Page 51 of Branded
Well, no more assholes.
I was hers now.
Of course, my questions had brought a slew of terms I hadn’t known or understood, so I’d rushed to jot down the words I didn’t know on an old receipt as she talked, googling them after we’d hung up, realizing that I had a lot to learn if I wanted to comprehend, at least a little bit, what her work was.
Something more than just she was good with computers and could make programs and stuff.
But the words had swam on the screen, and I hadn’t gotten as far as I wanted, especially since my mind was focused on remembering the slight husk of her voice, the excitement in her tone that had reminded me of our baking show escapades, the soft sound that rose in the back of her throat when I kissed her.
So, I’d called it quits on the screen time.
Then had jerked off in the shower.
Yup.
I was definitely going to get chafed.
Luckily—albeit not for my chafing issue—we had a road trip coming up. I’d have plenty of time to learn about coding while on the plane and in the hotel, so I’d spent the morning downloading some podcasts and audiobooks to supplement anything that would require me staring at a screen getting more and more frustrated that I couldn’t read the words I wanted without struggling.
But…
That was my challenge.
Head down. Push through. Keep on grinding.
“Let’s keep it clean, eh boys?”
I blinked, thankful for the ref’s chatter when I realized that I was daydreaming about coding when I should be focused on making a good opening effort for the fans in the stands, and especially for Kailey, who I’d watched battle indecision when Oliver and Hazel had invited her to join in the box a few hours before.
Teeth into her bottom lip.
Her eyes skating along the hallway.
Then her shoulders straightening and her chin coming up and…
Agreement.
With a proud, triumphant smile I felt right in my belly.
And it was that proud, triumphant smile that I was going to use to motivate me—or motivate me more than the normal hockey excitement and home crowd and first real fucking game (!) of the season.
Good shit.
Awesome shit.
Spectacular—
The puck dropped.
My mind went immediately blank.
There weren’t even hockey thoughts, no notions of plays to do, passes to make, hits to finish. I wasn’t cognizant of what my feet were doing or the thousand little pieces of the game, the minutiae that I’d drilled into myself over and over again, until I didn’t have to think.
Until it was just me on the ice.
Hockey in my blood and muscles and nerves and skin.
Hockey that was my life.
