Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
It doesn’t mean anything.
At all.
“See you soon, Ant.”
“See you soon, Kason.”
It’s not until the door is closed and I’m leaning against it that I finally breathe.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kason
We have a string of away games—Columbus, Florida, Detroit, North Carolina.
I like the traveling. I can’t pretend it doesn’t get exhausting, but before hockey, my family hadn’t done much traveling. In the midst of hockey as a kid, we did, but that was always my parents working their asses off and saving money for me to participate, and so it came with stress and guilt too. It’s different now. I’ve seen most of the country, and I’m thankful for that every day, only this time, I’m itching to get home so I can see where Anthony is going to take me.
He excites me, but he’s also skittish—and I can’t say I blame him—so even if I didn’t want to go slow for me, I would for him. I don’t ever want him to think I’m anything like Malcolm, don’t ever want him to feel used or abused in any way.
It had been really hard to keep my hands to myself when we fell asleep together the other night—not in a gross, non-consenting way, but once we woke up, I wanted to ask if I could kiss him, wanted to touch him and hug him, and yes, the bulge he sported beneath his shorts had been mouthwatering, but I’d been good, and I’m glad I was.
We’ve been texting all week, and it’s clear from the conversations that he’s been watching my games. The man seems to know my stats better than me. I also started following both him and Lush on social media, and fuck, the man can dance, knows what to do with his body, and I go to sleep every night wanting to feel it again, wanting to explore every inch of him with my tongue until the only word he can remember is my name.
And now my dick is getting hard in the shower.
Rylan showered first, and I’m sure he’s already out there on the phone with Hayes, so I peek out of the curtain, fumble my waterproof lube from my bag, and stroke my cock. I moan at the friction, the tight grip of my hand sliding up and down my dick. What would it feel like to touch Anthony like this? What sounds does he make when he comes? I love spending hours discovering what a lover likes in bed, and I know it would be a million times better with him. Something about him is so fun, and it just gets better the more I talk to him.
I speed up my movements, play with my balls. It doesn’t take long before light flashes in my vision and pleasure washes over me, my nuts pulling up as I spurt my load all over the shower floor. God, that felt good, but it somehow wasn’t enough. It’ll have to be, though.
I clean up, and a few minutes later, I’m in bed, the lights off, Rylan’s phone glowing one mattress over as I pull up my text messages with Anthony. There’s already one waiting for me.
Anthony: Sorry about the loss. How are you feeling? That was a hard hit you took.
Their left winger had collided with me at full force and knocked me on my ass.
Me: Thanks. I’m sore but not too bad. How was your day? You’re at work, right?
I know he is because he told me earlier he works today. A response doesn’t come through right away, and I figure it’s because he’s busy, so I flip over to one of the social media pages for Lush.
The most recent video is Anthony on one of the dancing platforms. He’s wearing a skimpy, royal-blue Speedo that pops against his tanned skin. Like the night we went to watch him dance, his body is glittery and has some kind of sheen. His nails are painted the same color as his Speedo, his body tight and toned, moving sinuously with the music.
The second time it plays, I turn the volume off so Rylan doesn’t know I’m watching the same thing over and over.
Anthony’s brown hair is sweaty, his lips with a sultry grin. He looks like he’s in another world, one that’s made just for him, or hell, maybe one he created himself. He’s…so fucking hot, and there’s no denying how much I want him—the point proven by how much of a creepy stalker I’m being right now.
I close the page and return to the texts.
Me: You’re a beautiful dancer.
Three dots pop up, so I wait.
Anthony: I was gyrating on a pole and shaking my ass. LOL.
I quite like it when he does that. Still, I feel like he’s minimizing what he does.
Me: So? That doesn’t make it any less beautiful and any less dancing. Does that make sense? Any less dancing?