Kane
Good. Don’t make me wait boys
Chapter Nine
Jagger
Hockey is in full swing, so between training, weights, and games, it leaves us with little free time. Our last chase feels like it happened forever ago, when in reality it was a little over a week. I often see Leila at the athletic center, and our text chat is active, but I want my cock buried inside her again.
I flop down on the couch, exhausted after tonight’s game, on the opposite end from where Riven is lying with his head in Knox’s lap. It’s all good for these two—they fuck like rabbits—but since we started messing around with Leila, I haven’t touched a single puck bunny. There might be plenty of me to go around, but having been raised by my mom and four sisters, I could never show disrespect by fucking multiple women at once.
“I need to get laid,” I announce.
Riven snorts. “If you want me to suck your cock, you only need to ask.”
“You’re not my type; your hands are too masculine.” I grin at him. “You two up for some fun?”
Riven looks at Knox, then back to me, and he nods. “Just as long as we keep the running to a minimum. My knees are wrecked from dropping into the crease all game.”
“Speaking of,” I pull out my phone and check our group chat. “She said she was at the athletic center watching the team play.”
“And?” Riven asks, though he’s already sitting up.
“And I think it’s time we paid her a visit.” I stand up and grab my keys. “You two coming or what?”
Knox groans but gets up anyway. “Fine, but this feels a lot like stalking.”
“We’re not stalking,” I say as I head toward the door. “We’re checking on her.”
Twenty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot, which is empty besides her brother’s car. The sun is setting behind the athletic center building, turning the sky to twilight. Most people will be at a party after the game, where we should probably be.
Riven adjusts his rearview mirror and puts on his mask. “What if she’s not alone? What if she’s with that friend of hers?”
“Then we improvise.” I check my phone one more time.
Her last message in the group chat was over a few hours ago. A simple “Gotta go to the athletic center” with a bored emoji.
We make our way into the building through the side entrance that’s keyed for students with late access. Usually it’s only the team, as GU is strict about who can get in after hours. Leila must have booked an after-hours gym session.
“You hear that?” Knox whispers.
We all stop and listen.
The unmistakable sound of skates carving into ice echoes through the hallway, along with music playing from speakers in the rink.
“She’s skating,” Riven says quietly. His mask is on, but the voice distorter is off. “I didn’t know she could skate.”
“Makes sense, though,” Knox points out. “Her brothers are hockey players. She probably grew up on the ice.”
We move toward the rink entrance but try to stay hidden. The rink is dimly lit, with only about half the overhead lights on. And there she is, gliding across the ice.
Leila is wearing black leggings and a fitted long-sleeved shirt, with her red hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swirls behind her as she moves. Yet it’s the way she moves that stops me in my tracks. She’s not just skating; she’s dancing on the ice.
“Fuuuuck,” Knox drawls beside me.
She’s beautiful. Not just a regular level of beauty, but the kind that makes you forget how to breathe. The way she glides backward, her arms extended, or spins with her head thrown back—completely lost in the music—is breathtaking.
“She’s good,” Riven observes quietly. “Like, really good.”
