Page 190 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
So far, this little thing hasn’t been tit for tat.
There has only been tit. And I am so ready for the tat.
I’m not even going to be greedy and hope for a full-frontal.Just his arms, pecs, V lines. Fuck, give me a shot of the man’s thighs and I’ll be a happy lady.
I haven’t revealed anything in my photos yet. So far, they’ve been very tasteful and the ultimate tease. But there are only so many ways I can drive him wild wearing his jersey and a green pair of panties. At some point, I’m going to have to up the ante.
A mixture of nerves and excitement shoots through me at the thought of sending him a more revealing picture.
It’s not like I haven’t dabbled with naughty pictures in the past, but I’ve never sent one to an NHL god. I’ve never sent one to the man I’ve spent all my teen and adult years lusting after.
My stomach knots anxiously. Sending any kind of photo is always a risk, especially when it’s to someone as high-profile as Kodie. If someone were to snatch his cell…
I make a mental note to talk to him about locking those photos down. I mean, I’m sure he does. The last thing he needs when he’s back is to find Sutton looking at me.
Sutton.
I squeeze my eyes closed as my heart clenches.
Sutton and the Polar Bears won their game on Sunday. It was incredible, watching them dominate the ice. I was one proud mama bear. I loved every second of it, and all I wanted to do was pick up the phone, call Kodie, and tell him just how amazing his daughter is. But I couldn’t.
He hasn’t said anything about my new job, so I can only assume Sutton hasn’t told him. Guilt eats at me. I need to tell him before someone else does.
I just…I keep finding much more exciting things to talk about instead. And also, I don’t want to do it through text. That needs to be a real conversation, and as of yet, we haven’t had one of those.
I’m desperate to hear his voice instead of just reading his words, but I also understand the position he’s in. He’s sharing a hotel room with Linc, so we have to be discreet.
I guess there’s a part of me deep down that knows he could be lying when he tells me he gets off during our down-and-dirty messaging. That he could have Linc on the bed next to him as they watch the game highlights. I smother the sigh that wants tospill from my lips, trying to look like I’m paying attention to the design meeting I’m sitting in.
When I said Kodie has stolen all my thoughts and focus, I wasn’t lying.
“No, come on, you motherfucker,” I scream at the TV as one of the Hurricane’s D-men slams Linc into the boards.
Linc spins on him and gets right in his face.
We’re down two to one, and there are only a few minutes left in the third period. We don’t have time for Linc to lose his shit and end up in the box.
“Get it together, Storm,” I mutter.
I’m standing on my coffee table like a fucking lunatic, wearing Kodie’s jersey, my lucky panties, and a pair of Vipers athletic socks like they’re leg warmers.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cry when Linc launches an attack and the whistle blows. “Moron,” I grunt, jumping down and lowering my ass to the couch as Linc skates toward the box with blood dripping down his chin.
Irritation and desperation ripple through the team as they get into position to start again.
With Linc out, everyone has to work harder to avoid giving away another goal.
It must be a bitter pill to swallow after four incredible wins.
“Come on, Handsy. You’ve got this,” I cry, surging to my feet again as Killer and Brit fight to stop the Hurricanes offense getting close to the goal. “Yes, yes, yes. NO,” I scream when they suddenly take a shot, and it flies straight to the back of the net. The goal horn sounds, and the Hurricanes fans go wild.
Linc is released from the box, but it’s too little, too late. Only a few minutes later, the game ends with our first loss of the season.
We all knew it had to come, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.
The guys look totally defeated as they congratulate the winners before skulking off the ice to lick their wounds.
“Fuck,” I hiss before turning the TV off, unable to bear watching the Hurricanes soak up the praise from their home crowd.
