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But Bain is so charming and fun. He’d make a great buddy. “But we’d just be friends. Nothing more than that,” I press.
“Right. Just friends.” He grins at me, hand squeezing the back of my neck. “Who fuck like wild animals.”
“Are we agreeing to monogamy?” I ask carefully, because that’s a tricky line to cross. It sounds an awful lot like commitment, which I’m firmly against. I don’t want to be at his behest or beck and call. I want to be my own person who can just have great sex when we can fit it into the schedule.
“I’ve given that some thought and I’ll give you my two cents. We’ve both had unprotected sex and then we took tests. Right now, with you on birth control, we don’t have to use condoms. And I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s better without. So I’m willing to stay monogamous if you are.” He leans in, puts his lips near my ear. “Nothing better than fucking you bare.”
A shiver hits me hard, standing my hair on edge. Bain is such an easygoing guy so when he talks dirty, it’s like a triple punch of lust-inducing magic. He’s not wrong about how good that feels.
Conflicting emotions battle within, as I weigh the risks against the undeniable pull Bain has on me. It’s tempting, an opportunity to satiate the desires we both share, without needing to commit to him completely.
Only my body, but never my heart.
After a moment of contemplation, I meet his gaze. “Okay, then… friends with benefits. We have monogamous sex but past that, we owe each other nothing. There are no expectations other than if we want to break the monogamy agreement, we just let the other person know.”
Triumph flashes in his eyes but I don’t mind it. I know he thinks he won something, but hell, so have I.
“Can I come home with you tonight?” he asks.
Memories of our two prior times together, both so frantic we didn’t even get past my living room, surge through me. “Yeah,” I murmur, lifting to my tiptoes to press my lips to his neck. “Let’s try to make it to a bed, though, okay?”
CHAPTER 7
Bain
The visiting team’slocker room in Ottawa emanates an aura of fierce competition. The walls are adorned with motivational quotes and pictures of their past victories, a definite rubbing of our noses. I sit on the bench in front of my cubby and put on my skates. My teammates are all getting their gear on as we prepare for this crucial game against the Cougars. The air is charged with anticipation as each player mentally prepares for the challenge that lies ahead.
Despite the loss the night before last, we’re closing the gap against Ottawa who stands at the top of the division. Only one point separates us and a win here tonight will propel us into first.
I take a moment to survey the room, my eyes flicking over the faces of my teammates. Some are deep in their pregame rituals, tapping their sticks against the floor or meditatively visualizing their plays. Others engage in light banter, trying to ease the tension that invariably accompanies such a high-stakes matchup.
I’ve got my own ritual. A routine I’ve been doing since I was a teenager. I have no clue if it puts me in a better place, but I’m afraid to not do the ritual at this point. I take my time lacing up my skates, meticulously pulling one string at a time to tighten them. With every tug, I imagine a skill that’s necessary to be at the top of my game and I visualize the perfection with which I must operate.
Tug. I must be agile and fast.
Tug. My defensive positioning must be fluid.
Tug. I must do everything in my power to disrupt my opponent’s play.
Tug. I must be accurate in my outlet passing.
Tug. I must be willing to sacrifice my body.
I don’t say the same things every time as there are hundreds of micro-skills I have to be perfect at. But the repeated affirmations of my job duties help to get my head in the right space. It helps me clear everything away that is not hockey.
Case in point would be Kiera McGinn. She’s been on my mind pretty much continuously since I first met her, but it’s become almost obsessive since she and I entered into this friends-with-benefits relationship. The last two nights I’ve been to her house and I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors heard us. We’re insatiable around each other and some furniture might have gotten broken. We go at it, once, twice, sometimes three times in an evening. But when we’re done, she says she needs to get to sleep because she has a lot of work to do, and I graciously make my exit since I have practice the next day. There’s no falling asleep in each other’s arms or cuddling. We fuck, we get off and then I get gone.
Exactly like we want it.
And now I’m irritated with myself that I let my brain lose focus. I banish thoughts of Kiera as I jerk my laces loose so I can start again.
Tug, tug, tug. I repeat my affirmations as I tighten my skates and when they’re double-knotted, I’m clear.
Coach West strides into the locker room, his presence commanding the attention of every player. His young face and affable smile belie the coaching genius that he is. His passion for the game is intense, but he’s so caring about his players and has forged deep bonds with all of us. I’ve only been with the Titans for two months, but I know I could go to him with any problem in the world and he’d help me figure it out.
“All right, listen up!” Coach West’s voice booms, instantly quieting the room. “This is a pivotal game for us. I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake, so I won’t bore you with statistics we all know. Ottawa is formidable, there’s no denying it,” Coach West continues, his voice laced with conviction. “But we’ve trained for this. We’ve poured sweat and blood on that ice to get to where we are today. This team has overcome all the odds to have a real shot at the championship. Now is not the time to rest on our laurels. We can’t assume our winning streak will continue and we need to lay our souls down on that ice every goddamn game.”
A roar of approval reverberates through the locker room, my teammates yelling affirmations of Coach’s words.
