Page 135 of The Import Slot
“How about you do two more years and then decide?”
“How about none? And I already know what I’ll decide.”
“One?”
“None.”
“Fine, none, but you must ask Ronnie about the other thing.”
“Perfect. And I’ll call Ronnie after you sit on my dick.”
I’m half joking, but she pulls off her underwear and straddles me, and my hands shoot to her waist. She reaches down, rubbing my dick, manoeuvring it so it brushes her, coating me with her wetness. She wriggles down, my dick pushes inside, and she flexes her hips to take all of me before rolling off. I let out a groan, disappointed beyond measure.
“You’ll call her now,” she says, giggling.
“That’s not fair. Withholding sex is not fair.”
I give my dick a few pumps with my fist, but I reach for my phone because my dick is screaming at me that my hand will not do. I go to dial just as my phone rings.
I hesitate momentarily, seeing Vicky’s name on the screen, and decide to decline it.
I don’t get a chance to put my phone down before it rings again. This time, my dad.
“Hello?” There’s a load of background noise, and I swear I can hear—
“I’m at the rink. Vicky says you’ve left?”
I look at Jen, hitting mute.
“He’s with Vicky at the rink,” I say, confused. What the hell is he doing here?
Jen’s eyes widen, and she bolts out of bed.
“Ryan? Where the hell are you?”
I hear what sounds like Uncle Gerrard in the background, asking to know the same.
“I’m on my way,” I say, hanging up and climbing out of bed. At least I’m not horny anymore.
My eyes dart to Jen getting dressed, her face flushed with the effort of the rush.
“Okay, so I invited him, but he didn’t get back to me, so I assumed he wouldn’t come.”
I throw on some clothes and run my hand through my hair. Jen grabs her coat, and we head out, the door slamming behind us.
“So, how come you invited him?” I ask, getting into my car.
“Originally, to talk some sense into you, but I know you’ve already decided now.” Jen shrugs.
“For Christ’s sake.”
The roads are quiet, and we return to the rink just as the last of the main parking lot empties, fans having left.
The players’ parking lot is semi-full, and Johnny’s car is still parked where it was earlier.
As soon as we pull up, the double doors swing open, Vicky loitering inside. When she spots us, she says something to someone behind her, and my Uncle Gerrard pokes his head out, a grin plastered over his face.
“What a car, kid!” he says as we close in, and I pull him into a hug. I’ve missed him, and I’m stoked he’s here.
