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“She’s totally dickmatized. You should have seen the way she—”
“Stop. That’s our sister. I actually respect her and care about her. I was trying to show her how she deserves to be treated.”
Jeff is less cocky. “I have something special with her, it’s not just sex. She’ll be back.”
“After you two, I doubt it. Jeff, you always think you’re such a big shot. Always in control. You never listen to anyone else. I’m surprised you even listened to her rules. Although, apparently you didn’t. Do you even know how to please a woman?”
“She was pleased, all right.”
“I’m being serious. And Ballz, you just dive into whatever. Did you just tell her, ‘Suck my dick,’ and forget to please her?”
I shove Ballz. He shoves me back. “I went down on her first.”
“Don’t tell me you let your dicks cause more trouble. I’m serious about benching you, or cutting you from the team if you’re more interested in sex than hockey,” Coach says, as he catches us arguing in the lobby.
We hang our heads like bad little boys and wait for him to leave.
“She’s coming back,” Jeff says quietly.
“Do you see her? What time did you say?” I look at my wrist, pretending I have a watch.
“Seven,” Jeff says and we all turn to the digital clock at the end of the arena: 7:03.
I check my phone, nothing from Cindy. She’s made her point.
“Fuck it. I’m out of here.” I need to get her alone and undo whatever they screwed up.
Fourteen
Jeff
Adrianthrowsthedooropen and storms out. Ballz and I follow but Coach’s voice calls out, “Balthazar. My office. Now.”
“Can it wait?”
“Now,” Coach says.
Logically, I should get out of here. I’m not the one in trouble, but something nags at me. I can’t leave. I have to believe Cindy will be here. She felt everything, and I don’t just mean sexually. The connection.
Or Adrian’s right. I like to be in charge, to be right, and to be called Daddy. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.
Repositioning the strap of my bag on my shoulder, I stare at the clock. If she shows up late, I sure as hell am not going to have her thinking we left at exactly seven. And if she shows up late…she should call. She should respect us and let us know where she is.
Except that’s not the deal I laid out. It never crossed my mind she simply wouldn’t show up.
Through the glass door, I study the snow collecting beside the road. It won’t be safe for her to drive much longer.
Calming exercises aren’t going to help. I get my blades out of my bag and lace them up, not bothering with the rest of my gear. I shove my phone into my back pocket and dump a bunch of biscuits onto the ice. I slap them out of sheer anger.
It grows with each shot. A few more seconds of not having her in my life. How the fuck did I fall so hard and fast for my sister?
“Jeff,” her voice floats through my mind, although I’m surprised I don’t conjure up, “Daddy.” She fucking wrecked me.
“Jeff,” Cindy says again. This time it’s clearer. My stick halts midair as I’m about to slam another puck into the next state.
I spin toward her. “Do you have a fucking phone?” If my anger management therapist was here, he’d soften his voice and ask me to walk through my emotions. I don’t need a fucking walk right now. I need answers.
She steps backward toward the door she just entered, but it’s swinging open, causing her to stumble as she expected there to be something behind her.
