Page 40 of The Puck Chase

Hallie and I both smirk at that, as she rushes to take one of the stools they just vacated, and waves her hand in the direction they left. “Ignore Arch, he’s like that with everyone, I swear it’s just a defense mechanism. He’s not as bright and happy as he seems,” she explains, sipping her coffee, and I can’t help but wonder how well she knows him.

“Then what’s he like?” I ask without thinking, and I feel Josh snap his attention in my direction, but I can’t look at him. Not when he would see the truth in my eyes, but from the way his new wife is now assessing me, I’m sure she already sees it.

“I think he’s lonely,” she starts softly with a shrug, like she is truly thinking carefully about his words. “I think he just needs someone to want him, to need him, and I mean truly need him, so he can live up to his full potential. He has a big heart, I’m just not sure he knows how to use it yet.”

I do want him, I think that’s always been my problem, and last night? Fuck, I definitely needed him last night, but I am not who he needs to find his full potential. I wouldn’t help him spread his wings and fly, I’d chop them off and have him flailing from the sky.

No, I need to forget about Archer Gray, and the sweet taste of his cum.

There are two things I have learned in the last week, and that is that Daemon Forbes is a master at sucking dick, but he’s also a master at ignoring me. Which I guess I already knew, but still, you’d think once someone swallowed your cock like it fucking belonged to them, that it would constitute a little conversation or even acknowledgement of your existence, but hey, what do I know? It seems he forgot one very important detail, and that is that I will not be ignored, and my chaos will not be contained.

Which is how I find myself wasting time in the changing rooms on Saturday morning, just for an excuse to be close to him. Since our run in on Peters’ wedding night, I have continued my onslaught of text messages, all of which have goneunanswered, but if there’s one place he can’t ignore me, it’s here. No matter how hard he tries.

There is the usual hustle and bustle of the team, as they exit the showers and begin to get ready, but I drag my feet, waiting for Daemon to appear from his own personal stall. Most of the team are rushing to get changed and run off to their weekend plans, but not me. I take my time, soaping and washing down my body, trying not to think about my teammate, naked and only hidden by a curtain, and by the time I exit, nearly half of the team have already left. Moving slowly, I head for my locker with just a towel around my waist, noting more of the guys starting to leave, and it isn’t long until I am rewarded.

Daemon exits the shower, his eyes instantly finding mine, before dancing around the rest of the locker room, noting how quickly it has emptied out. I swear I feel his sigh from across the room, but still he stalks towards his locker, ripping it open until the door is practically in my face, as he begins to pull out his clothes. I’m still wearing only a towel, and I didn’t miss the quick once over he gave me as he approached, but much to my dismay, he is already covered in boxers and a tank top as usual.

I know deep down, it’s because of the scars that mark his skin, and I wonder if he has ever shown them to anyone. Does he think people are bothered by them? Does he think I would be bothered by them? Hell, all I can think about is stripping him naked, and showing him just how much I fucking enjoyed having my cock in his mouth, and if I got the opportunity, I wouldn’t give a fuck about his scars.

My eyes glance to the couple of guys still here, including Alexander, who is watching me while pretending he isn’t, and I’m sure he knows something. Not that he’s said anything, but I haven’t either, and honestly, I don’t care if he does know, I don’t even care if he saw, because what happened with Daemon made me feel more alive than I’ve ever fucking felt.

Ignoring everyone else, I reach for my boxers and drop my towel, stepping into them, but not before I feel Daemon’s gaze burning against my bare skin. When I rise back to my feet, I smirk, as I quietly ask, “See something you like?” Of course he doesn’t respond, but that only makes my smile grow wider. “What’s the matter, Forbes, cat got your tongue?” I add in question, leaning around his locker door and stepping into his space, forcing him to take a step back.

“No, just sick of you being in my way, Gray,” he snaps, pulling his pants on, and brushing past me to reach for his shirt.

“Yeah, I know that’s always been a bitter pill for you tochoke down,” I reply, watching as the muscles in his arm ripple back and forth, as he pulls on his shirt, and fuck does he look good. “Though I’mpretty sureyou are managing it better than you once did,” I add, and his scathing stare snaps to mine, making my heart race.

“Careful, Gray,” he warns darkly, but when I know what he sounds like moaning around the length of my cock, it’s hard to be deterred.

It’s why I step forward and lower my voice even more. “Have you been enjoying my photos, Forbes?” I ask quietly, and from the way his pupils dilate, I know the answer before he even tries to lie.

Every night for the last six days, I have ended my barrage of text messages to him with a picture of me fisting my cock. All sent before I promptly fucked my fist raw, thinking about him on his knees for me, yet of course, his blank mask remains perfectly in place.

“You’d be better off sending them to your loyal fan base. At least they’d lie and say they loved them,” he responds in a bored tone, dropping to the bench and pulling on his shoes, and I grab my pants and drop down right beside him, my arm brushing his as I move.

“Such a skilled and eager mouth, and still it spills such wicked lies,” I taunt, my breath ghosting his ear, and when he turns to the side, I can practically taste the need dripping off of him.

I lick my now dry lips, and his eyes follow the movement, before he jumps to his feet, grabs his stuff, slams his locker shut, and storms from the room like his ass is on fire. Not that it matters, I’ve sought him out everywhere this week, from the gym to the cafeteria, much to his annoyance, and today will be no different. So I let him go, enjoying the view of him as he leaves, before I turn back to my locker and finish getting ready.

I’ve got places to be after all.

My first pit stop is home. I drop off my bag, do a quick load of laundry, and then gather up my homework assignments so I can take them with me. Then I stop at my favorite soup place in town, grabbing two portions of their chicken noodle soup and a couple of thick slices of crusty bread, before making my way to the hospital. I’ve stopped to check on Diana a few times now, and every time I see her she looks better than the last. We share lunch and chat back and forth, before the nurses kick me out just in time for my next stop.

Making my way across town, I head to the little bakery I know he favors on Saturday afternoons, and when I push inside, I spot him instantly. Daemon is sitting in the same booth as last time, with another cup of coffee that is no doubt cold, a half-eaten cake, and his head lost in his art as usual. I smile as I watch him, moving to the counter to grab my own cup of coffee, and a refill for him, before slowly making my way to his table and taking a seat across from him.

“Some might mistake you for a stalker,” he sighs, not even looking up from his pad, and I smile as I slide the coffee I got for him across the table.

“And some might say I’m just pursuing my interests,” I reply sweetly, as he eyes the drink I just placed by him like it’s poison.

“Are your interests pissing me off? Because if so, you’re succeeding,” he drawls, tossing his pencil down, and ripping out the page he was working on in his sketchbook, crumpling it up, and tossing it on the table. Only then does he look at me. “What do you want, Archer?” he finally breathes in defeat, and I feel giddy at the sound of my name on his lips, especially when he reaches for the coffee I just got him, and takes a sip.

“I wanted to see you,” I tell him truthfully, hating how vulnerable I feel admitting that, and his stare softens ever so slightly.

“You’ve seen me every single day this week, aren’t you sick of it by now?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, and I can’t help but smile as I take a drink of my own coffee.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how crushes work,” I tell him, eyeing him over the rim of my cup, and to my surprise, he doesn’t look away.

“You know you’re wasting your time with me, right? I’m not someone you should put your efforts into,” he explains slowly, like the thought of anyone liking him is painful, and I try to ignore the punch to the gut feeling his words give me.

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