"Oh, I know you won. I watched."
I grin, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "Oh, you did?"
"Yep. First game I've ever watched. I'm no longer a hockey virgin." There's rustling on his end, like he's moving around. "Leila invited me over. She said I needed to understand the sport if I'm going to keep hanging around you idiots."
Something warm settles in my chest. "And? Did you understand it?"
"Fuck no. There's a lot of rules. And violence.So much violence." He pauses. "But Leila explained some stuff. Like that thing in the second period where you absolutely demolished that guy into the boards? She actually clapped."
I laugh, my mind drifting back to the rink. The Seattle forward had been running his mouth at Petrov all game, getting increasingly creative with his insults. "He was trash-talking Petrov."
"So you decided to rearrange his skeletal system?"
"It's called protecting your teammate."
"I call it assault."
"That's hockey."
Devon's quiet for a second, and when he speaks again, his voice has somehow gone softer and rougher at the same time. "Actually, you know what? Fuck the game."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, the goal was great. Very impressive. Game-winning heroics and all that." He pauses, and I can practically hear his grin. "But do you have any idea howhotyou look on the ice?"
And now I'm grinning. "Do I now?"
"It's such a weird feeling, watching you on TV. Seeing you do all that athletic shit, knowing that I've had your dick in my mouth."
Heat floods through me, blood rushing south so fast I get lightheaded. "Devon."
He continues. "It felt like having a dirty little secret. Like I knew something nobody else did." His voice has gone even lower now. "Made me feel special."
"You are special." The words come out of me automatically. "So, good or bad?"
"What?"
"The feeling. Of watching me on TV. Good weird or bad weird?"
"Oh." He laughs, and there's something dark in it. "Awesome weird. The best kind of weird. Made me horny as fuck, if I'm being honest."
My jeans are suddenly extremely uncomfortable. I shift on the bed, trying to adjust, and my cock throbs in protest. "Fuck. You can't just—you can't say shit like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because I'm in Seattle. In a hotel room.Alone."
"So?"
"So, you can't just turn me on when you're not around to take care of it."
"Oh, but I can." His voice is pure sin now, dripping with suggestion. "You underestimate me, Mr. Jackson."
My mouth goes dry. "What are you—"
"Hold on."
There's rustling, some fumbling sounds, and then my phone vibrates with a video call request.
