Dak
The weeks are flying by. My schedule is gruesome, keeping up with classes, games and practice, both for hockey and the Winter Fest.
The team is killing it though. We can’t do anything wrong. Every pass goes right where we want it. Wolfe is like a cement wall at goal and nothing gets past him. With only one loss, it looks like we’re on our way to another championship, maybe even another seed in the Frozen Four.
Trace and I are rocking our skating routine too. We’re on the ice every morning at five and in each other’s arms every night. In between, we do our research together, study together, and hang out, going to lunch or dinner, or the movies or watching our favorite shows. There’s a couple of shows besides GOT we never miss, like Vikings, and I turned her on to Outlander.
She likes those reality shows like Crazy Ass Housewives or whatever it’s called, and I can’t stand that shit. So we compromise; I watch some of that crap with her and she watches The Walking Dead with me. I think Lisa is the biggest crazy bitch on her show, but she thinks it’s Dorit. She says Daryl is the main alpha hero on TWD. No way, it’s Carol. We agree to disagree. Life is good. She’s even agreed to come to my parents’ cabin with me for Thanksgiving because her parents can’t come up for the holiday this year.
The truth is, I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t a part of my life or what it was like without her in my life and I don’t want to. If I lost her now it would be like losing one of my limbs. But I don’t know if she’s feeling the same way.
We haven’t discussed what this is going on with us. I’m afraid to verbalize it, afraid to say it out loud or I might ruin it. I came close to letting the l-word slip from my lips a couple of times when we were in the middle of making love. Yeah. It’s gone way beyond fucking. I swallowed the tender words before they came out because I don’t want to scare her away.
Even now, sprawled on the ice after taking a fall together when attempting a new side-by-side jump, we’re giggling and rolling into each other’s arms like two puppies in love.
“You totally tripped me, Bambi.”
“I don’t think so, jackass. You moved in the wrong direction.” She sniggles and throws some loose ice at my face.
It’s reminiscent of the time we collided the first day we saw each other. Instead of snarling at her like I did that day, I roll over on top of her and press my lips to hers.
“Wow. Someone’s ready to quit for the day.” She runs her hand along the hard ridge inside my pants. Even though we’re lying on cold ice, when I’m near her I’m in a constant state of heated rock hard pressure.
“We better leave before we melt the ice,” I tease and nip at her lip while grinding my hard shaft into her leg.
“Mmm, yeah. I love Saturday mornings. We can go back to my place and you can make me breakfast. I could go for French toast.”
“French toast? Not what I had in mind to eat.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Tell you what, Andersen,” she says and pushes me off of her and stands up. “I’ll challenge you. If I win, you make me French toast.” She extends her hand to help me up.
“What if I win?” I grip her hand, pull myself up, and stand in front of her, nose to nose.
“If you win I’ll give you whatever you want to eat.” She flutters her lashes. Christ. My dick sat up and begged.
“You’re on, Hayward. What’s the challenge?” I slide away from her before I act on the urge to drop her skating pants and start licking her right on the spot.
“One on one. Whoever scores the first goal wins.” She gives me a devilish grin and does a scratch spin.
“Are you sure? You’re totally going to lose. Or is that what you had in mind?” I arch a brow.
“We’ll see, jackass. Go get hockey sticks and a puck because I can already taste that delicious French toast.”
***
“You ready, sweetheart?”
She looks so fucking adorable, her knees bent, hockey stick in hand, focusing intently on the puck between us and then on my face.
“Oh I’m ready, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
I figure I’ll be a gentleman and go easy on her, give her the first go at the puck. Big mistake. She skillfully slides it from her forehand to her backhand and then back to her forehand. I’m awestruck by her control. When I come back to my senses, I’m sure she’s going to go for open ice. I move toward the puck and she swipes it across to her backhand again. Holy fuck! She totally fakes me out with the 1-2-3 deke, skates up to the goal, and flicks it into the back of the net.
“I’ll warm up the car while you’re putting the equipment away.” She smirks and flips her ponytail back.
“What the hell, Bambi? Where’d you learn to play hockey like that?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention I was on an All-State hockey team when I was in high school?” she says as she glides off the ice.
“Uh, no. No you didn’t mention that,” I call after her. I should have guessed it with a dad like Duke Hayward. Damn. She totally hustled me.
No problem, though, because I have a feeling when we get back to her house we’re both going to get our rewards.