Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“They’re all going to know what we were doing.” The smile he’s wearing tells me he doesn’t give a fuck.
But he’s right. And I don’t give a fuck either.
We reach his friends, and some of them get it faster than others, but I can tell the exact moment it clicks. Well, with all of them except one.
Dex gives Oskar a sympathetic look. “How much trouble are you in?”
Tripp loses his cool laughing, and Ezra pats Dex on the back in pity while Foster and Anton exchange perplexed looks.
I just say, “A lot. And trouble tastes good on him.” Then I slap his ass and walk away to set up everything he needs to sign.
I’m trying not to overanalyze where we go from here and what happens with us when I no longer have to babysit him. I’m going to focus on this moment. Because it feels goddamn perfect.
TWENTY-EIGHT
OSKAR
There is nothing more frustrating than knowing something could easily be fixed, yet no one is fucking doing it.
“I need to stop coming to games,” I say from my cushy seat in the corporate box.
Ever since my injury, the team has been on a losing streak, and all I want to do is get back out there, but I’m not allowed.
Which is stupid because I’m fine. But then all the doctors have to say is if my wound tears, it could do damage to my eye because it’s so close, and I retreat back into my injured reserve list hole. One close call with early retirement was too much for me.
The only thing keeping me borderline sane is that I’m healed enough to have sex again, provided we don’t turn our bedroom activities into an extreme sport.
But that doesn’t stop the frustration bubbling up inside. When Forsyth lets a Dallas forward past him without so much as an attempt at blocking or stripping the puck, I get out of my seat and yell, “Where’s our defense? Come on!”
Lane pulls me back down into my seat. “There are sponsors here who pay a lot of money to get their logo plastered all over our arena. You might want to at least try to look like you have confidence in the team.”
I scoff. “If anyone said we were playing great this week, I’d ask what drugs they’re on and can I have some. We only had to win half our games. Half. And since then, we’ve won none. Which means, if we don’t pull a win out of our ass soon, we’re going to have to win every game from now until the end of the season. Do you know how much pressure that is? And do you know how frustrated I am that I can’t get down there and put this in the bag for us?”
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the second period and the score 4-2 to Dallas.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
Lane glances around the corporate box and then stands, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere where you can let out your frustrations without pissing off corporate sponsors.”
My dick perks up at that. “Blow off steam? And where exactly do you propose we do that?”
“I got an idea while we were in Chicago, but it’s risky. Especially when we only have fifteen minutes.”
“Intriguing … Will I get to touch you this time?”
He’s been reluctant to let me do anything because of my face, but it’s been almost a week, and it’s looking better by the day. My surface stitches have been taken out and the ones beneath the skin should have started to dissolve by now.
“Even better, I was hoping you’d do all the work.” Lane pulls me to the end of the hall to the emergency exit and down one flight of stairs.
When we get to a door, he knocks twice, but when no one answers, he uses his security pass to open up.
He lets me in first and closes the door behind him, and I take in the DJ booth and the glass windows that overlook the rink and the crowd.
“Are you sure you brought me to the right place?” I turn back to see him leaning against the side wall with his suit pants around his ankles and his underwear sitting under his tight, round ass. He has his jacket off and shirt lifted up so his hole is on full display.
“I’ve been tracking Roe’s movements. He leaves the booth during intermission for anywhere between twelve to fourteen minutes, hitting play on a playlist while he has a snack and goes to the bathroom. If you want to take my ass, suit up and take it while staring at the crowd out there.” He holds up a condom. “I’m all ready for you.”
I’m … speechless. “How are you real?” He’s perfect for me.