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Four
Clint
By the time Hunter and I settle into our tiny apartment in Athletes’ Village, I’m wiped. It’s been close to twenty-six hours since I woke up and in that time, I’ve been drunk, sober, drunk, and now sober again. As I lay my head down on my pillow in my apartment and close my eyes, it’s her face that fills my brain. Even though we didn’t talk again during the entire rest of the flight, I couldn’t get her off my mind the whole time. Not when I was beating the rest of the guys at poker, not when I was watching Ocean’s Eleven through Thirteen on my iPad, not when I was waiting at the carousel for my bags. I went up to the front of the plane as casually as I could no less than three times, but that girl can sleep. She somehow managed to block out all that noise and slept for at least ten hours.
At one point when I walked by, I couldn’t help but stare at her for a bit. Her angel blond hair had fallen across her face and my fingers ached to reach out and brush it off her cheek. But I had to stop myself in case one of the guys saw. They’d never let me live that down.
I should be exhausted, but I can’t sleep. There is an energy coursing through my veins that I’ve never felt before, and I know it has everything to do with her. My feisty little kitty. My dick gets hard as images of her flash through my brain. I think about all the ways I want to be with her. When I first laid eyes on her scowling, beautiful face, I was overcome by the urge to throw her over my shoulder and make my way to the bathroom so I could have my way with her on the counter. When I sat next to her in the seats, it was all I could do not to pull her onto my lap and slide my hand into those yoga pants she was wearing.
My hand glides down under my sheets and I tug my boxer briefs out of my way. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep until I work out a bit of this tension she caused. I rub and tug on my cock, wishing it were her mouth instead of my hand. Thoughts of her full lips sucking me deep and pulling me in till I hit the back of her throat fill my brain. I can picture her tight, toned little figure and I know she must be incredibly bendy. Precum seeps out of the head of my cock and I feel that throbbing and pulsing all the way through my body. I work my dick hard now and rough thinking of Danika until I blow my wad, forcing myself to stay silent. I get myself cleaned up using some tissues on the night stand, then lay back staring at the ceiling.
As I finally drift off to sleep, something deep inside me tells me I’m going to see her again and that I’m gonna make her mine. It’s that same voice that told me I was going to make the pros. The same voice that knew I was going to score the game-winner in the Stanley Cup two years ago. I roll onto my side and fall into a deep sleep, filled with longing and excitement.
Five
Danika - Two Days Later
My heart picks up its pace as I step inside the Ice Pavilion, built specifically for the Winter Games. It’s a huge, beautifully constructed place meant to impress. This is really happening. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I grip the handle of my leather skate bag.
Tasha slaps me on the arm. “Can you freaking believe this? We’re really freaking here at the mother freaking Winter Games!”
“I know, right?” There is nothing on this planet that could wipe the smile off my face right now. Except maybe Brooke Donovan, who happens to be making a beeline for us at the moment.
She gives us each that patented Brooke once over complete with a tiny wrinkling of her nose, then says, “Hey, girls. I see you finally made it to Korea.”
This is her little way of telling us she got here two weeks ago on her parents’ private jet, along with her coach and physiotherapist. Brooke’s family has all but bought her way to the games. Like mine, I suppose, except without the double mortgage.
She grins down at us. “I guess neither of you heard either.”
“Heard what?” Tasha asks.
Brooke rolls her eyes. “We’ve been bumped by an hour. The men’s hockey team stole our ice time.”
“What? Why?” I craned my neck to look past Brooke but it’s no use. She’s almost six feet tall to my 5’1.
“I guess they’re more important than us. ESPN wants to film them and get some interviews on ice for tonight’s news back home. Apparently, the rivalry between our guys and the Canadians heated up last night. There was a bit of a brawl in the gym.”
“Seriously? I thought Canadians were supposed to be so nice.” For some crazy reason, I find myself concerned about Clint. “Did anyone get hurt?”
“One guy from the Canadian team has a busted jaw!” Brooke says, slapping her thigh with one hand as she snort laughs.
“A broken jaw? That’s awful,” Tasha says. “I hope it isn’t Jared. I was really hoping to give that part of his body a good workout.”
She wanders off in the direction of the rink and I hurry to follow her. When I step inside the arena, I find Tasha standing on the steps about half way down the stands. Brooke stays with me, in spite of the ‘go away’ vibe I’m trying to give off.
The space smells of fresh paint and a hint of sweaty male. The white surface of the ice gleams under the new lights. I freeze and watch as the players take turns whipping slap shots at the goalie, my eyes scanning for Clint the entire time. Then I see him, standing with a small woman in a blue dress. She’s holding a microphone and talking into a camera while Clint leans on his stick and grins down at her.
“He is hot with a capital H,” Brooke sighs.
“Who?” I ask, pretending that I wasn’t just drooling over him.
Brooke gives me a skeptical look, then says, “Clint Sullivan. Did you not see the spread of him in People’s Hottest Athletes Going to the Games last month?”
“Must have missed it.”
“Oh, that’s a shame, Danika, because…” She finishes the thought by biting the side of her finger. “Too bad he’s engaged.”
“He’s what?”
