Is this foreplay?
Some new alpha kink about watching omegas work out?
Holy shit.
Am I in the cuck chair?
Am I doing sex work now?
Not that there is anything wrong with that, but it would be nice to consent to it.
I turn and let them do their thing, stalking across the gym to our hydration station. I really don’t need to deal with alphas and their kinks today. I pick my phone up off the charging station and idly flip through my notifications. Nothing from Beckett, not even in our group chat. I put the phone down again, or else I’ll be pulling up Google Maps so I can digitally stalk him.
I have to figure a way out of this.
“Yo, Pierce, you sparring today?” Devon’s already in the ring, taping up his hands.
The way I’m feeling right now, the last thing I should be doing is getting into a ring with a client. I pick up pads instead.
“Let’s work on your footwork. Those big, ugly feet still don’t know how to move.”
Devon chuckles, bounces on his toes, and shakes out his arms. A good twenty minutes of someone kicking me over and over will, at the very least, be distracting. I look over at Alexei and Sandra as I duck under a rope and into the ring. She’s posing and taking selfies now, having given up on all pretense of working out.
I crack my neck and settle into a defensive stance. “Let’s start with jab combinations”.
He punches. I block. It feels fucking good.
Chapter eleven
BECKETT
“Advice?Bethefirston the ice at practice, and the last off.” I hand the little notebook back to the kid. It’s hard to put on my best smile with my head pounding like this.
“Mr. Hansen, this means so much to him. He’s obsessed.” This boy’s mother grins widely at me. “All he wanted was jerseys for his seventh birthday.” She ruffles the kid’s hair and pulls him close.
“I’m honored, really.” I offer the pen back and turn into the restaurant.
The staff bustles around to get me settled at the table. If I have to suffer through this date, at least the steak will be great. Bonus points for being at the Ritz, a quick elevator ride from my room.
I squint as I slide my sunglasses off. It’s rude to wear them inside, but they do hide the black eyes. The lighting is dim enough that I don’t feel like there are icicles stabbing my brain, leaving just a dull thud. I skated for an hour or so after Julius got through with me,and the sore muscles aren’t helping the headache. I tried to nap. Every player in the league had mastered napping, but I couldn’t get my head to stop pounding.
As I blow out the little candle, I can see the couple at the next table pretend not to look at me through the thin ribbon of smoke that curls up. I love the fans, I really do. There’s no hockey without the fans. You can’t let fans down even when you feel like crap. But I’m too tired and too hungry to be gracious, and I hate faking it.
I pick at one of the scabs on my knuckles. I’d been hurt worse in fights, but I had never felt like… that. The GM sent a text earlier. I was getting a fine. Bugrov lost a tooth and there was a hairline fracture in his cheekbone. I deserve worse.
I look up just as the hostess approaches the table.
“Mr. Hansen, your dinner guest is here.” She steps aside, and I forget how to breathe.
She’s in a purple dress, simple with none of that shiny stuff to distract from the way it looks like it was sewn onto her body. Her hair’s long and glossy, catching the dim light like fireflies are tangled there. And it’s all in her face, like the girls wear it now, little wisps kissing her cheeks. It makes it so all I can see are round lips, and her eyes so green they practically sparkle. Her skin is soft and glowing like she spends her days poolside, the summer sun worshiping her.
Her lips move. They’re mesmerizing. Full and deep red, like roses. She looks over her shoulder. Her hair falls to frame her collarbone that I’m now desperate to kiss.
Her scent is sun-kissed too, peaches and something smoky.
She looks back at me with adorable creases in her brow. The soft sounds of the restaurant slowly come back as the pounding in my head melts away.
Chapter twelve
