Page 66 of Puck Shots
“I heard Chicago has amazing pizza,” I say and immediately regret it, but it gains a laugh, and thankfully the waitress brings the check for the meal.
“It was so great meeting you all,” I say, shaking their hands.
“We look forward to seeing what else you bring to the ice. Keep playing the way you have been and we’ll meet again,” Coach says, and we say our goodbyes.
The second they’re out of sight, I make a mad dash for the campus. It’s only a few blocks over, but right now, it feels like it’s on the other side of the world. But I’m The Flash. I can make it. I have to make it.
My chest is on fire as I circle around the physics building, bolting full sprint running through the halls to lecture hall nine, and I burst through the doors just as he’s wrapping up. People are clapping, and so is his professor, who’s walking up to the podium where my guy is smiling wide, proud, and happy. Panting, I drop into the nearest seat and clap too, face flushed, skin prickling with sweat, and that’s when he spots me. His smile grows wider, and he jogs up the stairs to me.
“You made it,” he beams.
I push up from the chair and pull him into a tight hug.
“I caught the applause, does that count?”
“It counts.”
“I don’t think it does, but I’ll take it.”
I spot the rest of the students settling as another student steps up to the lectern. His professor throws a raised brow in my direction, and I let Eli go.
“We should sit,” I say, retaking my seat and pulling him into my lap.
“I don’t think the professor will like us sitting up here like this,” he whispers into my ear, and then he slips to the side, sitting beside me.
“Spoilsport,” I say, clasping his hand and spotting the slightly smudged lightning bolt on his wrist. I bring up his hand and kiss the back of it as the student up next starts his presentation.
***
“I totally meant to ask, how was your lunch?” he asks me as the class breaks up and we make our way back to the frat house.
“It was good. I, umm…”
“What?” he asks, taking my hand as we walk.
“I told them how I kind of play harder when I know someone in the stands actually gives a fuck about me, not just about my stats.”
He stops walking and looks at me, eyes wide and adorably confused.
“You said ‘fuck’ at your important hockey lunch and that’s good?” he asks.
I laugh.
“No, I think I said shit, not fuck, but yeah, it went well. I meant it, too. I wasn’t thinking just about getting a goal when I was on the ice last game. I was thinking about showing you how much better I am because of you, not just the experiment program thing either. Just with you in my life. I don’t know what will happen next, but I know that I want you.”
“I want you, too,” he replies, gaze moving to my groin, and fuck me, but my dick replies with an instant semi.
“Why are your classes so far from the frat house?” I whine.
“To keep all the jock germs out,” he replies with a chuckle, then a frown. “Not that jocks aren’t smart enough to take these classes. You are. I wasn’t saying—”
I pull him to me and kiss him to cut off his rambling thoughts. His mouth is perfect and delicious, and warm.
“You love my jock germs,” I say between kisses.
“I really do.”
“Then let’s hurry up home and share some more.”
