Page 52 of Phantom Faceoff
We haven’t kissed since the coffee shop, and when he brings it up, I quickly brush it aside. It frustrates him, but he hasn’t pushed the boundary yet.
He meant it when he said he’d stop fooling around with Julian. While he does still come over and hang out, their hands stay above board the whole time.
It’s a secret shoved way down into the depths, but every time I catch them in bed, my brain comes up with all kinds of perverted images. I’ve gotten off to the memory of listening to them fuck more times than I care to admit—not to mention the scene I’d walked in on.
One day I’ll have to come clean to Julian—not that I’m getting off to thinking abouthimspecifically—because it feels sleazy to have my best friend in any kind of erotic fantasy without his knowledge.
But that’s a problem for another day.
Right now?
I’m hit with an eerie since of deja vu as I make my way down to the locker room after the game. Most of the team is filtering out, and I get looks from a couple of guys, but the last thing I am is intimidate by a jock.
I’m waiting in the hall, trying to decide the best place to go for our post-victory BJ session, when Micky and another of Zander’s teammates—Ellis, I think—steps out.
Ellis is tall, dark-skinned, with a buzzed head and a scruffy face, which is a stark difference beside Micky: pale, blond, and baby faced.
“Hey, Malachi,” Micky says with a note of surprise. “Where’s Julian?”
Right, because to most people that’s what I am, Julian’s shadow.
“He’s waiting outside. Figured I’d collect Zander.”
Ellis hoots and whistles, shouting through the open door, “Sounds like Halefire is in trouble!”
There’s laughter, and then Zander pokes his head out, hair still dripping from a shower and a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Why? What did I do?”
He sees me, and to most people it would be imperceptible, but I’ve quickly grown accustomed to his minute tells.
His pupils dilate, and his breathing quickens. He wets his lips and bobs his throat—all small, quick motions that give him away.
Thirty seconds ago he was a badass hockey player high on a win, and now he’s Wildfire, all attention zeroed in on me and his promised reward.
“Nice towel,” I say, echoing my earlier sentiment and watching the gears in his brain play through our last encounter in the locker room.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” His eyes dart around, briefly pausing on Micky and Ellis. “Unless you want to wait inside so these two will fuck off?”
Ellis laughs and claps Zander on the back but is quick to take the opportunity to duck out. Even though Micky gives him a questioning look, he doesn’t push.
“Have fun,” is all he says before turning and continuing down the hall.
Zander latches onto the front of my shirt and yanks me into the locker room, dragging me to a corner out of direct eyesight and staring me down in all his scarcely covered glory.
“You have been an asshole,” he says under his breath, but there’s no heat to it. At least, not the angry kind. “Teasing me all week, and look at that. We won, motherfucker.”
I arch a brow and place a hand on his waist just above the towel. “That’s not what you call me,” I whisper, bringing my face close to his but not close enough to give him what he wants.
Adrenaline buzzes in my veins, thumping harder as Zander pushes his hands up under my shirt. I freeze, because I hadn’t really taken into account Zander touchingme, but unable to deny how acutely sensitive I am under his touch.
His lips form a grin that he presses to the hollow of my throat.
“Blow me, Daddy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Zander
