Page 26 of Reckless On Ice

“I’ll buy the feeder. You need to be more responsible with your fish. Stop messing with me, or you’re going to get it back.”

“Is that a threat, Golden Boy?” he asks with obvious interest. “You want to give me a taste of my own medicine, see how good it feels to be bad for once? Go ahead, give it a try. I’m waiting.”

“I’m hanging up now,” I say, pulling the phone away from my ear.

“Be bad, Knox. It feels really fucking good.” I hear before I end the call.

Fourteen

Ryder

Fucking Lilah. Photos of me at the drag brunch ended up online, and hockey social media accounts have gotten hold of them. Pictures of me shaking my ass onstage with a purple feather boa. Flashing my abs and flexing my arms. Shots of me dipping a drag queen. Images of me and Knox in conversation at our table. The headlines come in fast and hot, and my phone pings with notifications whenever something new attached to my name or tagging me on socials is posted.

Unlikely bromance hard launched at Drag Brunch checks the hockey world into the boards.

Hydra's goalie gets wild onstage with drag queens after a viral homophobic rant.

Kingston’s unexpected friendship with NFL star thrust him into the spotlight, leaving us nearly as surprised as seeing him thrust his hips onstage at a recent Drag Brunch.

Publicity stunt to rehabilitate problematic goalie’s image, or a fun outing with friends? The Atlanta Hydras’ goalie Ryder Kingston spotted with NFL star and unknown woman at a bawdy Drag Brunch.

I shoot off a text before I finally turn off my social media notifications and flip my phone over. I’m annoyed as hell about this, and Knox needs to know the kind of company he’s keeping so he doesn't trust her with anything important, like who he wants to fuck.

Ryder: Lilah is a bitch. She released those photos of me she promised would be kept between us, and now I’m back in the headlines, and sports socials are blowing up with our “adventures.” Send her my biggest thanks and both middle fingers.

I’m not even home to tell Knox to his face that he has terribletaste in friends. I’ve been on this ten-day road trip that feels like it’ll never end, hitting Philadelphia and Pittsburgh before playing Boston. We won against Philadelphia, but Pittsburgh gave us a run for our money, and we lost that one admirably. Tomorrow, we head to Boston for our last game. It will be incredibly weird to play my former team. To see the uniform I wore for years and not be in it. To be in the arena that felt like home and skate onto the ice from the visitors' entrance. To have the fans booing me when I make a save rather than celebrating.

To deal with the stress, I did something I promised myself I’d never do again—download the Vers app and log in for the first time in years. Guilt washes over me now as I scroll through the profiles of faceless men in various states of undress, looking for someone to have a virtual hookup with.

I’ve messed with the app a few times before and always told myself it was just for fun, to scratch an itch, and to get my ego stroked unconventionally. But this time, it feels different. I created a new account name, as I do each time I download the app. This time, I’m HotnHandsy, which kind of feels stupid, but I’d rather it be that than HockeyHottie or something that would link back to me. The profile photo I post is a standard tented sweats shot, so the viewer knows I’m hard, big, and leaving something to the imagination to get them to message me for more.

I stop my scrolling on a profile with a photo of the most delicious rich, light brown abs and a hand down low-slunggray sweatpants, showing off a veiny forearm corded with muscle, letting me know he’s fisting his cock in his pants. HandyManCan is the winner of my attention, hands down. I click and message him immediately.

HotnHandsy: Do you think we both have a hand kink, with usernames like ours? Only, your hands are suspiciously absent from your profile photo, and now I’m curious. Put my mind at ease and help me figure out if I have a thing for hands, or just for you.

I favorite his profile and back out because he doesn't have his online indicator turned on, so I don’t know if he’s available. While scrolling a few minutes later, still thinking of that hand hidden by his sweats and what he was gripping, I get a notification of a new message. I click my direct messages and see that HandyManCan has responded. Hell fucking yes. I’m unreasonably excited by the idea of chatting with him after his photo piqued my interest so thoroughly. I’ve found a lot of the guys on this app aren't great conversationalists, so I have a low bar, but I like to talk as much as I like to fuck, and it would be nice if I found someone who held my interest longer than it took to get off.

HandyManCan: That’s too funny. I’ve never considered a hand kink. Total coincidence. Unless…you want to test your theory? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, and we’ll see if they do anything for us.

He sent me a photo, too. It’s taken from chest level, showing an open lavender button-down shirt, highlighting that heavily muscled torso. He’s wearing silver-gray suit pants, undone, with a black leather belt unbuckled. Maybe he’s a businessman of some sort if he’s wearing dress clothes. One hand rests so he’s perfectly highlighting his cum gutter—the V cut of his abs leading to his cock—and it looks entirely too lickable and just right for spilling a load onto. He has perfect hands. Broad palm, long fingers, short-cut nails, and a hint of calluses from what I can make out without seeing the other side of his hand. Never have I loved a photo of a hand more. Maybe it’s just him because his hands are doing things to me that no one else’s ever have.

I’m in my hotel room, already stripped down to my boxer briefs and sporting a semi from this brief interaction alone. The illicitness of this conversation has me breathing heavily, my heart racing with the adrenaline rush of acting on something forbidden, something that I’ve always said wasn’t for me. Yet here I am, obviously getting a thrill from this, so something has to be up with me.

I casually rest a hand on my lower abs, fingers playing with the waistband of my briefs, and snap a photo that I send over with my next message.

HotnHandsy: That’ll do it. Can confirm that maybe I have a little bit of a hand kink. Or maybe I just like how you setup the shot and want to see more.

I’m brazen, but holding back from sending a dick pic or asking for nudes. I can be crass, but I know I need to approach this slowly and feel out HandyManCan so I know he’s worthy of my attention and body. I want to get off, but only with someone who deserves it. Maybe that’s a convoluted way of thinking since I’ll take home any pretty female face who’s down to fuck, yet I want my virtualmalehookup to earn it. I’ll let someone else unpack that. Right now, I have a hot set of abs and a hand I want wrapped around my cock writing back.

HandyManCan: Well fuck me, look at that, my pants fell off and I do have a thing for your hands after all. Are you gonna show me what that hand can do?

The attached photo is of his now shirtless, pantsless body stretched out, one knee bent up and his hand pushing down his briefs so he can grip the base of his—holy shit, that is the most flawless cock I’ve ever seen. Thick, long, a perfect, deep shade of tan, and veined so prettily I’d get on my knees and lick each one. And fuck, he’s manscaped, his dark hair neatly trimmed and just enough to lead up his stomach in a trail I’d like to explore more. I’ve been with so many women over the years who are shaved or waxed bare. It’s nice to see a little something natural to remind me I’m dealing with a man, and damn, do I like the distinction.

I groan as I push down my briefs and free my cock that is straining, precum already weeping from the ruddy tip,with how excited I am about this. I’m an equal-opportunity attention whore, but this feels different. It’s something I keep for myself, and giving in to the temptation feels like a relief and a line I’m crossing at the same time. I spread the precum with my thumb, holding my shaft tight up near the head, and take a photo that I send over to HandyManCan.

HotnHandsy: Look what you’re doing to me, big sexy. I’m weeping for that fat cock of yours. If you were here, I’d wrap my hand around us both, squeeze, and ever so slowly jack you off against me until your knees gave out and you were begging me to come. I bet you beg so pretty. Now, tell me what you want, and say please.

I’m typing one-handed as I stroke myself as slowly as I promised him I would. My body shudders under my own touch as I imagine his big, callused palm sliding over me instead. I don't have to wait long for a response, and it has me stopping my strokes to squeeze hard, so I don’t shoot my load onto my stomach immediately at how fucking sexy it is and how it about ends me.

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