AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Until I remembered that the sinewy, powerful body I was lusting after belonged to Alex Steinman. The bane of my existence.
When we were kids, Alex was a constant presence in our lives. He had nowhere else to turn. It might have made things easier if he had shown even the slightest inclination to be kind to me. However, all I can recall from those years are memories of Alex and Blake constantly conspiring against me.
Alex’s arrival was like a storm that disrupted the tranquility of my existence. There was something about his demeanor, his careless disregard for my feelings, that irked me to no end. Perhaps it was the way he effortlessly slid into our lives, making himself at home, while I often felt like an outsider. His presence seemed to magnify my insecurities, a constant reminder of my mother’s absence.
It was as though Alex reveled in his role as the tormentor, relishing every opportunity to make my life more difficult. Our interactions were marked by a palpable tension, an unspoken rivalry that simmered beneath the surface. I couldn’t help but resent him for becoming a part of my shattered world, even if he had experienced his share of hardship.
Not even the light dancing over the indents of his muscles and that gorgeous, perfect cock could stop me from despising him. And though I’d let my guard down for a second, nothing was going to change.
Hockey is a different sport than football or basketball. But they all have something in common: players who are self-involved douchebags. And while I can tolerate—albeit barely—most of the Philadelphia Flyers, Alex Steinman irritates me on a whole different level. It does not help that I’ve known him for such a long time and have had to observe his ego grow along with his hockey skills. Girls constantly trip over themselves to catch his attention. I still can’t tell why.
Okay, that’s a lie. I clearly see why now. But still.
“Brit?”
My blank, automatic smile falls in place naturally the moment I hear my father’s voice. Years of practice, and it looks more natural than ever.
I push up from the comfy old sofa I’d been sitting on. My dad has been the operations manager of the Flyers for a decade, and his office has not changed during that time: old, worn-out furniture, peeling brown walls, dusty books on dustier shelves, and a musty smell in the air. Just being in this place and around him is more than enough to kick the thought of Alex Steinman’s naked body from my head.
My dad squeezes my shoulder briefly before he goes around the desk and dumps himself on his chair. The lines etched on his face have deepened over time, his hairline hasreceded, and puffy eyebags have settled under his eyes permanently. But one thing the years have not taken from him is his love for hockey. He had decided his children would play it long before we were born.
Blake was about five when my dad started spending money on tickets and taking him to all the games in the state. And once Alex appeared in our lives, he simply went along for the practices and the games. He ended up having an innate talent for the sport. He owes most of his success to my father.
While Blake started enjoying football at some point, my dad was relentless. He talked about hockey all day long, convincing Blake that football was nothing but malarkey, while hockey was the smarter, better choice. And one day, Blake gave in and decided he liked the ice better after all.
Now, they’re both professional players, pretty good ones at that. And as for me . . .
I bite my bottom lip. I don’t think my dad knew what to do with me from the moment I was born. He was clueless as to how to talk to me, act around me, or raise me, aware I would never be able to live his dream.
“Didn’t expect you to be done so soon with work,” he says. “Did something happen?”
Goosebumps pebble on my arms as the image of Alex standing naked in front of me flashes through my head. “No, but a player had a—”
“I need you to come to a party with me tonight,” he interrupts, his brown eyes piercing into mine. “It’s important.”
An irritated burn spreads through my core, and not just because he cut in. His words are simple and easy enough, but they take me back to my teenage years, which I mostly spent in Blake’s shadow. I craved our dad’s attention badly enough to want him to talk to me about anything. But when he finally did, he always used those words and that facialexpression, holding my eyes with his and demanding I do something.
Which I always did, even when it deeply contrasted with what I wanted.
“What kind of a party?” I ask meekly.
Just then, the door to the office opens, and Blake steps in, dressed in sweatpants.
My dad’s eyes light up. The burn in my stomach spreads, but I ignore it.
“Great,” he says. “You’re here. Britney just said she’ll come to the party.”
Did I?
Blake rolls his eyes, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and drops onto the seat next to mine. “Why on earth would you agree to that? Is your idea of a great Saturday night kissing ass at the Furmans’?”
“Furmans?” I turn back to my dad, annoyance growing in me. “Why?”
He ignores me, directing his retort to Blake. “You know you have to be there, right? They own the Flyers, and the party is meant to celebrate your team before the official start of the season.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But I don’t see why Britney has to suffer being around that Theodore toad.”
My father’s eyes go wide with genuine panic. “Don’t say that!” he whisper-hisses.
