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“What do you want, douche-whore? Haven’t you ruined my night enough by interrupting my mouth fucking session with your fuckhot teammate? Now you have to disturb my masturbation session, too?”
I cover the receiver to stifle my laugh. Masturbation discussions make Buck uncomfortable. Probably because he believes he once asked if watching me jill off would constitute incest. It’s the same incident in which he believes he groped me. I may have twisted his words in my recount of the events.
There’s a whooshing air sound reminiscent of Darth Vader followed by “Holy hell.”
This is not Buck.
“Hello?”
“Violet?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Alex, the fuckhot teammate.” I can imagine his cocky smile.
“Oh. Hi.” Well, this is unexpected and rather humiliating. Although I suppose he’s aware of his hotness, so it shouldn’t be new information for him. Also, the mouth fucking earlier is a clear sign I like the way he looks.
Silence follows. Three seconds too late, I have six witty retorts. Sadly, the moment for cleverness has passed.
“Are you really masturbating?” There’s the whooshing sound again.
“No, I’ve already . . . stroked my beaver.” I giggle. I’m so immature. “Are you masturbating?” The way he’s breathing into the phone makes it sound possible. I enjoy the visual this incites; I bet he gets really into it.
“What? No,” he says quickly. Almost too quickly.
“Are you sure? I mean, you didn’t even hesitate at all. In fact, you didn’t even wait until I was done asking the question.” This is totally untrue. “Maybe you’re lying and you have your hand down your pants.”
“What? No. I’m not, I swear. Wait a minute—did you do that?” His voice drops a couple of octaves. He sounds intense. I try to picture the matching facial expression.
“Do what?”
“What you said about your beaver, is it true?”
It sounds so ridiculous; I laugh uncontrollably.
“Fuck me,” Alex mutters.
I stop laughing. First off because I think it’s an actual request. Secondly, I have this fantastic image of me underneath him.
“It’s true.” My voice is all breathy and soft, courtesy of the porno running through my head.
“Seriously?” He sounds excited. Like really, really excited.
“About stroking my beaver? No. Beavers are dangerous. They shouldn’t be stroked.”
“Can you stop saying 'beaver'? Look, what are you doing right now?”
“Drinking beer and watching porn, why?” Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll be appropriately ashamed of the content of this conversation. For now, I’m thoroughly entertained.
“Because I’m standing outside your suite. Do you want company?”
I sit up so fast, the room spins. “You are not.”
“I am. Suite six-oh-nine. Want me to knock?”
“No! Don’t! Hold on.”
I sprint across the room and yank the bedroom door open. The common living room is empty. I consider a tuck and roll across the floor for fun, but I’m uncoordinated, so I settle for running. Throwing open the door, I find Alex with his jacket slung over one arm and his phone to his ear.
I step out into the hall. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Nice.”
I follow his gaze. Oh yes, now I remember. I’m wearing Spiderman jammies designed to fit pre-pubescent boys. It’s cold in the hallway and I’m braless, which draws attention to my chest. My nipples are clearly saluting him through the threadbare fabric.
“I forgot my lace teddies at home.” I almost wish I owned one, except lace is uncomfortable and impractical. “What are you doing here?” I cup my boobs to protect my nipples from further visual molestation.
His eyes drop for a split second, as if my nipples have their own force field, and then return to my face. “I, uh . . . do you want to hang out?”
I cringe. “I’m staying with my parents.”
“You could come up to my suite.”
“I was going to bed.” So lame.
“I figured.”
And there’s the smile again. He rocks those damn dimples. The banged-up face and the bruises seem to elevate the level of pretty.
“I’m not having sex with you.” Dear Lord, my mouth needs a censor.
He doesn’t even flinch. “That’s cool. I wasn’t expecting sex.”
“Really?” I assumed by hang out he clearly meant get naked.
“Really. Promise.” He puts his hand over his heart, his eyes softening as his cheeks flush. He’s blushing. It’s kind of cute.
“Oh. Well, then. I guess—I’ll get changed.” There I am, agreeing to go up to a hot-as-hell hockey player’s room in the middle of the night for not-sex.
I reach for the door and tug the handle. It’s locked. I try again, knowing it won’t work. Knocking will wake the ’rents. Then I definitely won’t be hangin’ with Alex. I want to, even though it’s a screamingly bad idea. Nothing good can come of this. Except maybe another make out session.
“You don’t have your key.”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“You don’t need to change on my account. I’m quite partial to this outfit. Spiderman’s my favorite.” He’s still got a smile plastered on his face. It’s almost as irritating as it is hot. “We could hit up the front desk and ask for another card if you’re committed to changing.”
