Page 134 of Breakneck Hockey

Let’s start by making a statement. I remove the bandana from around my head—it’s going on him—and trap my hair under his smelly old hat.

He wants to trade shit? He can trade shit with me from now on.

Chapter 26

Video Sex

Casey

Sometimes being right isn’t fun. It takes weeks, but we get the diagnosis I expected—Mama West has had some mini-strokes. The Meyer family bands together for us and shockingly, Maxwell does too. We get Mama West into assisted living, and Bea and Trish take Charles and Stevie for now while we search out a family member. I’m hoping for rich grandparents that Shelly estranged herself from because of an arbitrary reason, easily solved.

At least it’s not like in the movies, CPS isn’t banging on anyone’s door, but we need to get them settled somewhere before someone does catch wind.

“Worry about the hockey season,” Trish had said before we left after Christmas, even before we were able to figure out what was going on with Mama West. “Us Meyers are used to this sort of thing.”

Moving into January and February, Boston and Vancouver don’t have any games scheduled, but Sutter and I are on the road constantly. It starts to feel personal, like the universe conspiresto keep us apart. Though, I guess the fact that we played so many games against each other in the first half of the season was a miracle—East and West don’t play against each other often—but why’d it have to switch up just when things were getting good between me and Sutter? We’ve done one virtual press conference together, organized by Milton and Gina, but I’m pretty sure it was an epic fail. Sutter stared at me with hungry eyes the whole time, and I did a terrible job of pretending like I didn’t want him to eat my face off. I couldn’t stop picturing his tongue in my ass, or his broody lips around my cock.

Even calling each other’s been rough because of our wild road schedule with flights and game times, so it’s been a text message string we chime in on whenever we can. How the fuck did Jack and Mercy do this, again?

But tonight. Tonight, our schedules finally line up and we get a video call. My dick’s so hard up for Sutter’s smooth and dark voice, I would sell a kidney just to hear it for five seconds. It also might be all I get. My body’s fucking whipped. Coach is on our asses to make the playoffs. The rest of my limbs might break off or turn to dust because they’re so brittle from having the life sucked out of them. My dick’s the only organ that’s got any gusto left and, even then, I’m worried I might not be able to get it up for the first time in history while I’ve been getting boned by Sutter. Yeah, I’m in that place. Where I’m desperate for it, but maybe too tired to do anything about it.

We’re about to find out.

I stroll through the door of our house, tossing my bag down, stumbling my way through the darkness to my room. Stacey was just behind me. He’ll close the door and lock it. Probably. Though, thinking of the shit I’d be in from Sutter for not tightly locking the sixty million locks he installed over Christmas brings a smile to my face. Okay, so it’s only six locks, but still. It’s six locks too many. We live in Kitsilano, one of the safestneighborhoods in Vancouver. We’ve never had an issue, but suddenly Sutter acts like we leave the door wide open and have tea with criminals.

But, dayum, did I ever love watching him install those door locks. He did it shirtless, which was one hundred percent for my benefit, and I recorded a permanent video in my mind of the way those big arms of his flexed and extended, the way his hands gripped the tools. He worked them expertly while the large viper that lives forever tattooed up his right arm slinked and coiled with his assertive movements.

Sutter working on shit might be my newest fetish.

It was a good thing I got something out of that day. We were short on time during Christmas with all the stuff going on with the kids. Instead of railing me, he turned my house into a fortress. The thing that happened with Charles and Stevie’s mom unlocked Sutter’s protection complex.

I’m not too proud to say I begged him for sex. Pretty much humped his leg for it.

“Off, Alderchuck. There’s enough time for me to do this before we have to pick up the kids,” Sutter said.

“One lock’s fine,” I pleaded. “One lock and that’ll leave ten minutes for you to bend me over the counter.”

He wrapped me in his handyman’s arms and spoke low in my ear. “I need to do this.”

Something desperate filled his voice.

Sutter’s protection complex is his show of affection. If he puts locks on your doors he’s saying, “You’re mine and I’ll damn well keep you safe.” So, even though I would have rather had his bare dick in my ass—the thing we still haven’t done—I sat near him, openly ogling him while he did the Sutter equivalent of building me a Wendy house.

Okay, fine. It would be pretty shitty of me to completely disregard that particular concern now that I know whathappened with his dad. I’ll go make sure the locks are secured, but after. This won’t be a long call. We’ll both need sleep and it’s not something you can skip at this level of the game. Hell, your body won’t let you.

Pushing the door open takes effort. Am I that tired? Flicking the lights on illuminates the boxes behind the door. Must be the shit from Amazon I’ve ordered while being away. I nearly trip over them on my way to the bed—fuck, my motor skills need a recharge—landing not-so-gracefully on my bed.

Something digs into my back.

Pulling the offending object from under me, a hat unfurls. Dirk’s hat. “Hello, how’d you get here?”

I snap my fingers. Same person that put the boxes in my room, Travis, Dash’s dad. He takes care of our mail and shit while we’re not here. We’re always leaving stuff at the restaurant like it’s another home. Not so much during the in-season, though, so Dirk must have forgotten it sometime over Christmas.

Since it’s here, I’m putting it to good use. Sutter fucking hates when he sees me in other people’s shit. Like, “wants to blow the world up” kind of hate. He’s like Mercy that way, but next level, and it’s fun to fuck with him. Let’s see if he knows it’s not my hat.

I should probably set up my laptop, but I’m on the bed now and too tired to move. This is gonna be one lame video-sex session, but it’s happening come hell or high water. My dick deserves it for how well-behaved it’s been. Besides, what would Sutter and I do otherwise? Talk? Even our text message conversations are filled with ways we wanna defile the other.

Strange tingles fill my gut while I wait for his devil’s mug to appear on my screen. What the fuck is that about? The only thing that should be excited to see Sutter is my dick.

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