Page 85 of The Import Slot
“Forget the W. What the fuck was that?” he booms, looking at no one in particular. “Between Koenig and Owens in and out of the box, turnovers galore from Betts and McCoy, you guys want to be grateful Preston can score and Fforde can fucking catch.”
He’s right. We won 4-3, but only just. Ffordey was a beast between the pipes, thank fuck.
“I take full responsibility, Coach,” Johnny says, his face dripping with sweat.
“You’re damn right you take full responsibility. Your leadership was rock bottom. I’ve never seen something so abysmal. What the hell is going on with you, Koenig?”
“I’ve had some personal shit going on,” he says.
Coach shakes his head and puts a hand on his hip. “We’ve got a late night tonight, but I want you all on the ice tomorrow at noon. No excuses. You can thank Captain Underpants here.” Coach leaves without a backward glance.
“You need to get laid, dude.” One guy says to Johnny, but Johnny scowls at him, standing up and tossing his sweater into the wash bin so hard that it topples over.
Honestly, the stress and tension in this room is insane.
We quickly shower and throw our tracksuits back on before heading to the coach. Johnny gets to his seat and puts his earphones in, shutting out the world and closing any possibility of conversation. No one dares to even try to sit next to him, so I find an empty seat and settle in, pulling my headphones out of my bag. Vicky and Jen are last to board, and Jen catches my eye while she stows her bag.
“Come sit with me,” I mouth, and she gives me a nod before leaning down and saying something to Vicky.
She walks up the aisle, stopping to talk to Danny briefly, then sliding into the seat next to me.
“Danny and Becca are in love,” she says as I pull her into my arms, adjusting my pillow so I can lean back onto the window. Jen leans back on my chest. She’s brought a blanket with her and adjusts it so we’re both underneath.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. They just aren’t admitting it. Not to themselves or each other. And I told Nathan to go fuck himself.”
I have to suppress a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. He was with a new girlfriend. Made a snide comment, and I told him where to go.”
“Wish I’d seen that!” I’m glad to hear she’s gained control of that situation. Nothing less than he deserved, anyway.
“You played really well,” she whispers to me, a drastic change of subject. “Are you tired or buzzed up?”
“Bit of both,” I say, kissing the top of her head. The coach is quiet now; I can hear a gentle snoring from a few of the guys.
“What the hell happened with Johnny?” she whispers.
“He’s a sensitive soul, and he and Vicky aren’t speaking,” I reply, then she asks me about how I found the game.
Jen holds my hands while she listens, and then I mention the aftermath in the locker room, all in a whisper. We speak softly back and forth for a while, my mouth close to her ear, and I can smell the sweetness of her shampoo. I brush her hair away from her neck and nibble at her smooth skin. Fuck, she gets me horny.
“Stop it,” she whispers playfully. “You’re getting me all hot.”
“Am I?” I whisper in her ear before kissing her neck again. I’m not helping my situation but what the hell. I move my left hand so it brushes gently against where her nipple is, and her breath hitches.
“Shhhh,” I whisper, moving my hand underneath her t-shirt and skimming her skin. I move toward her bra and slipping my fingers under the fabric of the cup, to pinch her nipple.
Her breathing changes as I kiss her neck, and my right hand moves to the waistband of her jeans and un-pops the button.
“Do you think you can be silent?” I whisper directly into her ear, and she nods.
As I slide my hand in, I’m met with the heat of her. Cupping her through her underwear, I slowly rub my hand up and down. Jen reaches up and pulls my head down so my ear is next to her mouth.
“Someone might hear,” she breathes.
“Do you want me to stop?” she gives my earlobe a nip which spurs me on, retracting my hand and sliding it back in, but into her underwear this time.
