Page 19 of Snapping the Ice
“Yes, I think I should.” Buthowwas the question? I huffed an exhale.
“I should be there when you do. If he tries to hurt you, I’ll stop him.” He clenched his jaw. “We need a plan.”
We?So, maybe he wasn’t about to disappear on me? “Okay, let me think about it. I’ll see what plans Tate made for us this weekend and we’ll talk.” Because Tate always made plans for us. Come to think of it, I’d never had a say in those plans. Heat filtered through my chest. I’d been such a pushover.
He ambled toward the door. “In the meantime, if he touches you in a way you don’t like, call me. I’ll be there.” He gave me a pointed look. “I mean it. Even if I’m in the middle of practice.”
My jaw dropped. He was serious. “Okay, I’ll text you if something happens.” But only if things were worse than usual. I wouldn’t text Lucas for yelling, or a shove, or even a slap. I opened the door for him.
He stepped outside and faced me. “Ezra?” His brows furrowed.
“Yeah?” I focused on his stormy eyes. A million thingsbrewed behind them. Grabbing his hand, I said, “We’ll talk soon.”
“Okay.” He squeezed my hand. “See you.” He turned and walked off.
Exhaling deeply, I closed the door, then leaned against it. This might have been the strangest night of my life. Not only did I have Tate to deal with, but I was pretty sure Lucas, a hockey player no less, was having of a crisis of his own. And here I was, in the middle.
CHAPTER 5
LUCAS
The next morning, my phone alarm blared through my bedroom. “Fuck.” I tapped it off and rolled to my side.
My morning erection stretched to the band of my briefs, hotter and harder than normal. I rolled to my side, tucking my hands between my thighs. For the short time I’d slept, I’d been dreaming about Ezra. I’d been kissing him. And holy fuck, I’d been rubbing my dick on him? What the hell?
Brushing my thumb along my balls, tingling sparked in my cock. I couldn’t go to practice this horny. I had to take care of it. Like now.
Shifting to my back, I hefted onto the pillows over the headboard of my bed and lowered my briefs. As I gave my cock a slow stroke, the sensation shivered up my spine. Hell yes, this was happening.
As I bit my lip, I threw the covers down, closed my eyes and jacked my dick with quick strokes. The Ezra from my dream filled my head, writhing below me, whimpering into our hungry kisses.
I halted. What the hell was I doing? Why was he stuck inmy head? I spat in my palm. I had to think of a girl. A hot as fuck puck bunny. I wasn’t queer. My brother was, but not me.
With a huff, I forced a random image of a brunette with thick lips into my head. She bobbed over my dick, her mouth wrapped around my shaft.Yeah, that’s it.
I quickened my pace and pleasure rocketed up my spine, my body tingling for release. “Oh, fuck.” I groaned. As my balls tightened, my stomach clenched. In my mind, the brunette lifted her head, flicking her…his tongue over my crown. Fucking Ezra’s sultry gaze caught mine as he devoured my cock.
My body tensed and toes curled as sensation surged, spilling hot cum over my hand and shooting my load onto my chest. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” I panted, lost in my release.
When it slowed, I took deep breaths. What the hell was wrong with me? I was losing my damn mind. I’d have to talk to Mason after practice. I twisted my lips. Shit, could I though? Maybe I should keep this to myself for now. Maybe it would pass.
At the rink, I worked the puck with my stick’s blade and skated across the ice. I’d sucked at everything today and Coach wasn’t happy with me. How would I make it to the NAPH playing like this?
“Hopkins, are you feeling okay?” Crosby skated to my right. “Coach wants us to do another round of blue line shuffles. He thinks then we’d sync.” He pushed his stick out and nabbed the puck from me.
I stopped and hung my head. “Yeah, okay.” I wasn’t feeling it today. No amount of blue line shuffles was goingto fix it. My brain kept focusing on Ezra. Was he okay? He’d have texted me if Tate showed up at his place after I left, right?
“Hey, what’s up?” He pushed on my shoulder. “You didn’t even flinch when I stole your puck.”
Glancing at Coach, who was chatting with the second line D-men, I said, “You remember Ezra, the photographer?”
“Yeah.” He batted the puck back and forth. “And his asshole boyfriend.”
“I started talking to him. The asshole boyfriend hit him.” I tightened my lips. “After talking to my brother, I was concerned. So, I went to the studio and had a coffee with him.” I didn’t need to mention my stalkerish behavior and the dinner.
“Shit, that’s terrible. Does he need help?” Crosby stopped the puck under his stick. “He seemed like such a nice guy.”
“He is and yes, I told him I’d help him.” My gaze met his. “You’ll have my back, right?” If something went down with Tate, I might need backup.
