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Tits or ass: that’s the eternal question. That’s the question I’ve been asked my entire life, by friends, flings, teammates, my ex-girlfriend. I’m not going to lie. For a long time, I was a tits man. But tonight, I think my answer is gonna change.
should be mingling instead of acquainting myself with the inside of some girl’s mouth. I don’t care, though. I need the distraction.
My quick puck handling is what put me on the map, but at the time, I was racking up eighty penalty points in my collegiate midseason, which made me the most penalized player in NCAA hockey at one point.
If somebody bodychecks me or gets between me and the puck, I’m not afraid to hit them back—whether those hits are illegal or not.
After she died, my father abandoned me and my sister. I had to take care of my younger sister, Faye, while I juggled school and hockey.
want to forget this whole week. I want to stop feeling. The alcohol’s already helped a bit with both,
I was ruminating over what went wrong, incriminating pictures of her tongue down Quentin Cadieux’s throat surfaced in the media. Quentin Cadieux, center for the Atlanta Avocets, and the bane of my fucking existence.
When I confronted Macy about the photos, she admitted to only using me for my money, my name, and my fame. She dumped me before I could break up with her.
The girl in front of me is shaking the bed with how much she’s bouncing on top of me. We went from a fifteen-minute make out sesh to her riding me like rent was fucking due.
My hands are gripping her thighs so tightly that red marks are rising in their wake. I love when girls are loud, but fuck, is she loud
I love when girls are loud, but fuck, is she loud. I bet the whole party downstairs can hear us, despite the outdated EDM music playing.
Her perky ass slaps against the tops of my thighs. I’m close to coming. My dick is practically begging me to release inside of her, and it’s a good thing I snagged a few condoms before leaving the house because no matter what dude you talk to, pulling out rarely works.
Yeah, self-control has never been my strong suit. “Fuck…” I groan, though I think it comes out more like a frustrated growl.
The tip of my dick tingles, and it feels like a supernova is exploding in my veins, coloring my vision with constellations. Before I know it, I’m spilling myself into
My cock loves the idea of seeing her again, but I really shouldn’t be entertaining a relationship when I have my career to focus on.
“Please tell me that’s not Sienna Talavera’s bedroom,” he bellows, that one vein on his forehead pulsing with a mind of its own. Who?
“I…I don’t know, sir.” I’ve never heard that name in my entire life. “Sienna. Talavera,” he reiterates
“Son, Raymond Talavera owns the sports drink company sponsoring our team,” he explains. Fuck me. “Coach, I swear, I had no idea,”
“Hollings, this cannot get out, do you understand? If Raymond hears that you slept with his daughter, he’ll pull, and we need his sponsorship.” “I promise I won’t say anything, Coach.” “If it comes down to it, the team owner will have no problem picking Talavera over you. Every player is tradeable, expendable.” “Understood.”
“Mistakes like this can make or break a career. I know how much hockey means to you. But with the way you’ve been playing recently, you’re treating this privilege like it means jackshit. And now you go and complicate things with our biggest sponsor. You’re lucky I’m the one who caught you and not some news-hungry paparazzi. You need to start thinking before you act, otherwise a warning will be the least of your worries.”
It doesn’t matter what year it is, what day it is, or where I am: September fourth will always be the day my brother committed suicide. This is the fourth anniversary of his death. Four years, and the pain is still as fresh as the day he left me.
September fourth will always be the day my brother committed suicide.
When me and my brother were little, we used to play upstairs in the attic. The days my mother and father argued, the attic was a safe haven for us. We pretended we were wanderers
After my brother’s death, Michael, my father, became the very villain my fairytale stories warned me about. A heart that was once large enough to harbor all the love in the world shriveled into a gray husk overnight.
heart that was once large enough to harbor all the love in the world shriveled into a gray husk overnight. He doesn’t check in on me. He doesn’t talk to me. He acts like nothing ever happened. It’s like he wants to erase that entire part of his life, which includes me, too. He let the pain consume him, and he used it to estrange himself from me.
It’s like he wants to erase that entire part of his life, which includes me, too. He let the pain consume him, and he us...
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Roden was born mute, and he quickly became ostracized by his peers because of his disability, leading him to fall down a rabbit hole of depression. My brother was trapped in that six-foot-deep hole, with me trying to tug him up by a lifeline.
Once my father gave up his parental responsibilities, so did my mother. When my brother was alive, his signs of depression were prominent, but none of us knew how to help him.
When my brother was alive, his signs of depression were prominent, but none of us knew how to help him. He was older than me by two years, ...
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but I was always his protector. Always. Until the night I found him hanging from one of the rafter beams. He returned to where he felt safest in his last moments. He didn’t leave a note, and that was what broke me the most. I didn’t get to say goodbye. ...
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He didn’t leave a note, and that was what broke me the most. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I failed my brother. I wasn’t enough to make him stay in this...
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past years in a constant battle—fighting for my father’s love, fighting for my mother’s support. And now,...
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I cringe at the initial taste, but that doesn’t stop me from flagging down the bartender for another shot. I need to stop feeling. I need to stop thinking. Heat welts me from every direction, almost strong enough to cancel out the musty scent of body odor and alcohol wafting off the inebriated crowd.
image of greasy, fattening chicken wings doused in honey sauce, clocking the calorie count at the very top, which blares a glaring two hundred three calories per three point five ounces. That’s two hundred three calories for every chicken wing. I have a seven hundred calorie quota that I already reached for the day, no thanks
which blares a glaring two hundred three calories per three point five ounces. That’s two hundred three calories for every chicken wing. I have a seven hundred calorie quota that I already reached for the day, no thanks to the two hundred forty-five calories I wasted on a bagel this morning. And it doesn’t help that I’ve been guzzling down skinny vodka for the past hour.
Despite my stomach’s insistent growls for sustenance, I decline his offer with a shake of my head. I can’t risk it. I haven’t lost any weight at all this...
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split second, self-loathing threatens to drag me to the cusp of no return and throw me down a dark, bottomless pit. It amplifies how stuffy and miserable it is in here, how sweat slicks the waistband of my too-tight jeans to my back. I’m fucking mad. Mad at the world for taking away the one person who understood me—mad at myself for letting it happen.
“Maybe you should slow down,” a voice says from behind me. I don’t register that the warning is aimed at me until an awkward bout of silence passes.
The voice is thick, like crushed velvet, and it has a honeyed undertone to it. But as pleasant as it might be to listen to, the advice is unwelcome.
There’s a shuffling noise to my side, and judging by the displaced air, the intruder is now sitting directly next to me. “Did you know that binge drinking can result in alcohol poisoning?”
“Did you know that binge drinking can result in alcohol poisoning?” I down the rest of my glass despite his warning. “Maybe that’s the goal.” “You want to spend the rest of the night getting your stomach pumped in the ER?” I snort, feeling heat bloom up the back of my neck. “Sounds exciting.”
“Maybe that’s the goal.” “You want to spend the rest of the night getting your stomach pumped in the ER?” I snort, feeling heat bloom up t...
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haven’t looked at my annoyer yet, and I’d prefer to keep eye contact limited at this point. “Don’t worry, nobody’s watching your selfless act of kindness. You don’t need to pretend to care.”
“Don’t worry, nobody’s watching your selfless act of kindness. You don’t need to pretend to care.” “Who said anything about pretending?”
hate the way my curiosity betrays me, because hook, line, and sinker, that gets me to turn right toward him. He’s a disturbingly attractive man—the kind of attractiv...
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He looks to be about six foot three, and just going off the wideness of his shoulders, there’s no question in hell that he’d be able to throw me across the roo...
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His eyes are blue and enticing, like the undercurrents of a churning sea. I feel li...
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Oh, and I think he has dimples. Maybe. Jury’s out. “You’re…” I slur, my cheeks turning rosy. Come on, brain! Work! Form sentences! “Dashingly handsome? Super muscular? A young Leonardo DiCaprio?”
but the next set of words out of my mouth aren’t anywhere close to a compliment. “…full of yourself,” I finish. That was supposed to be an inside thought, Aeris. AN INSIDE ONE.
“…full of yourself,” I finish. That was supposed to be an inside thought, Aeris. AN INSIDE ONE. “Nothing wrong with having a bit of confidence,” he muses. I laugh, but it comes out humiliatingly flat. “You do know there’s a fine line between confident and arrogant, right?” “Never heard any complaints before.” “Hate to break it to you, but you’re probably surrounded by a bunch of kiss-asses.”
