Page 45 of The Puck Chase

“I’ll do better next time,” I tell him, feeling the mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion attacking my every limb.

“There won’t be a next time,” he snaps as he slips his cum-stained fingers into his mouth, licking them clean.

“Whatever you say, Daemon.”

And that’s the last thing I remember, before I drift off to sleep with the sound of the party still raging, and the imprint of my teammate’s cock in the back of my throat.

Archer Gray is asleep in my bed, and not just asleep, but fucking passed out like he owns the damn thing. What is it with him and treating my bed like it’s fucking his? The party is still in full swing downstairs, and I know I should wake him up, kick him out and not blur these lines between us any more than I already have, but for some reason I can’t. Instead, I find myself gently pulling up his pants to cover him up, taking off his shoes, and repositioning him until he is laying flat against one of my pillows.

Then I stumble to my door in a daze, not quite sure how we got here, but turning the lock on it anyway. I never lock my door, knowing that Josh needs to be able to access my room whenever my nightmares get too bad, but something tells me I won’t be having that problem tonight. I flatten my back against the door,as if the lock isn’t enough to stop someone from coming inside and finding him here, and what would I even say? How the hell would I explain Archer Gray’s presence in my bed? I don’t even know the answer myself, let alone have the ability to summarize it for someone else.

Shaking my head in confusion, I turn off my light, heading back towards my bed until I reach the side that isn’t occupied by a six foot blond asshole, and gently sit down. My eyes never leave him, watching him like a hawk to ensure I don’t disturb him, which is fucking ironic since all he does is disturb me every chance he gets. Yet for some reason, seeing him lying peacefully against my sheets, spreads a warmth through my chest like never before.

I know this isn’t real, that he isn’t mine, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy one night of him sleeping soundly in my bed and pretending like he is. I mean, what would it be like if he were? What if I wasn’t fucked in the head and didn’t jolt in pain at someone’s touch against me? What if he were here every night for me to breathe him in? I can see us fucking endlessly, never getting enough of one another, but that would mean letting him in, and that would mean hurting him. No, people like me don’t get people like him, we don’t deserve them.

Letting the fantasy disappear from my brain, I reach over and cover him with my blanket, savoring the warmth of him in my bed, before I lean back against my headboard and sigh. There’s no way I am going to be able to sleep, not with the party still going, and definitely not with Archer in my bed, so I do the same thing as always when I can’t sleep. I grab my sketchbook and pencils and get to work.

Under the glow of my bedside lamp, I do my best to ignore his presence, focusing on my blank page as I start to draw. I’m not really sure what I’m doing, or where I am pulling inspiration from, until I have half a man on his knees drawn, and I groaninternally.Fuck. When was the last time someone sucked me off?When was the last time I was that desperate for them, too?It seems Archer is getting closer than anyone ever has before, which isn’t surprising given how hard he’s trying. The real question is, why aren’t I trying harder to push him away? I already know I can’t have him, but why does that make me want him even more?

I spend the next few hours drawing sketch after sketch of him, until my hands start to ache and my eyes begin to burn, and only then do I realize the sun is starting to come up. Archer is still completely passed out beside me, and is no doubt going to wake up with one hell of a hangover. So I find myself slipping out of bed and heading down to the kitchen. I make quick work of whipping up pancakes, bacon, and some coffee, before heading back up to my room.

When I push inside, I’m surprised to find him half awake, eyes scanning around the room like he is trying to piece together last night, and I mildly wonder how many times he has found himself in this position. Ignoring the stab of pain that thought sends through my chest, I trail my eyes over his dirty blond hair, that is completely ruffled from sleep. How is it that he still looks perfect?

“I made you breakfast,” I say by way of greeting, and his tired eyes meet mine in question, as I place down the plate of food and cup of coffee on the bedside table next to him.

His eyes glance to the plate, before he smiles shyly and looks back at me. “You made me pancakes?” he asks, sitting up and cracking his neck, his morning voice hoarse, and I grit my teeth, as I nod. “I knew you liked me, Forbes,” he adds, shoveling some of the bacon into his mouth with a wink.

“If by like, you you mean not wanting you to throw up and pass out when we have to be at practice in less than thirty minutes, then yeah, sure I like you,” I reply sarcastically,heading to my drawers to pull out a fresh base layer and jersey, as he curses.

“Fuck, is it really that late?” He reluctantly gets out of bed, choking down some more of the bacon before starting on the pancakes. Tossing my stuff in my bag, I grab some clothes for the day and head to the bathroom to get changed, and when I come out, Archer is still sitting on my bed drinking his coffee. “So how are we doing this?”

I pause, meeting his stare in confusion, as I grab my bag. “Doing what?”

He looks at me completely bewildered, as he laughs, “Getting me out of here without being seen?”

Rolling my eyes, I almost laugh as I walk away from him. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re seen, Gray, you knew the risk when you came up here last night, so figure it the fuck out.” I toss over my shoulder, before ripping open my door and heading downstairs to fill my water bottle.

I don’t bother waiting to see if he follows, knowing he needs to go home first and grab his stuff anyway, so I just make my way to the rink. I’m already on the ice warming up by the time he catches up to me, tossing me a knowing smirk, which I promptly ignore, focusing on practice.

Cap has us rerunning plays from last night’s game, until we are all sweating and breathless, and by the time Coach calls time, I want nothing more than a hot shower and some sleep. My legs are shaking as I skate off the ice towards the locker room, when a familiar voice slams into me.

“You looked good out there, kid.”

My spine stiffens at the sound, turning to find Jasper leaning against one of the posts, watching me, as the rest of my team eyes him as they make their way to the locker room. Which, why wouldn’t they? At 6’5” he towers over most people, with a lean, broad frame, which of course it’s covered in his fucking leathercut to signify the family he left me for. My brother is a fully patched member of the Hades MC, the place he called home once he left Ryan and I behind, and the sight of it, and him, make me sick.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I spit in anger, trying to recall the last time I laid eyes on him. It’s been two, maybe three years, at least.

That’s not to say I haven’t spoken to him. He tries to call and text me all the time, I just barely respond, but apparently he’s not getting the hint that I want nothing to do with him.

At my anger, he sighs, pushing up off the post and taking a slow measured step toward me. “I wouldn’t be here if you’d just answer the phone when I call, little brother.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I warn in a low, lethal tone, his eyes widening a little, as he takes me in.

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you,” he starts, as if he doesn’t know what to say, before he straightens his shoulders and adds, “Dad is up for parole, they are giving him a hearing in February.”

My mind processes his words in slow motion, and I almost laugh, because I could have guessed what he was here to say a thousand times over, and those words never would have crossed my mind, not even once.

My heart begins to thunder in my chest, as I force out, “How is that even possible?” I think about the night he was arrested, the evidence they took, the statement I gave, the witnesses that came forward, all of it was considered a slam dunk to put him away for life. So why the fuck would they be considering him for parole after four fucking years?

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