I scoff, yet I still press my body closer into him. “Don’t let it get to your head, Callahan.”
The music just outside the door carries into the room but Lucas and I remain still, our breathing slowly beginning to match one another. Voices from passersby have me opening my eyes and actually looking around the bedroom, not caring to do so when I ushered Lucas in and locked the door.
The walls are covered in Top Gun posters and the shelves are neatly lined with figures of half-dressed anime girls. There’s also a pink bong sitting carelessly on the windowsill.
I snort. “Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
The tip of my finger mindlessly runs along his jawline. “Whose room is this?”
I watch him open his eyes and slowly take in the room like I did until he’s looking back at me. “No fucking clue.”
We both burst into a fit of laughter before clumsily getting dressed before someone can bang on the door and yell at us for having sex in their bedroom.
Seven
Lucas
Holy shit.
Denise Stryker actually gave me the time of day.
I must be hallucinating.
Or maybe the drink Moose gave me did actually have alcohol in it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.
But the ache in my thighs and the tingling sensation of wherever her lips had been lead me to believe that maybe I’m not imagining things and what I thought was impossible actually just happened less than an hour ago.
I’ve imagined a moment with her for what feels like forever. Her kissing me. Or letting me touch her. And I have my fair share of fantasies that I save for times when my dick is too hard and all I can think about is how Denise’s name would taste on my lips as I come.
But tonight was so much better than some fantasy I play out in my head with my dick in my hand.
The ceiling in my room is spinning and not because of alcohol.
I can unfortunately hear Preston and Grace just down the hallway in the other room—well okay, I can hear Grace’s string of moans as if Preston’s performance is the best she’s ever had.
And usually, I’d pound on the door and tell them to keep it down but that’s all background noise to the memory of Denise moaning my name. The way she tasted so sweet. Her warm, smooth skin beneath my palms.
From the day I met her—six months and five days ago to be exact—I’ve tried to picture that very moment she’d ever give me the time of day.
She and Amiyah came walking into the ice rink on a random Tuesday evening practice. I knew Coach had daughters. I heard him and Joshey talk about them in passing a few times before then. And I’ve seen Amiyah around campus, even witnessed Denise at a couple parties once she arrived at Kingswell.
I thought then she was beautiful, which was further confirmed when I got a closer look. And then she opened her mouth.
“Can I fucking help you?”
The words weren’t even directed toward me but to our forward defenseman, Cash.
Coach had just finished giving everyone the speech about how his daughters were off limits and purely there to watch. Told us to pretend they didn’t exist and if we didn’t, we’d be benched for the season.
Of course, Cash took that as a dare and he went straight in for the Stryker sisters but as he skated closer, toward the seats in the stands they were sitting at, I guess something he overheard them saying had caught him off guard because he didn’t end up saying anything.
He just stared.
Amiyah, who had been talking animatedly, stopped and Denise, who had been sitting there listening to every word, despite the look on her face that said she wanted to be anywhere but there, looked up at Cash. Her arms crossed. Strawberry tinted lips pulled into a scowl.
Cash stumbled over his words. Coach called him out. And we all teased him for it.