was the risk of being in the net and having people come flying at me at top speed, but it was rare when the hit was deliberate.
And there was always retribution when that happened.
Luckily, tonight, we were playing Northeastern. The visitors’ stands were almost completely empty, and I was willing to bet less than a hundred people were on our side. It was a Tuesday, after all. And a little too close to midterms for anyone’s comfort.
