“You could, you know.”
I fight a grin. “That would be a bad idea right now.” The reminder is for me as much as her. If I had my way, I’d be eating her for breakfast instead.
“Sometimes those are the best kind.”
We manage to pull apart before anything more inappropriate happens. My dick is more than a little angry with me at the lack of follow-through. I’ll be taking matters into my own hands the minute she leaves for class—and when I do, the scenario that just transpired is going to play out differently in my mind.
Channeling what little restraint I have left, I turn my thoughts to hockey and begin to mentally recount my stats from this season. Save percentage, goals against average, shutouts… I wait until Sera has plated her food before fixing my own, then join her at the table.
“I can’t believe I got that upset over coffee.” She scrunches up her mouth, pushing her scrambled eggs around with her fork. “How embarrassing. It’s just—you know when you’re really, really looking forward to something and then you don’t get it?”
Part of me knows.
“That’s okay, Ser. I understand, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Everyone has those mornings once in a while.”
Her hand wraps around her mug. “My morning cup of coffee is one of my favorite things, and if that goes off the rails, so does the rest of the day.”
“Are you sure this isn’t about something else?” I ask gently.
Seraphina huffs and picks up her toast, looking away. “It probably is. Take your pick. Switching schools, dead father, sick mother, brother dealing with his own issues, undeclared major and zero direction in life…” her voice wobbles as she trails off, and my stomach sinks.
Without thinking, I cover her hand with my palm. “Tink.”
“It’s fine. Probably just PMS. Maybe I need to go stuff my face with chocolate and cry in my room.”
Hard for me to argue with that. I know precisely zero about female hormones.
“Not to dismiss that hypothesis but you do have a lot on your plate. I get being stressed, and those feelings are totally valid. Please don’t be hard on yourself, though. You don’t have zero direction in life.”
Even though I don’t want to, I remove my hand from hers. My entire body protests at the loss of contact. Instead, I grab my coffee to stop myself from reaching for her again and take a sip.
She spears a piece of pineapple and points at me with her fork. “How do I not? I have no idea what I want to do.”
“Lots of people don’t. Your perspective is probably skewed because you grew up around a bunch of hockey lifers. On average, people change jobs something like seven times in their lifetime. It’s okay not to know and even once you pick something, it’s okay to change your mind about that too.”
“I guess,” she says quietly. “I just feel lost sometimes,”
“So do I.” It’s the first time I’ve ever admitted this out loud.
“What do you mean? You’ve already been drafted.” Seraphina sets down her fork, tilting her head.
The muscles in my jaw tighten. “New York is looking at picking up another goalie prospect.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, Ty.” She frowns, and this time she’s the one who covers my hand.
“Could end up being nothing. Or it could end up derailing the way I thought my whole career would play out. Either way, I know where I want to go, but it feels like it’s completely out of my hands sometimes.” Words I’ve held inside for the better part of my college career start to pour out, and once they do, I can’t seem to rein them in. “Sometimes instead of motivating me, all the outside pressure kills my love for the sport, and I’m left wondering why I’m doing it. There are days when I stand in front of the net going through the motions because I’m somewhere else mentally. I want to want to play hockey, not be forced into it because I have to. Does that make sense?”
Seraphina must have one hell of an effect on me, because I’m admitting things out loud that I haven’t even admitted to myself, let alone anyone else. Things I’ve been in deep, deep denial about for almost as long as I can remember.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “It does.”
Her response is more comforting than I expected. I rarely talk about my feelings, which means I never get much validation, either. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.
“Would you ever want to do something else instead?”
“That’s the worst part. It feels like a catch-22. Even though it makes me miserable sometimes, I can’t picture my life without hockey. I just need to find a way to enjoy it again.”
My focus falls to her mouth as she bites her lip thoughtfully, and I swallow an agonized sound rising in my throat. It’s impossible to keep my mind on task when she does things like that.
“I think you can,” she says. “It’s not like you’re trying to be somebody else. You’re simply trying to reconnect with a piece of yourself that you’ve lost touch with. It’s still in there, it’s just gotten buried under some other junk.”
“Then it’s buried pretty fucking deep.”
“I know the outside pressure is real, but have you considered that some of it might be the pressure you’re putting on yourself?” Her mouth tugs into a patient smile. “I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed, but you’re a little intense when it comes to hockey.”
What she’s saying makes sense, objectively, but I didn’t get to where I am by coasting.
“Let’s circle back to you for a sec. You’re smart and funny and feisty as hell, Tink. I know you’ll kick ass at whatever you end up doing someday, whether that means one career or seven. It’s okay if you don’t have it all figured out yet.”
This advice probably applies to me, too. Maybe if I take it one day at a time, I’ll learn to chill the fuck out. Somehow.
Seraphina sidles closer in her chair and angles her body towards me, looping her arms around my waist for a hug. Warmth floods my body, and I slide my hands to her back. She lets out a contented sigh as she squeezes me, burying her face in my chest.
Seconds pass, but neither of us moves. It’s a little risky with Chase home, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m a newly converted hugger, and I never want this moment to end. Besides, if hugging is the worst thing he catches us doing, I’ll call it a win.
“Thanks, Hades,” she says, the words half-muffled by the fabric of my shirt.
“Any time, Tinker Bell.”
CHAPTER 19
MULTIPLE CHOICE
TYLER
You’d think having sex would reduce my horniness level, not increase it. That has not been the case. I feel like a goddamn teenager all over again.
As I tug off my shirt in the locker room for our afternoon skate, my phone lights up from the shelf in my stall. A rush runs through my body, and I immediately grab it.
Tinker Bell: Question 29: How should I get myself off later? Fingers or toy?
Holy shit. I stand frozen to the spot, blinking at the screen for a good couple of seconds while I process her text. I can think of a couple other suggestions, starting with my mouth. Or my cock. Fuck, let’s go with both—in that order. For now, I’ll answer her question.