Her voice turns bitter. It makes me wonder what happened to her while she was on the suppressants, what kind of jerks stole her smile while she was gone.
“I want a scent match,” she says, barely a whisper, knowing she’s worried about my response. “But I’m scared I’ve already matched, and I won’t know because I was suppressed. What if I already met them and missed my chance?” She gives me another nervous glance as my jaw tightens. “I know you’re going to go off about how I’m still super young and have loads of time, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about it, okay?”
She sucks in a breath and then mutters a vehement curse. She’s quick, grabbing a bottle of lotion from her bag and obsessively rubbing it on her arms and legs with smooth, efficient strokes.
It’s the distress scenting that makes me want to be there for her. She shouldn’t have had to take care of me when she was a kid, so I need to take care of her now.
I park up in the lot, getting us as close to the front entrance of the rink as possible so she doesn’t have far to walk.
“Listen, Carys,” I say as I kill the engine, turning to press my elbow on the top of my seat. “You’ll know, okay? You won’t need to wonder if you’ve matched with someone. It’ll hit you outof nowhere like a fucking freight train that’s gone off the rails. There’ll be times when you can’t even remember who you are.”
She drops the lotion into her bag, and tension eases away from her shoulders.
“You can talk to me, you know? I’m here if you need help,” I say.
She gives me a shaky smile, and I realize I’m looming over her. I have to stop doing that to the shorter people in my life. Because I don’t want Luke to look up at me, trembling as his smooth lips part and he makes the slightest noise from the back of his throat as he reaches out for me and—
I flinch as I shoot away from her, clenching my teeth.
“Are you okay?” she asks as her eyes widen. “Your scent just…”
Her throat bobs as she suddenly swallows, reaching out to help.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a twinge in my back, that's all,” I say as I bat her hand away.
She raises an eyebrow, not believing me for a second. After a beat, she rolls her eyes. “Okay, Grandpa. You can just say you don’t want to tell me. I’m only trying to help. You know, the way you said you would with me.”
“Little brat.” I scowl jokingly, and she laughs as she hops out of the car. “I mean it, though. Call me if anything happens. I’m always going to be here.”
“Yeah, I got it,” she says as she closes the door. I’m probably embarrassing her, but I don’t want her to go through any of the things I did when my ex-wife used our match to her advantage.
All the stuff I’d said to Carys, and what was I doing? Getting hard and jerking off to the taste and scent of maple syrup.
I got too caught up by it. I was so pumped up on being able to smell and taste again that I never asked where it had really come from.
Luke said it was a special seasoning he added to the oatmeal, but have I ever reacted to anything like that in my life? I was a total animal, and my words come back to me.
It’ll hit you like a fucking freight train that’s gone off the rails.
It had come out of nowhere. I never expected it. And it was so good that even thinking about it now has my cock hardening.
If I really stop to think about it, it isn’t just good old-fashioned maple syrup. Even after all these years, I can never forget it.
When I run my tongue over that last little morsel that’s stuck at the back of my teeth, I groan. Because I swear it’s the taste of slick.
Kane
Mobile phones should never have been invented. The only thing they’re good for is contacting my scent match. Everything else is just a curse.
Like the fact Ollie can easily find out how much I’ve visited the hospital because people keep recording videos of me and uploading them on their freaking socials.
I’ve been going to the hospital at random times to catch her out, while also pissing off Miles, our Head Coach, and anyone else who catches me.
The coaches put the fear of God in me, but it’s all swept away whenever Timber opens his damn lunchbox, and the scent of maple syrup wafts up from it.
It’s killing me.
Timber has her right there in his meaty paws, and he won’t tell me how. It doesn’t matter how much I dance around or annoy him, he swears he’s shared everything he knows about Luke. But that can’t be true. This Luke guy couldn’t be the only one cooking his food, or living with him, or doing whatever it is that makes a single celery stick taste like heaven.
