“We’ll have to let you know. I’ve got some stuff going on here.”
My parents live in Chicago. I guess I do too. We’ve lived in that city since my dad was drafted by Chicago. The year I was born. I’m glad because I love the Windy City. My friends are all there and if I’m being honest, I kind of like my solitude. The idea of moving all over the place with a bunch of stinky guys doesn’t appeal to me in the least. Even this university was a stretch for me. The only reason I’m here is because my father played for the Badgers, and he figured if he caught the eye of the pro scouts here, so would I.
“We love you, honey.” My mom’s voice sounds so sweet compared to the loud bark of my father.
“Love you too.” And I do love her. And him. He makes it difficult, though. All he can think about is hockey and me making it to the NHL like he did. But I’m not him. I’m good but he wasgreat. Some of his impressive stats here at Wisconsin have never been matched. I’m nowhere near as good as Jack Baxter.
I get the reason he’s like this because his career was cut short. His first season, he got the starting spot when the actual starting goalie broke his foot. In Dad’s first game, he went for a puck and ended up tearing the hell out of his knee. Dad didn’t let it stop him. After several surgeries, physical therapy, the doctors determined playing was no longer an option. So, he took some of his NHL money and found a niche in Chicago’s real estate market. His name alone brought him clients, but his tenacity and smarts made his company what it is today—the largest commercial and residential real estate company in the city. Hell, in the state. To say he’s successful is an understatement.
After the call is over, I realize I’m still sitting in my car in the driveway. Pushing open the door, I grab my shit and head inside to an empty house. Cody must be out and about. Mark, our other roommate, spends most of his time at his girlfriend’s place so that’s nice. Not that he’s an issue. He took the basement bedroom. There’s a small kitchenette down there and a living room. Not to mention he’s got his own entrance. If it weren’t a little bit humid down there, I’d have taken the spot, but he likes it, so it worked out that he’s got the basement, and Cody and I’ve got the rest of the place.
Dropping my backpack, I head into the kitchen in search of food. One thing about being an athlete, we’re always hungry. For real, 24/7 my stomach growls. I grab yesterday’s takeout container and pop open the Styrofoam lid. “Asshole.” I look down at a limp piece of lettuce and three hard fries. Cody ate my leftovers. “Fucker,” I mutter again. He always eats my shit.
Tossing the white box into the trash, I reach into the freezer for a pizza. While the oven’s heating, I make my way into my bedroom. I need a shower, then I need to eat. After that, homework. Stripping out of my clothes, I drop everything into the hamper and walk naked into the kitchen so I can slide the frozen pizza into the oven. Back in the bathroom, I get the water temp the way I like it—hot—and step beneath the spray. That’s when my mind turns to Emma and our little interlude in the library. The memory of it makes my dick hard again. My God, the woman can kiss. Sure, she’s shy and my guess is she’s a little inexperienced, but she’s so naturally sweet and sexy at the same time.
Reaching down, I take my hard cock in hand and imagine what it’d be like to be inside Emma Perkins. “Snug.” I growl as I pump my dick. God, the thought her small hand doing the work for me makes me throw my head back and come in record time.
