Page 41 of Phantom Faceoff
The look on Micky’s face tells me he wants to argue, but the worry for his boyfriend wins out. Before half the team is even undressed, Micky is heading up to Coach and making his way out the doors.
We sit through Coach’s speech, then take turns in the showers. I’m one of the last ones in because I couldn’t be bothered to get off my ass. That last quarter was killer on my energy. Not to mention my muscles feel like they’ve been zapped and tweaked like the poor sap in Operation.
I’m in the shower so long the others clear out. Coach hollers a check in—that he’ll be in his office for a little while if I need anything. The water runs cold by the time I shut it off and wrap a towel around my waist.
Hockey isn’t the only thing that suffered this last few weeks. My grade in Music Theory has taken a dip. I’m still passing, but if I don’t kick it into gear soon, that won’t be the case for long.
Every time I’m given an assignment, all I want to do is take it to the record shop and bug Malachi to help me sort it out. Even just bantering back and forth with him makes my brain work better.
I drop down to the bench and pull my phone out of my cubbie only to have my mood dampened even more.
Julian
Can’t meet up. Have paper to finish. Daddy is a jerk.
He threw in some crying and anger emojis that make me smile at his theatrics, but I’m still bummed.
If onlyDaddywould pay me a visit.
Even thinking it to myself has my skin breaking out into goosebumps.
I’m not an idiot. I’m fully aware that some people get off to being called that in bed.Daddy, Sir, Master. I’ve made my way through some interesting porn videos.
I slept with a girl once who threw a few “Daddies” out during sex, and I was far from a fan.
From her side, though? I can see the appeal.
That doesn’t fit what Malachi and Julian have going on, but that doesn’t stop my brain wandering every time I hear it.
Without the promise of time with Julian—and Micky likely busy on video chat with Parker in our room—it’s hard to find the motivation to get dressed.
How long could I sit here before Coach came and kicked me out?
“Nice towel, Wildfire.”
My head snaps up so hard it sends an ache down my spine. “Malachi.”
There he is, all nonchalant with his awkward fashion—one of those shirts with tank straps but also short sleeve bands hanging down his shoulders—and multicolored hair falling into his eyes.
He’s got his arms crossed, leaning against the row of cubbies across from me.
“Good game,” he says, then furrows his brows. “I think.”
It’s kind of cute the way he comes across like an emo badass yet also a complete dork.
“It was a craptastic game,” I say. “Until the end. We kicked ass at the end.”
One of those rare, genuine smiles comes out to play, and it’s hard not to consider it a personal accomplishment.
“Do you plan on getting dressed?” he asks, and I can see the way his eyes linger before he forces them away.
“I dunno. Where are you taking me?”
He scoffs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Who says I’m taking you anywhere? Maybe I want to have a talk with you and not your dick.”
“Well lucky for you my dick is nice and covered and has no interest in listening.”
He quirks his brow, smile fading into something that more resembles a smirk. “There you go tempting fate, Wildfire.”
