Page 40 of Phantom Faceoff
I’m at eye level with the wet patch in his jeans, and if these were any other circumstances, I’d lower his fly and lick him clean.
I’m still hard, and I know the moment I’m alone, I’m going to come thinking about the blush on Malachi’s cheeks. Another odd thing to fantasize over.
He helps me to my feet, and his hand lingers in mine for a beat, but when he drops it, that’s it. Our connection breaks, and he walks away without another word.
My world is shattered. Busted open. All over a kiss.
Chapter Twelve
Zander
Malachi is ignoring me,and it’s making me play like shit.
We’ve lost two games in a row, and I know that doesn’t rest entirely on my shoulders, but that doesn’t make me any less irritable.
“If you don’t get your head in the game, I’m going to body check you,” Micky chirps from the bench beside me.
Yeah, I’m playing like absoluteass, and that’s because I can’t stop myself from scanning the stands. Malachi hasn’t shown up to a single game since the first, and even though I spot Julian right away every time, Malachi is nowhere to be seen.
It’s simple math.
He’s avoiding me.
Ellis plops into the seat beside me and slaps me on the shoulder. “You are shit today, dude.”
I take the bottle of water that’s held out to me and give him the finger.
Micky bumps his own bottle on my knee.
“After the face off,” he says, eyes scanning the ice in rigid concentration, “stay close.”
I quirk my brow, but he’s too busy to notice. Micky is my captain and my best friend; I trust his judgment.
So, I do. I follow him like a hawk. I plow through the other team’s forwards, run the defensemen into the boards. My field of vision narrows to number thirty-one, and for the first time in weeks, my head feels clear.
When the puck finds my stick and a pair of players come crowding around me, I don’t have to search Micky out. I slap the puck with all the force of weeks worth of frustration, and our captain runs with it.
The lamp lights up, the buzzer sounds, and then I’m sandwiched between half the team as they shout and holler across the rink.
I’m a dazed, sweaty mess, and the moment I get to a bench, I’m ripping off my helmet, jersey, and pads.
Hockey has always been a cathartic experience for me, but it’s been a while since I’ve truly lost myself in the game.
“Look at you pulling a W out of your ass,” Ellis says, swinging his jersey over his head with a big grin as he strides to his own bench.
“Right. It’s not like Micky made the shot or anything.”
“You facilitated the hell out of that shot, and you know it,” Micky says, plopping down beside me already stripped to his underwear.
“In a hurry?” I ask, eager to change the subject. The less I have to talk about how crappy I’ve been playing the better. I already got an earful from Coach.
“Parker called. Sounded upset.” And if there’s one thing besides hockey that Micky doesn’t play around with, it’s Parker.
“Let him know if he needs anything, we’re all here for him.” We’ve only met him a handful of times outside a screen, but being as he’s Micky’s person, he’s practically an extension of the team.
“Thanks.” He’s hurriedly throwing on the basketball shorts and tank from his bag, forgoing the shower all together. In the midst of tying his shoes, he pauses and looks up. “Ifyouneed anything, you know we’re here for you, too.”
I shrug and put on my signature grin. “I just helped us win the game. What problem could I have?”
