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“Leave it alone,” I grit out behind Brendon, but he’s already turning toward Carmichael, anger and frustration vibrating around him.
“If it takes you that long to get your partner off, you’re doing it wrong!” Brendon yells back,
What the fuck? I’m clearly missing something. I turn to Jeremy who is blushing, his eyes wide. I’m apparently the only one who doesn’t know. Great.
The bastard smirks at Brendon. “How the fuck would you know? When was the last time you got someone to finish without help?”
Say what?
Jeremy groans, and before I can react, Brendon takes off toward the box where Preston is standing with the coaches. I race after him, but Carpenter steps out of line and grabs Brendon, forcing him to a stop, and I’m able to wrap my arms around him, pulling him back.
I get us turned around, and he pulls out of my grip, spinning around like he doesn’t know I’m there. I’m frustrated, and I’m sure it’s clear on my face when he looks at me. I don’t know what’s going on or how Preston and Jeremy know, but I don’t. That hurts.
Under the anger in his eyes, there’s something else. His normally sparkling light is dimmed by pain or insecurity, but I don’t know how to fix it. I hate seeing that look on his face, knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.
Coach blows the whistle again.
“If you’re going to act like a bunch of toddlers fighting over the swing set, I’ll damn well treat you like it!” Coach screams at us. “Oiler, off my fucking ice!”
Brendon clenches his jaw, then turns away from me, ripping his chin strap off and making his way for the shoot. He throws his stick down the hallway and storms off.
We run the drill again, Preston still yelling, but I’m not as focused as I should be. All I can picture is the hurt in Brendon’s face.
I skate up to Coach so I don’t have to yell. “Can I go check on Oiler? He’s not himself.”
The tough man looks at me for a minute, then nods. “We’re almost done here anyway.”
Before he can change his mind, I hustle off the ice and down the hallway to the locker room with a plan forming in my head.
Brendon and I have kissed once, but yesterday we got damn close to more. I don’t think he’s hooked up with anyone since Jeremy, so maybe he needs to let off some steam?
“Fuck!” Brendon hisses in the shower as the probably freezing water hits him.
“What the hell is your problem?” I ask from the doorway of the showers, and he jumps. I’m still in all my gear. I don’t want to get it wet, but I will if I have to.
“Why the fuck do you care?” he bites out, and that just irritates me more.
I rip my jersey over my head and toss it aside.
“Are you trying to lose ice time?” I snap. “Our line gels so fucking well, and you’re fucking it up, for what? To prove you aren’t intimidated by Preston? Who the fuck cares?”
I pull my shoulder pads off and drop them to the floor, then untie my hockey pants with jerky, angry movements. Lust mixes with anger as Brendon watches me, his eyes on my body like a caress.
When I’m down to just my compression shorts, I stride toward him and flick the water to hot. I shove him against the tile and get in his face with my hand on his throat. I love that he’s not much shorter than me, so we’re always face to face.
“Stop acting like an idiot and letting him get to you.” My voice is deeper, holding more command, and Brendon’s dick thickens against my thigh. “If you really wanted to get to him, you would fuck with Jeremy, and you know it.”
I roll my hips, rubbing my thigh against him, and he groans. Not letting myself think about it, with my free hand, I reach for his dick and wrap my hand around it to stroke roughly.
“Come on, give it to me,” I demand. “Do you need attention? Is that why you’re acting out?”
Brendon drags his lower lip between his teeth and drops his head back on the wall. Fuck, it feels so good to touch him.
“Pull my shorts down. I want your cum on me,” I growl at him.
His eyes shoot open, and he reaches for the tight compression shorts. He pulls on the wet fabric until it rolls down under my ass.
“Stop.”
