“I cannot believe Jensen did that.” Gigi’s cheek trembles against my chest as she shakes in quiet laughter. “Was Shane pissed?”
“Furious. You should have seen the text he sent me afterward.” I grab my phone off the nightstand because this is a message that requires reading verbatim.
Curled up beside me, Gigi watches as I open the messages app.
She suddenly stiffens as if someone poked her with a cattle prod.
“What?” I say in concern.
“Nothing.”
“Gisele.” She won’t look at me, so I pry her chin up to see her face. Hurt and anger crease her pretty features. “What’s wrong?”
After a drawn-out moment, during which the hostility in her eyes only intensifies, she finally taps the screen and mutters, “If you don’t want a woman to know you’re lying to her, maybe don’t flash the lies right in her face.”
What in the actual fuck is she talking about?
I look at my phone, trying to understand what—
Then I burst out laughing.
“You think this is funny?” she snaps.
She tries to sit up, indignantly pushing my hands away when I reach for her.
“It’s not what you think. I promise.”
“That message is pretty clear. Either you sent it and you’re aching for someone who isn’t the woman you’re supposed to be exclusive with, or some girl is aching for you and you enjoyed the message enough to save it on your phone where anyone could see.”
“It’s my group chat,” I croak. I can’t stop laughing.
“Your group chat.” Her tone hasn’t given an inch. Hard as stone.
“The Eastwood group chat,” I clarify. “All the guys are on it. And that’s our standard message before a game.” I click on the thread and show it to her. “See?”
She scrolls through the dozen identical messages.
BECK:
I’m aching for you
POPE:
I’m aching for you
KANSAS KID:
I’m aching for you
NAZZY:
I’m aching for you
She quits scrolling. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s too stupid to even explain.”
“Please try.”
“Patrick—the one we call the Kansas Kid—has this pathetic habit of falling in love after knowing a chick for, like, ten seconds. And once he falls, he does this love bombing thing with romantic messages and flowers—”
“Don’t judge him. You get me flowers all the time.”
“Twice,” I growl. “That doesn’t count as all the time.”
“It’s two times more flower-giving than I would ever expect from you.”
She’s got me there.
“Anyway, last year, it was the first round of the playoffs and not a single person expected us to pull out a win. We were playing the number one team in the conference—they were on a twenty-game winning streak at that point. So an hour before the game, Patrick accidentally sends a message meant for his new true love to our team chat. Goes without saying that we all ragged him mercilessly for it.”
“But you won the game,” she guesses.
“Yup.”
“Hockey players and their superstitions.”
She scrolls through the thread again, giggling. “Do you seriously send this message before every game?”
“Unfortunately.”
She props herself on her elbow, remorseful. “I’m sorry I accused you of lying to me.”
“I don’t lie,” I say simply. “Hell, my honesty gets me in trouble with chicks almost all of the time.”
“I’m an ass for thinking it.”
“I’m always going to be honest with you. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“I know, and I love that about you.” She sighs. “I may…have overreacted a little.”
“A little?” I smirk. “PS jealous Gigi is hot.”
“I wasn’t jealous—”
She squeaks happily when I flip her onto her back and press my lips to one bare breast. A moment later, I’m sucking on her nipple.
I swear, keeping my hands and mouth and dick off this woman is truly impossible.
I nuzzle a path down her body until I’m lying between her legs, my cock pressed against the mattress. I kiss the smooth skin of her inner thighs, leaving a trail of kisses on my way to my destination. I slide one finger inside her to test how ready she is. She whimpers in response.
“As a young lad,” I narrate, “I met a hockey player with the tightest pussy. She would make the hottest noises when I fingered her. And now… let me take you there.”
Gigi looks delighted. “Admit it. You love Horizons.”
“Nah. I love this.”
I push my finger in deep, which causes her ass to rock off the bed, sending her core directly into my face.
I waste no time capturing her clit between my lips, licking gently. My efforts are rewarded with another whimper, followed by soft, anxious moans when I start licking her in earnest. I make her come, and she barely gives herself time to recover before she grabs at my shoulders and yanks me up so I’m on top of her. Nobody’s even touched my dick and it’s ready to burst. I’m painfully hard.
“I don’t have any condoms,” I mumble, kissing her neck. “We used them up yesterday.” She’s been over a couple of times this week already. “Didn’t get a chance to restock.”
“Oooh, I bet someone is dying for my value pack now,” she teases, beaming up at me.
“Bring them over next time,” I agree, because I genuinely never expect how many times I end up inside her when we’re in the same room together.
“Or…” She bites her lip.
I wait for her to go on.
“After our sexual health talk in the sauna, maybe we can go without.”
My dick wholly approves, judging by the pre-come leaking out of it.
We spend the next hour in bed. I hold off on finishing because I’m in the mood to torture myself a little. So I fuck her nice and slow, making her come a second time before I finally reward myself. Gigi is on her back, her tits bearing a rosy flush as she gasps in pleasure. She looks so sexy that when I feel the pleasure build, I pull out and stroke myself instead, getting off to the sight of her perfect tits and gorgeous face.
Afterward, we lie there, me in my boxers, her buck naked, and discuss tonight’s respective games.
“Those were some crazy moves you did in the third,” I tell her. “Someone posted a couple clips online. Shane and I were watching them on the bus ride home.”
“Hmmm. But were they Olympic moves?” I love the way her voice sounds after sex. Drowsy. Lazy like molasses.
“You and your lofty goals.”
“Actually, my original goal—at least when I was a kid—was to win the Stanley Cup.”
I chuckle.
“I mean, I already had the nickname. Did I tell you my whole family calls me Stan? God, it’s obnoxious.”
“You got the nickname because you wanted to win the Cup?”
“No, I got it because I thought Stanley Cup was a person until I was six. I’ve been Stan ever since. But it wasn’t until I was around eight that I realized I could never actually win it.”