Page 110 of Goalkeeper
Paige
I’m no stranger to the hockey house, or the guys who live there, but it feels different tonight. I’m not here with a group, or to hang with the guys.
I’m here for Spence.
Well, I’m here to work on a project with Spence.
Ok, maybe a little of both.
“Paige!” Meysy calls my name as I walk in and wave hello. “You want a beer?”
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“You here to help me kick Birdy’s ass at Black Ops?”
“Actually, she’s here for me.” Spence’s deep voice carries across the room and I look to see him standing at the bottom of the staircase.
I’m not saying it didn’t melt my panties to hear him say it, but it was probably the wrong thing to say to his teammates. They break out into cat calls and “damn, boy” and “Get, it Briggerton,” until he silences them with a look. Something tells me this quiet goalie takes no shit, and his teammates know it.
“We’re partners for a project, you horndogs,” I call as I stride across the room to meet Spence. This does little to quell their teasing, especially when he laces his fingers through mine and leads me upstairs.
We get to his room and he opens the door to let me inside. I’m not at all surprised by how tidy it is. I barely glanced at it the last time I was here. The queen bed is made with a blue plaid comforter and there’s a wooden night stand with a few effects scattered next to a lamp.
There’s a desk in the corner with another small lamp and a laptop, and what looks to be a hamster cage, maybe? The shades are drawn with a blackout curtain, and that’s about it. No pictures to speak of, no posters, just clean and tidy and useful. Just as I’m about to sit on the chair next to the desk, I hear a skittering sound and jump up. “Please tell me you have a hamster and that your hamster made that noise.”
He laughs, taking my hand and turning me toward the desk. “This is Westley. He’s a leopard gecko.” He points to a smallish little lizard who looks remarkably like a pair of heels I once had. I’d never admit this to anyone, but his weird little face is cute, and I’m suddenly glad I lost those shoes.
“Westley?” I ask.
“You can blame Scovy for that. He’s a hugePrincess Bridefan. We shut-out Boston on their turf last year and he gifted me this lizard. I have no idea how or where he got it, just that his name is Westley and he’s mine now.”
“Hockey players are a little weird,” I observe.
“You are not wrong.” He laughs and sets my bag on the desk chair, then sits on the bed and pulls me to stand in between his legs. And he’s still taller than I am.
As if to punctuate our conversation, there’s a quick knock before the door opens and someone shouts, “Mail delivery!” as a handful of condoms rains down on the floor.
“Jesus,” Spencer mutters, bending to scoop them up. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries. But you do realize they all think we’re a thing now, right?”
He blushes, but doesn’t look away. “Is that cool with you?”
“What? If they think it, or if we are a thing?” I ask, and he answers with his lips on mine.
I break the kiss a minute later and lean back to look at his face. “You in, Spence? Because I don’t share.”
“I’m all in, Paige. You and me. Totally exclusive. Hell, I haven’t been with anyone in...god, months. But I haven’t so much as looked at anyone since I saw you at the party all those weeks ago.”
“Same. And, while we’re on the subject, I’m on birth control, but condoms are a must.”
“Won’t be an issue,” I smile and nod toward the scattering of prophylactics my roommates just tossed on my floor.
“Good.” I melt down onto him, straddling his right thigh and threading my fingers through his hair. His tongue parts my lips and I lose myself in his kiss. His strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me up and I press my breasts against his chest, seeking more contact.
We stay like this, tangled up in each other, until we’re both panting and I’m about two seconds away from peeling off my top and his. But before I can, he leans back, breaking our connection.
“Jesus,” he breathes, “fucking freshman and his fucking ketchup. We could have been doing this for weeks,” he mutters.
