Page 35 of Faking It with the Forward

I groan. “That feels good.”

“Lie back a little more.” I do, and she bends, leaning over me, and I get a straight shot of what Hartman was ogling before. Her shirt gapes, giving me a full view down the neck. She’s wearing a black athletic bra that pushes up her tits, and it’s not sexy, or is it? Shit. I don’t know anymore. And neither does my cock.

“Yeah.” With a wince, I rise up, bending at the waist in an attempt to cover my semi. “I think we’re good. Thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” I glance over my shoulder. “I can do that against the wall, and it looks like Schwartz is waiting.” I jerk my chin at the first string offender. “You go ahead, man.”

Adjusting myself, I’m halfway to the locker room when Reid catches up to me. “Everything okay, Cap?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

“Shut up,” I grunt, heading for the locker room, ready to get on the ice.

Something’s gotta cool me off.

If I don’t get a handle on myself it’s going to be a long fucking month.

11

Twyler

Reese’s concerns about Hartford are unfounded. Even their best player, Anderson, isn’t a match for the extra hours and hard work the Badgers have been putting in since the practice started.

“Four-zero!” Jefferson shouts as the last of us climb on the bus. By last of us I mean Coach Green, Jonathan, the equipment manager, and me. The guys are chatty, full of energy from the win, and it’s contagious. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to work with the basketball team, but something about Badger hockey has gotten in my blood.

I glance back at Reese, sitting near the back of the bus next to Reid, our eyes meeting. No, someone’s gotten under my skin.

“It’s so much better when they win,” Jonathan says from the seat next to mine. We tend to pair up on the bus, taking the second row of seats behind the coaches. “Don’t’cha think?”

“Way better,” I agree, searching for my phone in my bag.

We’ve both been on the bus after bad losses. The guys can be angry. Or sad. Sometimes there’s a fight, or worse: tears.

The Frozen Four loss last year was a lot of both.

The driver closes the door, and the lights flicker off on the bus. We’ve been on the road since nine this morning, but I had to be at the arena before that to pack up and get everything ready. Then we had a two hour drive to Hartford U and the guys got fed lunch before the early afternoon game. After that, while the guys warmed up, Coach Green and I prepped everyone who needed ankles, wrists, and muscles wrapped. Double checking for any pre-game injuries while getting everything prepped for the actual game and quick fixes between periods. Post-game we had to check over anyone with injuries, hand out ice packs, and wait for the guys to shower and change. It’s been a long day, and the staff is exhausted. The guys? Well, the win seems to have given them another surge of adrenaline.

Me? I’m tired, but what I really want to know is if Nadia got my tickets.

I finally find my phone at the bottom. Opening the screen, I see messages from my sister and mom, but I bypass those, looking to see if Nadia texted about the tickets.

“Hey, man, swap seats with me?”

I look up to see Reese standing in the aisle.

“Oh, uh…” Jonathan fumbles in the seat next to me. He looks at me, as if asking for permission. I nod and he jolts up. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll go to the back.”

Reese drops into the seat, taking up twice the space Jonathan did. His hand whips out and he tugs the tie out of my hair, releasing it in long waves.

“Hey!” I snatch the tie back and stuff it in my pocket.

He grins and looks at Jonathan walking down the aisle. “I think I make him nervous.”

“Oh, you definitely make him nervous,” I reply, distracted. I open my social media accounts looking for a message from Nadia there. Nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, going back to my texts.

“What’s up?” Reese asks, turning toward me. “No, what’s wrong?”

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