Page 12 of The Puck Chase

That fucking moan. It’s haunted me for over three fucking years, and no matter what I do or where I go, I can’t seem to escape it, escapehim.

It’s why I went to that damn cafe in the first place, somewhere I have been going since freshman year, and have never once seen anybody from FU. Brenda, the owner, is a sweet little old lady who makes the most incredible cakes, and she has a couple of great workers, none of whom mind when I take up a booth all afternoon to sketch. So I thought heading there was a better option than going back to Hockey Row, but clearly I was wrong, because he still found me.

And not just him, but his little sister too, a girl who seems both smart and beautiful, and has probably never endured a day of pain in her life. She seemed confident and free, just like her brother in every way, and I was both enthralled by how happy she was, and disgusted by how nice she was being to me. She didn’t seem put off by my quiet nature, and definitely didn’t care that I’m not one of her brother’s fanboys, so why couldn’t I just stay sitting there and answer her question?

Why can’t I just be fucking normal?

I’m soaked through by the time I make it back to the house, my cock once again rock hard thanks to my fucking teammate, and I burst through the door so hard that I almost take it off its hinges. Josh startles from where he is sitting in the living room, jumping to his feet at the sight of me, looking concerned, but I shake my head at him and stalk straight up to my room without a word.

I barely take the time to strip out of my wet hoodie, tossing it to the floor with my t-shirt, before looking down at the offensive tent in my fucking pants. My dick is weeping behind my zipper, and it makes me fucking sick. Now, I’ll be the first to admit I love sex. Having it, watching it, reading about it, I love it all, and I don’t really have a preference. I find both women and men attractive, physically, emotionally, and intellectually, but none of that should translate to my fucking teammate.

It’s been months since I fucked anyone, over the casualness of it all and not really being interested in anything more, yet for the last twenty-four hours, my dick has decided to take an interest in the one person I fucking hate. I hate him, I hate him so fucking much, yet that one uttered moan of my name is playing on repeat in my mind.

Forbes. Not Daemon, it’s never Daemon, but why do I wish it was?

The thought is maddening, still I am unable to resist unbuckling my jeans and fisting my cock. I storm to my bed, throwing myself down with my back against the headboard, and then I am stroking myself roughly. Jacking myself slowly from root to tip and watching as pre-cum spills across my head, in a display so erotic that it has me groaning from the sheer relief. I roll my thumb over my blunt head, spreading the liquid down my shaft, and I do it all while thinking of Archer Gray.

His name is like a fucking beacon of light in my mind, and I recall the way it felt to smash him back into his locker, how roughly he grabbed my arm, and how he moaned my fucking name. All of it lighting me up from the inside out, and before long I am thrusting into my hand, chasing my release, but needing more than I can ever give myself.

Just as I have that thought, my bedroom door bursts open, my best friend walking in with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Josh opens his mouth but then freezes as he takes me in, fuckingmy fist like a man gone mad, and his eyes go wide. “Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles, turning and leaving as quickly as he came, but the shock and thrill is enough to remind me.

I am transported right back to last night, to the way the lean muscles of Archer’s body flexed with every thrust, to how his eyes held mine, as his hands heldher. To how he fucked her, but moaned for me, and that’s all it takes to have me spilling across my hand and stomach to thoughts of my fucking teammate.Again.

My chest is heaving with panted breaths as I come down from the high of my orgasm, and I reach for some tissues from my nightstand to clean up the mess I made. It’s only when I lay back that I realize I am no longer shaking. The world doesn’t feel like it’s slipping from beneath my feet, and I am once again calm and collected.

Not wanting to dig into the reason why, I jump from my bed and head for a shower, getting changed into some warm clothes, before I slowly make my way down to the kitchen.

Josh is sitting at the counter, sipping from a tumbler in his hand, and when I take a seat across from him, his eyes slowly meet mine. He opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “I told you that you’d catch me jerking off one day,” I tease lightly, and he huffs a laugh, finishing his drink, and pouring himself another. “I mean, I always knew you wanted to see my dick, but maybe you really do need to start knocking,” I add, and he shakes his head, pushing the bottle across the counter towards me.

“At least I know you haven’t actually taken up the monastery,” he claps back, shaking his head with a smirk, as I tip back some of the amber liquid. “But I’m going to need some serious therapy to erase the memory of your dick from my brain.”

“Oh yeah? Get a good look did you?” I ask, cocking a brow, and he almost chokes on his drink.

“That’s not what I meant,” he starts, stumbling over his words a little, until I smirk, and he curses me out.

“Will my chicken parmesan be enough to clean your dirty mind?” If there is one way to my best friend’s heart, it’s to feed him carbs.

“With your homemade garlic bread?” he questions instantly in delight, and I roll my eyes, but still nod all the same.

“You know I love you and your dick, Forbes,” he claims, watching as I jump up and check the fridge to make sure we have what I need.

“Yeah, well I’m not feeding you my dick,” I snap back, loading the counter with all the ingredients. “Now fuck off, you know the kitchen is my quiet place.”

Of course he obeys instantly, not wanting to threaten the offering of me feeding him.The chicken parm, not my dick.And then I get to work making dinner. Of course both Levi and Landon come bother me at some point to make sure I am cooking enough for everyone, but I throw them out too, not wanting them to ruin the peace cooking brings me.

By the time I have cooked, eaten, and then cleaned up, I haven’t thought of Archer once, and finally feeling back to myself, I head upstairs to finish off my sketch from earlier. Yet when I make it back to my room and pick up my phone that I discarded earlier, I note a bunch of notifications and decide to flick through them first. Most of them are the same as always, but it’s the new follower request onInstagramthat has me pausing and hovering over it.

@RarelyRora

Rora? Isn’t that the nickname Archer used for his sister earlier?

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from clicking on her profile to get a better look, and sure enough in that small profile icon is a picture of the girl who introduced herself to me as Aurora Gray. My finger automatically moves to press the delete button, so used to avoiding anyone with the name Gray, but I hesitate. I mean, is it really her fault that her brother is an asshole? And besides, I don’t post much on social media anyway, only the odd piece of work I have done in class, so would it really be so bad to confirm her request?

I accept it before I can talk myself out of it, and then I request to follow her back, telling myself that’s the normal societal thing to do, and that it won’t matter anyway because I barely even use the app, but she accepts instantly and her pictures flood my feed and I can’t look away. There is art everywhere. From drawings of her own, to famous paintings she has visited in museums, and I find myself endlessly scrolling, taking in the privileges her life has allowed her.

Is this what it’s like when you grow up in a happy and safe home?

There is picture after picture of everything from her family and friends, to vacations and parties, and I examine every single one like they are some sort of puzzle to the Gray way of life. Archer is heavily featured throughout her page, from pictures she has clearly taken at our games, to shots of them in the city, and what I can only presume is their home, and all of them are flooded with likes and gushing comments. There is also the odd shot here and there of another boy who, though he doesn’t look anything like Archer, I know instantly is the brother that Aurora mentioned, just from the way he presents himself. They don’t seem as close as Aurora and Archer do, but I suppose that’s to be expected with step-siblings, not that I have any experience in that area.

---