Page 49 of Against The Boards

I jolted when Rox leaned over and placed a hand on my thigh. My dick was rock hard, and her grip was edging a little too close for comfort. “Benny,” she said into my ear.

“Uh…yeah?” I asked and shifted so she wasn’t touching me.

She smirked. “I asked if you wanted to get dinner.”

I closed the book, not caring if I lost my place, and laid it down on the bedside table. I swung around to the other side of the bed and shifted myself in my pants so she couldn’t see I had a boner. From a freaking book!

“Um, yeah, that’s good. Did you get your work done?” I asked.

She packed her computer away and walked over to the mirror to reapply her dark lipstick. “Not really, but it’s okay. Quinn was good with it.”

I walked across the room to stand behind her. Watching her rub her lips with her make-up didn’t help my downstairs situation. Now I was thinking about her lipstick smearing across my dick as she went down on me. I needed to stop thinking about her this way.

I ruffled my hair and tried to fix it from its messy bedhead state. I combed my hair with my fingers and fixed it naturally. I rubbed a hand across my jaw. My stubble was coming in all scratchy now that I was trying to grow my beard back out.

“You ready?” I asked.

She nodded, and we walked out the door together. We ended up sitting at the bar, so we had a prime view of the DC Senators and Carolina Thrashers series. We ordered lagers and food in what I felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“Senators are gonna take it, eh?” she offered as her eyes darted around the screen, chasing the players on the ice.

I peered up to watch what she was watching. She groaned at a hit right in the numbers that didn’t get called. I shook my head. “That’s bullshit; that guy left his feet!” I exclaimed.

“What do you know?” the guy next to me heckled me. He slurred his words, clearly a little drunk. I clenched my hand around my beer glass tightly and was surprised by the warm sensation of Rox’s hand on my wrist. “Don’t,” she mouthed.

I shook my head. “If anyone did that to one of my guys, I would drop the gloves so fast.”

She laughed. “You don’t fight that much.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You keeping tabs on me, Desjardins?”

Her dark-colored lips curled up into a grin. “It’s kind of my job now. Gotta figure out how to sell those tickets. But seriously, you still fight even with everything we know about concussions?”

I gulped down more of my beer and mulled over her question.

Concussions and CTE were still a tremendous problem in the league. I luckily never had a concussion, but it was a fair question. When I thought about what I loved about the game, fighting wasn’t my main thought. I got where she was coming from, but she was wrong. Most concussions were because of the speed and nature of the game.

“I get what you’re saying, but fighting only causes a small percentage of concussions. It’s the speed and hits that cause more damage.”

“Okay, fair, but the fighting stuff still worries me.”

“Aw, don’t worry about me, Roxie.”

That got me her signature glare, but then she got serious for a second. “I worry about Tristan. He fights too much.”

Ah, that made sense. It wasn’t a secret that the Desjardins Twins were codependent, but with TJ away in Russia, I hadn’t seen much of that yet.

The conversation ended because our food arrived. I tried to be healthier with the grilled chicken salad while Rox went for the burger. I had to focus on drinking my beer while she moaned in pleasure as she ate. My dick lifted up in interest at the sound of that coming out of her mouth. The man downstairs definitely remembered her moaning like that and was interested in hearing it again.

“Oh my God, I was so hungry.” She groaned and finished her beer. The bartender filled her up again.

I eyed her while she closed her eyes and ate her food. She was getting greasy juices all down her chin, and it was enough to distract me. I thrust a pile of napkins at her. “Here.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she gave me a sheepish look as she carefully wiped her mouth so she didn’t smear her lipstick. I dug into my salad and tried not to look at her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, but her eyes were on the screen watching the game.

A smile curled around my lips. “You miss it.”