I tap my finger on the screen of my cell phone for what feels like the millionth time and see no notifications and no messages. Nothing from Lana since we got back from Florida. I’ve sent her two low-key casual messages, but she hasn’t replied to either, and I’m starting to get a sinking feeling in my gut. Did I say too much after we had sex in her room? Did I freak her out by saying I wanted us to be more than a casual fuck? I know she’s just out of a horrible relationship and perhaps fuck buddies is all she wants, but she’s too polite to crush me.
Fuck! I need to speak to her, but I’m trapped here for the next few hours at least.
I flick my eyes back up to the game footage on the big projector screen in our media room and try to concentrate on what Coach Casey is saying about our penalty killing strategies for the start of the playoffs against the L.A. Pumas. We finished above them in the Western Conference, so we have home ice advantage for the first two games and Coach wants us to take full advantage. So that means daily skates, gym work, conditioning, strategy meetings, and working with our specific coaching teams.
After our talk, Coach came good on his promise to improve the goaltending team, and we now have a Canadian Olympic Gold Medal winning goaltender on the books. He’s a machine and even though he retired from playing after 2014, he’s fit and strong and makes me sweat my ass off after a session on the ice.
I absently tap my phone screen again, and I catch Bugs flicking his eyes over to me.
“Dude, cut that shit out,” he hisses. “You’re being as subtle as a sledgehammer, and you bet your ass Coach has noticed.”
I’m about to reply, but Coach cuts me off.
“Yes, Mr. Parker, I have noticed that Mr. Bergman’s attention isn’t really in the room,” Coach yells, causing several players to suck their breath in. “Hopefully drills with me in full gear before the afternoon skate will refocus him!”
I hear a few sniggers from behind me and realize I’ve been rumbled. “Yes, Coach,” I reply in a slightly sulky voice while some of my teammates kick the back of my chair.
“Thank you. Now, let’s continue looking at the penalty kill against L.A., so we at least have half a chance of taking game one of the series.” Coach gives me one final shitty look and then turns his attention back to the game footage.
This is exactly the scenario I was hoping to avoid, and I’ll have no time between now and afternoon skate to call Lana. After I’ve eaten a very quick lunch which I’m liable to throw up after Coach is done with me, we’ll be skating until late afternoon.
With a huff, I fold my arms over my chest, put the whole situation out of my head, and give the footage my full attention.
“Dude, that was brutal to watch,” Nate mumbles as I skate into my goal ready for the scrimmage game, my muscles screaming in protest.
I think Coach decided to make an example of me and kept my drills going for five more minutes so the rest of the team could watch as they came up the tunnel.
I squirt a fountain of water into my mouth and pray I don’t hurl it all over my doorstep as my stomach roils.
“Nah, it’s fine. No sweat.”
Nate laughs and slaps my sweaty jersey. “Plenty of sweat, man.”
I flip him off before I put my gloves back on, pull my grill down, and wait for the puck drop.
What follows is the most painful few hours of my hockey playing career, and when Coach finally blows his whistle and yells for us to hit the showers, I collapse onto the blue paint in front of my goal and pull my helmet off, letting it drop to the ice with a heavy clunk.
“Thor, a word.” Coach’s gravelly voice makes me look up, and I can see he’s pissed.
“Yes, Coach.” I haul myself to my feet and even though I tower over him in my skates and goalie gear, I still feel like I’m about to be scolded by my Mor for something.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to lock that shit down,” he growls, stabbing his finger into my chest pads. “I will not have you lose focus and get hurt like you did last season. You had a lucky escape there, son.”
I’m shocked by his words. I thought I was in for a standard ass whooping for being distracted, but Coach isn’t like that. He cares about all of us and only wants us to play at the very top of our game. He’s always said the same thing: “Leave your personal shit off the ice and leave your hockey shit on the ice.”
It’s great advice, so I nod to let him know I understand and decide that I need to see Lana and put a hold on our budding relationship until after the playoffs. Not just because of her brother, but because it’s what I need to concentrate on my job. And from her lack of contact, I’d say she won’t be too upset about it.
So imagine my surprise when I get to my cubby and turn my phone back on to see a message from Lana asking to meet at my apartment whenever I can.
Shit, I was hoping to have a little more time before I’d have to do this, but I guess ripping the Band-Aid off is sometimes the best option. So, I shoot off a text asking her to drop by any time after five, and I hurry into the shower.
A few hours later, there’s a knock on my door and I anxiously pad over to open it. Lana is on my approved visitors list now, so she’s allowed to come right up without an announcement. I’ve decided to dress casual in athletic shorts and a hoodie, my feet bare, so as not to give her the impression this is a date.
And I’m almost relieved when I open the door to see that Lana is dressed in yoga pants, sneakers and a Whalers hoodie, her hair up in a loopy bun. She’s wearing no make-up and looks so fresh and young that my heart literally doubles its rate at the sight of her. She steps over the threshold with no words and the smell of vanilla and sugar fills my nostrils, causing them the flare.
With my self-control on a knife edge, I close the door and we stand there facing each other, neither of us wanting to speak first. I can see Lana’s chest rising and falling under her hoodie, her cheeks flushed, and her pupils dilated.
Jesus, she looks so beautiful and tempting. How the fuck am I going to do this? Let her down just as we’ve got things started.
But before I can spiral completely out of control, a force stronger than both of our doubts pulls us together and my hands are in her hair and her lips are on mine. As my tongue seeks hers, she moans into my mouth and I pull the elastic out of her hair, letting the vanilla scented waves fall down her back. I quickly pick her up and carry her into the main room, sitting heavily on the couch so she’s straddling me, my hard cock pressed against her hot center.
We continue to ravage each other’s mouths while Lana grinds on my lap, my hands finding their way under her thick hoodie where I discover her bare breasts. The animalistic growl that escapes me makes Lana increase the pressure of her hips, and I cup her breasts in my big hands, rolling her hard little nipples between my thumb and forefinger.
When Lana reaches down to slip her fingers into the waistband of my shorts, it’s like heaven and hell all at once. There’s nothing I want more than to feel her lips around my fat cock, but we need to talk first. If we don’t, I’ll feel like a complete dirtbag.
So as painful as it is, I take my hands from Lana’s warm breasts and hold her wrists to prevent her from pulling down my shorts. I pull my mouth away from hers.
“Babe, we need to talk,” I gasp, feeling my dick twitch angrily at my poor timing.
Lana makes a frustrated little noise and slides off my lap, straightening her hoodie and tucking her legs underneath her. I subtly try to adjust my hard-on so it’s not so prominent, but short of tucking him into my waistband, I just have to sit in a way that at least partly disguises my arousal.
“Okay, so talk,” Lana huffs, her cheeks still pink from our make out session.
“Why haven’t you replied to my messages?” I ask a little more aggressively than I mean and her eyes dart over to me, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.
Lana takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as if she’s getting her words straight in her head. “I guess I got a little freaked out. After we had sex and you said all that stuff about waiting until the off-season, Zac said it sounded like you wanted to keep us hidden and didn’t want people to know about us.” She bites her lower lip and looks away from me.
I try to regulate my expression so as not to show her just how pissed I am.
“Zac doesn’t know shit,” I grind out. “I told you my reasons for wanting to keep us on the DL. In fact, shit happened today that makes that even more important. I completely zoned out worrying about why you weren’t texting me back and Coach noticed.”
“Oh no, did you get into trouble?” she gasps, putting her small hand on my forearm.
“You could say that.” I laugh, enjoying the warmth of her palm more than I care to admit. “But my point is, I can’t be that distracted when it comes to you and me. I want to enjoy every moment of being with you, not worrying why you haven’t texted or returned my call.”
“I understand.” Lana removes her hand and slides a little farther away from me on the couch.
Shit, she thinks I want to end things.
“No, you don’t understand.” I close the distance again and cup her face in my hands. “I want to be with you. I really do. But I don’t wanna sneak around. I want to date you out in the open, so everyone knows that I have the most incredible, talented, sexy girlfriend in the fucking world. It’s just the timing sucks. You deserve my full attention, and I just can’t give that to you during the playoffs. So, I propose we put this on hold until they’re over.”
Lana’s blue eyes tear up and her lip trembles, but she continues to firmly hold my gaze, that beautiful determination ever present.
Taking a deep breath, she says, “I agree. Let’s keep it in the Friend Zone until after the playoffs and then we can go to Matt together and tell him we’re going to date, and he can like or shove it up his ass.”
I laugh loudly and then bring my lips down to Lana’s. “Please let me be there when you tell him that.”
“Sure thing, big man.” She puts her hands over mine and gently moves them from her face. “So, friend, now we can’t fuck, what are we gonna do with the rest of the evening?”
The relief I feel that she’s so cool about this washes over me, and I feel almost light-headed. “I guess you could give me another cooking lesson.”
“Okay, we can do that. How about I show you how to roast a chicken? You can make so many dishes with the leftover chicken, like pasta and risotto,” Lana replies enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the thought of cooking.
“Sounds perfect. Let’s walk down to the market, and we can buy everything we’ll need.” I stand and offer her my hand, which she takes, rising from the couch. “And I promise not to fuck it up in anyway this time.”
She laughs and pats my arm. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
This makes me roar with laughter, pulling her into my arms so I can rub my knuckles over her head before she squirms free and shoves me. “I already have one big hockey player who likes to give me noogies.” She giggles. “I don’t need another one.”