Page 57 of Shiver
“One of my midterm grades isn’t reported yet. It’s stressing me out,” I say.
He frowns at me, and I wave him off. “We need your head in the game, Wolf.”
I roll my eyes. “Relax. I’ll be fine when I get on the ice.” But I’m not sure if that’s true or not. Rake should be there tonight. He promised he’d come watch me play again. I mean, since the first time I asked him to, and every game after, he’s been there. Even when I don’t have the courage to ask him.
I’d still really like to make it known that I’m seeing him. Not as my tutor, but as… something else. But when I bring it up, I don’t get an answer. He smiles at my admission of wanting that, but he doesn’t ever say anything.
To be fair, it’s usually while he’s got his mouth on me or my hands are on him. And by the time I’ve orgasmed, thoughts aren’t all that intelligible. It’s a good thing we don’t try to studyaftersex. I’d be exceptionally useless.
Before I follow the team out, I reach into my cubby and fish out my phone. The portal is still open, and I refresh it. It bounces me back to the portal main page and I click on Exercise Physiology. It loads and there’s still a dash where the midterm grade should be.
Frustrated, I want to toss it into my cubby. Instead, I close the app to find that there’s a text message from Rake. All it says is ‘win tonight.’
I don’t reply. But his text calmed me down a bit. He’ll be out there. Waiting to see me. Watching me. And as he’s been with all my recent games, he’ll be waiting at the player’s entrance for me when it’s all over. I may not have gained his consent to tell the world that I’m sleeping with him yet, but there’s already speculation that there’s a lot more going on between us because of his presence there. And the way he touches me, as if he can’t help himself. Especially when there’s a puck bunny around.
As if he’s telling them I belong to him.
I want to belong to him. How do I tell him that, though? How do I make him have that conversation?
Shaking the thoughts away, I join my team in the chute. The visiting team is on the ice right now. We like to let them go first, so they skate around on the ice to warm up alone while the fans pile in. I used to be annoyed at this routine but now I appreciate it because it gives me time to scout for Rake in the crowd.
It never takes me long to find him. He’s always by our box. My gaze locks on his immediately and I smile. His returning smile makes my heart race.
“Your tutor is here,” Jipson says.
Try as I may, I can’t tear my attention from Rake, nor can I wipe the goofy grin from my face. “He is,” I say.
“You and Rakesh have become friends,” Coach says. His not-quite question makes me look at him. I lick my lips, trying to read his expression.
“Yes?” I answer, unsure if that’s what he wants to hear.
I’m relieved when he smiles. “Good. That boy doesn’t like to make friends. I’m glad you broke his shell a little.”
I sigh and turn back to look at Rake. He’s still watching me, his beanie low on his head and a scarf wrapped around his neck. I nod. “Yeah. He’s a great guy. And so smart.” So many other things I’d like to add to that, but I refrain. Barely. Those aren’t things you tell your coach.
Coach Adak’s hand drops on my shoulder and even through my pads, I can feel his squeeze. “He is. I’m glad that you see that.”
As much as I want to look at him, to try to decipher if he’s hinting at anything else, I don’t. That would be too telling. Maybe instead of sex tonight, I’ll demand a conversation instead.
I snort inwardly. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
We move onto the ice, joining Denver and skating around to warm up. I skate right to Rake and grin at him before turning to skate around my goalie. I love his smile. The heated way he looks at me. There’s no way people don’t see it.
I want people to see it. It’s everything.
By the second period, I’m playing the game of my life. While Hart’s shutout streak ended early in the first period, he hasn’t let another in. I haven’t let anything near his little box, either. Denver is being incredibly aggressive in their play tonight, but that’s also making them sloppy. I’ve managed two goals, which is incredible in games that are usually low scoring. I’ve also managed a single assist.
The score is 3-1 by the time we head in for our break before the third period. The mood is riotous and excited. As much as Coach tries to tell us not to get too complacent—two goals are not unheard of to come back from—there’s no mistaking the confidence and heated voices rising in celebration.
While I’m happy, too, I can’t stop myself from grabbing my phone and checking the app. Caulder stops next to me. He knows how stressed I’ve been about my classes. He’s the only one who ever really understood that my constant studying was necessary. It’s not good enough to excel in hockey if I could lose my spot by failing my classes. He’s never given me a hard time.
Clicking on the app, I wait for it to load. Caulder grabs my arm and leans in. “You got this, Egon,” he says.
“Got what?” someone asks from behind. My blood is pumping too loudly in my ears to recognize the voice.
“His last class grade should be loaded,” Caulder says.
Suddenly, there are bodies pressed to my back. Looking over my shoulder. Tapping me on the back and head.
