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My back hit the boards so hard all the air left my lungs. I staggered around, trying to locate the puck but I couldn’t see around the huge body of Mario McGarrity. He kept his weight on me, pinning me to the glass, as his little sidekick Dan Arou-Kalinski jabbed at my skates with his stick trying to dislodge the puck.
“Get the fuck off me!” I snarled at the smirking forward who seemed more temperamentally fit for a defensive position. We started shoving. Someone reached up and shoved a glove into my face. I took a bit of offense to that and elbowed McGarrity in the jaw.
I heard the grunt, smiled, and then wiggled free, eager to locate the puck. Pity it had been picked off by Arou-Kalinski and was already down in our end of the ice.
“Stupid fuck,” I snarled at McGarrity when someone in Cougars blue, gold, and white socked a shot past Alfie. It was their third goal of the game. In this period. Which was the first.
Mario, knowing he’d done what needed done this shift, winked and then tapped the end of my nose with his gloved finger. I probably could have handled that. Well, maybe not, but it was the snide little ‘Boop’ he added that lit me right the fuck up. I shook off my gloves and took a swing. McGarrity, who had at least fifteen years and thirty pounds on me, gave me a long serious look.
“You sure you want to do this, Precious?” I nodded as we skated in a slow circle. “Okay then.”
I dove at McGarrity and we went at each other. Sure, he bloodied my nose and threw me to the ice and sat on me, but I did manage to get two solid punches in. And the fans loved it. It turned out to be the best thing I could have done because while I sat out about seventeen minutes’ worth of penalties, my teammates were all kinds of fired up after that little altercation.
Yeah, we lost in the end, but only in overtime. We’d rallied back to tie things up so that was a positive thing. Coach thought so and told us in an upbeat talk after the game. I rapped Goog on the shoulder with the side of my fist as we shuffled into the showers, towels around our waists. Alfie was staring at us with wild eyes when we stepped onto damp tile.
He stalked over to us, naked as the day he was born, and slapped my Taz tattoo. Hard. I winced and gave him a shove. That made him grin.
“You are a wild man!” Alfie roared, then pulled me in for a hug that felt more than a little awkward given his state of undress. “Homme sauvage fou! Crazy wild man! I feel much Quebec blood in your body! It sings to me!”
“Cool, yeah, go me and my blood.” I wiggled free, grinning at our goalie, and then made my way to the furthest shower away from the insane netminder as I could get. “Is there some sort of crazy test goalies have to take before they’re allowed to play the position?”
Goog sniggered. Alfie paraded around the showers, nude, singing the national anthem of Quebec at the top of his lungs. If you didn’t sing along, he threw bars of soap at you. I sang too but didn’t know the words. Didn’t seem to matter to Alfie, for he patted my soapy head and marched onward, looking for a non-singer to pelt with Irish Spring. When he rolled into the Canadian anthem, we all sang along perfectly. Even if you weren’t born in Canada, by the time you reached this level of hockey, you’d heard the anthem so often that you knew it both in English and French.
Funny how even though we lost, we were all in high spirits. Butterball’s awaited, and hopefully, Mike would be there. I’d purposely avoided him today so not to make him feel pressured. As I lathered Taz – the one on my chest – I thought about him, the feel of his mouth under mine and the dancing little skitter of electricity between us when we were near. Feeling myself growing aroused, I made myself think of other things. Like how sore the bridge of my nose was or how my great uncle had disgusting toenails that he always wanted help trimming.
Picturing those toenails took all the starch out of my dick. It behaved itself rather well during the whole drive to Butterball’s and even upon entering the packed hangout. I’d shed my suit jacket and tie and walked in with my dress shirt unbuttoned enough to show one of Taz’s ears and some chest hair. My gray vest was open for some casual but dressy appeal. Now if the man I was hoping to appeal to was here was the next question.
I rose up on my toes, Goog chattering away on my right, and scoured the place for Mike. I found most of my team and a goodly number of the Cougars.
“Is that your numbers guy?” Goog shouted over the TV’s, voices, and steady plinks and tings and bells from the game room just to our left.
“Where?” I yelled, trying to locate Mike. Goog pointed to the far corner and my heart felt like it had skipped a few beats. Yes, it was Mike, leaning against the wall, sipping a cold beer, and looking out of place among all the big men lumbering around.
“Yeah, that’s him. Go grab us a table.” I patted Goog on the biceps and shoved my way to Mike, his gaze and mine meeting as I worked my way to him. His eyes dropped down to give me a slow onceover. I stepped around a guy talking up some girl and placed my hand on the wall beside Mike’s head. He had gone casual as well, with a pair of tan chinos and a dark blue sweater. The man was walking sex on a plate and I’d just discovered how fucking hungry I was. “That sweater looks hot on you and all, but you know what else would look great on you?”
“Please don’t say me.” He was deadpan but his eyes – oh man those eyes of his – they were alive with humor. I wanted to take off those glasses of his and kiss the corners of his eyes as I slid one slick finger then another into him.
I leaned in closer, letting my chest rest on his arm. “What happens if I say me, Mikey?”
He shook his head, his gaze flittering around the bar until it had to come back to me. When our sight met, I felt the red-hot rush of lust spreading over me like a wild fire. He did too. I could see it. His nostrils flared, his tempting lips parted, and his pupils grew fat.
“You want me on you, Mikey?” I whispered, my lips now an inch from his ear. “Just say the word.”
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