Page 47 of Troublemaker
When I woke up,I was still in his arms. And he was snoring.
I lifted my head to watch him, amused by how loud the snoring was. His eyes were closed, his face soft in the shadows of the dark night, his grip on me somehow tight, even as he slept. I considered basking in the feel of my body pressed to his, but I wasn’t missing this opportunity to snoop. In so many ways, Coach was a closed book. I knew so little about his past, his family, what he wanted out of life beyond taking our team to the Frozen Four. Obviously I’d rather learn more from Blake himself, but for now, I’d take what I could get.
The memory of him avoiding my lips when I tried to kiss him hit me like a slap. I banished it. I’d get to the bottom of why he wouldn’t kiss me, and once I learned it would start hurting. Not that it hurt now. I didn’t care?—
Stop lying to yourself, Lucy.
Okay. It fucking hurt. But what was I going to do, wake him up and demand answers? I mean, Iwantedto, but I could pisshim off and he could shut down on me…or worse, he could tell me something I didn’t want to hear.
Ugh. Enough.
I carefully wriggled out of his hold. He groaned and flipped over onto his stomach, still snoring. My earlier inclination to keep snuggling with him had disappeared with my shitty thoughts. It was chilly in his bedroom, the air conditioning on way too high. I suddenly felt cold, too cold. I needed clothes, needed to cover my bare body. I went into his closet to find a shirt to put on, rummaging around until I found an old Gehenom Beasts jersey with Blake’s last name and the number 18 stitched across the back.
I pulled it on over my head. Even with my height, it fit me like a dress, and I had to roll the sleeves up multiple times to make it even remotely wearable. I decided then and there I was keeping the jersey, even if I didn’t get to keep the man.
Blow job tax and all that.
That decided, I roamed silently around the bedroom. There were no photos anywhere, no personal items. It was clean and sterile, lonely and sad. So I contented myself by imagining jazzing it up with pops of color here and there, throw pillows, my colorful dresses mixed in with his boring black suits and white starched shirts.
The more I snooped, the more I realized just how empty Blake’s life was, how solemn, how—I wrinkled my nose—boring.
Well, that’s why he had me.
Giving up on the bedroom, because there were no fun secrets, I continued into the hallway, opening and closing doors. They were all bedrooms, as meticulous and impersonal as his own. One room was set up as a gym, with mats, a weight bench, and a rowing machine. I lost a few minutes in there, picturing Blake all shirtless and sweaty, and let out a sigh.
Maybe we could put that rowing machine to good use…
Shaking myself out of that fun thought, I closed the door, and continued until I reached the last one, opening it.
Aha.
An office.
I entered, knowing it was more than a little shitty to snoop, but I didn’t care—I had to learn more about him somehow.
Making my way around the desk, my brows drew together.
Because this room was not staid, or sterile, or boring, or impersonal—not at all.
The desk was covered in framed photos and notes, some of hockey plays, some of recaps on the team. It was the framed photos that stopped me in my tracks, though. Because they were ofme.
Yearbook photos starting from when my parents died to when I graduated high school, lined up neatly in silver frames. My heart pounded in my chest, because this was…this was…
I didn’t knowwhatthis was. Blake’s story time earlier while I’d been sucking his cock had made it seem like he’d cared. But here it was, actual proof. Where had he even gotten those photos? I guess they could’ve sent them to him because he was my legal guardian and all.
Guardian. Like our safeword.
I winced.
“Why stay away for so long?” I asked the empty office. “If I mattered so much, why did you leave me?”
The office didn’t answer.
I jerked open the top drawer, and paused, reaching in and pulling out a pair of familiar Barbie Pink underwear.
Myunderwear.
A million feelings rushed through me. Relief, because it wasn’t a stalker after all. Worry, because actually, it was. Satisfaction, because I had enough power over him that he wanted my panties. Disgust at both him for doing somethingso filthy, so creepy, and at myself forlikingit. There was something hot about him stashing my panties away as a sexy little memento.
