Page 64 of Unsteady

“Okay,” I whine. “Okay, okay, okay. Justplease.”

He chuckles and presses one hard kiss right on my clit, before leaning back.

“That’s my girl.” He grins, before his hand that’s been resting on my thigh suddenly presses two fingers straight into my dripping center.

I moan, loud and desperately—too loud for where we are hiding, but I don’t care. It barely takes a minute of his full attention again to pull the orgasm from me, my lip bruised as I bite down hard enough to break the skin while my entire body combusts.

I come down from the high, slumped against the wall as he cares for me so gently it makes a lump form in my throat. We do this dance every time. Him, too sweet and caring and gentle. And me, shoving his embrace off with some half-hearted excuse to leave while I try to pretend I don’t see the sadness re-entering his eyes.

This time, I don’t say a word, kissing him hard and nipping lightly at his lips as I carry my discarded skates outside.

He follows quickly behind, shoving his skates off at record breaking speed, and following behind me. Tossing his bag onto his shoulder, he gets close enough to tap my shoulder.

I can’t outright ignore him. Our cars are parked right next to each other.

“So, you’ll come?” he asks, and I feel a bit like I’m throwing a puppy in the trash if I reject him now.

“Yeah.” I nod as we reach our cars in the empty lot. “Yeah, I’ll um… I’ll try.”

He smiles and nods, bouncing on his toes. For my slightly non-committal response, he’s still as excited as if I showed up with a banner and balloons.

“Seeing you will be the best part of my birthday.” He smiles a little sheepishly, like he didn’t mean to say it. Then rubs the back of his neck and bids me a quick goodbye before hopping into his car.

And, just like every time before, he waits until my car starts and drives to follow me out of the lot.

* * *

I almost don’t show at all.

But about two hours into the time of the party that he texted me earlier in the week, I show up at the Hockey House, feeling a little ridiculous with gettingthisdressed up—my go-to gray silk slip dress with an oversized leather jacket thrown on—to show upthislate.

I checked my lipstick twice before I even got out of the car, but I do it once more now on the screen of my phone; wearing a heavier layer of makeup than I usually wear, but it's a special occasion.

Is it? So Rhys is special?

Shaking off the conflicting thoughts about the sad hockey captain that constantly plague my brain, I walk through the half-open door and into the clustered throng of people. Some I recognize, some I don’t.

But I definitely don’t see Rhys Koteskiy.

Making my way back to the kitchen after a full sweep of the downstairs, I spot at least two familiar faces, Freddy and Bennett—both glaring at me unhappily as I saunter in.

“Matt.” I nod. “Hey, have you guys seen Rhys?”

“Look who finally decided to show.” Matt downs the rest of whatever is in his solo cup. “A little late for him, actually.”

I frown, playing with the hem of my dress a little self-consciously, feeling smaller even with the three inches of heels provided by my black boots.

Bennett doesn’t speak, but looks uncomfortable as he avoids my eyes from his perch on the barstool, massive shoulders curved inward as he slowly peels the label off the bottle of beer he’s drinking from.

“I know I’m late. But I need to talk with him.”

Matt sneers, cheeks flushed enough that I can tell he’s a little looser with his reactions. “Not happening. Get out.”

“Freddy,” Bennett snaps, his eyes flutter to me briefly before angling back to his teammates. “Back off it.”

“No.” Matt crushes the solo cup in his hands, tossing it over his shoulder in a perfect arch into the trash can which garners an ill-timed cheer from the guys gathered there.

The campus playboy looks furious—an expression I’m not used to seeing on his modelesque face, as he flattens his hands on the counter and glares at Bennett.

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