Page 21 of Levi

“You’ve never complained about my cock before,” I joke.

“You’re something else,” she says shaking her head, but I catch the corner of her lip tilting up a bit, her icy exterior defrosting just a smidge. “How was the rest of practice?”

“It was fine. We got our asses chewed out because Jax and Nash kept fucking off and couldn’t score a goal to save their lives.”

“They’ll be fine. The season hasn’t even started yet. It usually takes you guys a little time to get flowing, but once you do, you’re unstoppable,” Quinn says, the compliment rolling off her lips so easily that I’m not even sure she realized she said it.

It’s also not lost on me that she’s been following our team closely enough to recognize patterns in our play—something that even took us, the players, a while to realize. It’s impressive how aware she is of the game, but I’m internally celebrating the fact that she’s been keeping track of our team even after moving away.

“Yeah, but it’s still frustrating knowing how well we work together that we can’t just start the season that way. I hope that by opening night this weekend, we’ll have our shit together. Just what I need—piss Coach and myself off by not getting a win at home.”

“I understand that, and just like anything, it takes time…but you don’t need me telling you that. You’ve done this your entire life. You’ve lived it,” she says, and I can tell she’s nervous by the way she’s been biting her cheek. “I’d ignore my uncle, though. Usually, he’s more bark than bite.”

“Key word…usually. Regardless, don’t question yourself. You’ve grown up around hockey just as much as I have.”

“But you play the game; I’m just on the sidelines. It’s different,” she says with a shrug, and it annoys me the way she doesn’t believe in herself.

“On the sidelines, making sure we can play the game. It’s important. Plus, you need to know how our bodies work, what muscles we need to strengthen to play at our best, and how to help us when we get injured. That’s important stuff. Without trainers like you, who actually take the time to learn their craft so well to keep us at our best, we wouldn’t be as successful as we are. Don’t undervalue the hard work you’ve put into this, or the experience you have, just because you’re not physically playing the game.”

Her eyes soften as she watches me, almost like she needed the validation. Quinn works harder than anyone, always researching and trying to learn new things. We may not have hour-long conversations about our lives, but every time we’d get together over the years, we’d do the random life updates—superficial level only, but it was nice to get a little insight into her life, especially her schooling. I loved it because she was so passionate about it. It’s something that makes her happy, and I’ve always been proud that she chased her dreams.

“I mean, I guess. I just don’t want to come across like a snob, or like I know more than the people who actually play the game. By the way, I didn’t say this earlier because you scared the shit out of me, and then I freaked out when I realized I hurt you, but sorry about that. I don’t exactly have the best reflexes when I get startled.”

“Noted,” I tell her with a smirk. “It’s not a big deal. I get slammed into by two-hundred-pound grown men on the daily. I can handle a remote.”

“Fair,” she replies.

“I’m glad to see that you brought your stuff. Did you get settled into your room? I hope I gave enough information.”

“Sir, you left me a five-minute-long voice memo explaining everything. I was able to figure it out perfectly. Thank you again for letting me stay here. I refused to stay with Ally, and I just didn’t want to burden anyone until I could find my own place.”

“Asking for help doesn’t make you a burden.”

“No, but it also doesn’t show that I’m capable of being an adult,” she says, her eyes not meeting mine, and I hate how unsure she is. I hate how much she feels the need to constantly prove herself. She’s so successful already and she’s only twenty-four. That’s something she should celebrate, but it seems like she feels the people around her are never satisfied.

Coach and Ally are probably the worst perpetrators.

If I had any doubts about whether or not this was something I wanted to go through with, hearing her talk now only solidified it. I want to show them we are happy, that Quinn is incredible, and prove to them that she’s more than just capable—she’s amazing.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you’re living with your boyfriend. That way, they won’t think you’re asking for help,” I tell her with a wink, and she actually blushes.

The girl who’s choked on my cock and who I’ve licked every inch of her body is still nervous around me. I like that more than I should.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says with a laugh. “I really should go look through my stuff. I have to figure out what to wear for the first game, but I’m just too lazy.”

“I get that,” I tell her, laughing. My eye is starting to hurt, but I don’t tell her that. After, we both sit in silence on the couch, shifting and avoiding eye contact like we aren’t exactly sure what we’re supposed to do. Neither of us entirely knows what to say, as we’ve honestly never really “hung out” before, at least not in years.

Not since we were younger. We used to hang out all the time, but that was before everything happened. After that, we lost touch for a while, only seeing each other when we were in the same place at the same time, mostly for family events, and never intentionally.

Until Ally and I split.

One night I was out with the team and ran into Quinn at a bar. She ended up coming over and hanging out with us and meeting the guys.

A lot of tequila later and a few rounds of truth or dare with the guys, with quite a fewvery pointedquestions our way, I learned just how adventurous she was…in and out of the bedroom. It’s always been a challenge for me to find someone who I am sexually compatible with because my tastes can be a little too much for some people.

I’m not talking whips and chains or, like, a red room of fun or anything. I just like what I like, and what I like is being in control. I always have, both in and out of the bedroom. People used to joke and call me type A, but I think it was more than that. When I was a kid, I was put in therapy after I started asking questions about why my parents left. My therapist was great, asked a lot of questions, and I ended up seeing him for a couple of years.

I still remember one day he told me that I liked to control things around me, not because I was mean, but merely because I hated losing my parents and had no control over it. It felt hopeless, and I hated it.

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