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The guys are cool with me being an out and proud player but get all weirded out when I go into details. Granted, I probably overshare way more than I should, but when I pointed out I had to listen to them talk about their hookups with puck bunnies, suddenly the entire team became stand-up dudes who speak respectfully about women in locker rooms. Funny how that works. Apparently, the cure to toxic masculinity is to show them how it feels to be talked about like a piece of meat. You’re welcome, ladies.
When you’ve played as many games as I have, you understand the old philosophy of “you win some, you lose some.” Except in the playoffs. Then losing is the equivalent of the end of the world.
Maybe you should spend the next hour prepping that hole for me.” Anton walks away, and I have to reach into my pants and adjust myself before following.
“Do you want my hand or my mouth?” “Jesus.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I don’t think I can get Jesus for you, but I do get the impression you want my mouth. You just don’t want to ask for it.”
“Go over to the window,” he orders. “You going to push me out of it?”
“When I can’t see your face, it’s easy to believe you’re someone else.” “You say the sweetest things.”
He cups my face. “Kiss me, Anton.” Fuck it. I twist my fingers in his caramel-colored hair and bring our mouths together. That neediness settles. With his mouth on me, I can finally give up control.
I step aside so he can pass me, but instead he closes the door and tugs me into a kiss. I go willingly, but the kissing thing still confuses me. My experience with long-term hookups is limited, but I would have assumed kissing was reserved for boyfriends and sex. But since I asked him to kiss me that one time in bed, Ezra does it every chance he gets. Like asking for it was opening Pandora’s box of affection.
“Okay, so in your own words, we’re at the level of friendship where public acknowledgments are cool, but blowjobs are even better?” “Exactly. Like I said. We’re now besties.”
“To be fair, it’s Canada,” Ezra points out. “They don’t have much else to talk about up there.” “True. Tell me, do they pay you guys in real money or just, like, Timbits?”
“You’re my fuckboy now.” “I should hate that, but … I don’t.” He lowers his voice. “I really, really don’t.”
I think I’ve caught an illness where you’re concerned, and it’s affecting my decision-making abilities.” I have a lump in my throat as I ask, “I’m guessing you don’t mean chlamydia?”
“This is our man Tripp. He’s a professional hockey player and is very bendy.” “Hi, I’m going to go die now.”
