Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Now what?” I asked, grasping his elbow for balance.
“Now you go for it.”
I went for it. Result: The puck didn’t move, and my inexpert stroke propelled me to the ice. Or it would have if Jett hadn’t grabbed my arm.
“See? I told you I couldn’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. You need some pointers, though. Let’s talk about your grip. You’re right-handed, so you’re going to hold the stick like this.” He demonstrated, adjusting my hands till he was satisfied. “Good. Now bend your knees, put your weight on your back foot, and—not that far back.”
I did a cartoonlike dance that had me sweating under my jacket. “Face it, Jett. I can’t do this. I’m not coordinated or—”
“Cool it with the bad attitude and watch me. Knees bent, I pull my stick, transfer weight to my front foot as I swing at the puck, releasing it with shoulders squared. Like this.” He drilled the small disk to the upper corner of the net. “Now you. And quick reminder…it takes practice. You might whiff a few times, chop at the ice, or send the puck flying sideways, and that’s okay. Just give it a shot.”
I blew out an exasperated breath and prepared another argument. This wasn’t my sport or my idea of fun. I was no daredevil and I didn’t have anything to prove. I was an observer, a researcher, a person who studied the actions of others, thank you very much.
But one glance at Jett with his beefy arms over his chest and an encouraging eager expression made me want to try.
It wasn’t pretty. I had a hard time making contact. I whiffed the air around the puck or grazed the ice hard enough to send a zinger up my spine. I eyed Jett after every missed shot thinking he’d realize what a waste of time this was, but that only seemed to make him more determined. He even enlisted the help of his teammates who’d shown up early for practice.
“Ease your grip on the stick, man,” Ty advised. “Nice and easy, but with power.”
I delivered my best deadpan stare. “That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does,” another teammate piped in. “Stay loose. Your strength comes from your legs.”
“That’s why you gotta dig in and let it fly,” someone named Langley explained, tilting his chin at Jett meaningfully. “Have you warmed up? Coach will be here in ten minutes.”
“Yeah, we’re just finishing.”
“Cool. Keep working it…what’s your name again?” Ty asked.
“Malcolm,” I replied.
Ty held his hand out for a fist bump. “Nice to meet you, man. Later.”
I pushed at my glasses and complied, turning to Jett as his friends began skating laps around the rink. “Well…that was fun. I’ll let you get down to business and—”
“Three more tries,” he intercepted. “Just…clear your mind and let go.”
“Jett…”
“Maloney…you can do this. Tell me about your day or something.”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve had a terrific day,” I gushed. I gave him a summary of my meeting with Professor Finkwell as I got into position and attempted to hit the puck.
Shockingly, I made contact. It didn’t go far, but it careened with the left bar on the goal. I did it on the second try too, smacking it into the boards.
Jett high-fived me. “That’s amazing. I’m excited for you. St. Clement’s is a great school. You should check out the campus for sure. I can come with you if you want. We have a bye next weekend. That could work for me.”
“You want to come with me?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “If that’s cool.”
“I—yes.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s cool.”
His slow mischievous grin made me dizzy. “You look surprised. You should know I like coming with you by now.”
I snorted at the blatant innuendo. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Hey, I speak the truth. I like coming…on your stomach, on your cock, in your mouth.” His voice rumbled low and nasty. “I kind of want to come inside you, too.”
My mouth went dry. I licked my lips and glanced around at the buzz of activity. “I…I want that too, but—”
“Tonight.”
I stared at him for a beat. “Tonight.”
“Yeah.” Jett pushed a puck to me. “Last one. Do it, Maloney.”
I shuffle-skated, guiding the puck with my stick toward the net, and then I shoveled it in. It was cheating, but I didn’t care. Neither did Jett. His laughter reverberated on the ice, reawakening the butterflies in my stomach.
I want to come inside you, too.
Oh, my…wow.
And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better.
CHAPTER 16
JETT
“So you’re teaching the scientist how to play hockey?” Ty asked, skating backward, his stick poised and ready for my pass. “I thought he was collecting data from you. Not the other way around.”
Brady flew by on my left. “I saw you two at the Depot yesterday.”
“You spend a lot of time with him…teaching hockey.” Langley motioned for me to hurry up and pass. “Gimme the fuckin’ puck, Erickson.”