She uncrosses her arms with a roll of her eyes and steps closer to the stick, gaze flicking over the shaft.
“Why this one?” she asks. “You’ve got, what, a graveyard’s worth of sticks in the garage. Why is this one on the wall?”
I push off the frame and walk in. From here I can see her, the stick, and a slice of blue ocean through the glass behind her.
“That’s the first stick I played with in the League,” I say, pointing to it. “First game after I got drafted. The equipment guy wanted to toss it in with the rotation. I told him I’d give him a grand if he let me keep it.”
“You did not.” Her head snaps toward me, amused.
“I did. I gave him the money, and he gave me the stick. Turns out you don’t need to pay for tokens like that, you can just ask. But I was young, didn’t know you could just get things without having to bribe everyone.”
She shakes her head, smiling, and looks back at it. “So it’s a… what. Souvenir?”
“Marker,” I correct. “Line in the sand.”
“Just like this house,” she suggests.
“Just like the house,” I confirm with a nod. I look at the stick and let my brain touch the memory.
“That first game?” I smile. “That was the first time I stepped on the ice and thought, ‘This is my life now. Mine. They can’t take it back.’ Same withthis place.”
She looks between the ocean, the stick, and me. Something playful flickers across her face, then she reaches up. I automatically straighten a little as her fingers close around it.
She lifts it off the hooks and looks back at me with mischief. It’s a two-hander for someone her size, but she flips it easily, testing the weight, visibly surprised by how light it is.
“What are you doing?”
She ignores me and twirls the shaft once. It’s not graceful, exactly, but there’s a smoothness to it.
“You’re gonna chip the blade on the floor.”
“Relax, Captain. I’m not going to hurt your precious freedom stick.” She laughs and pivots to face me fully.
She plants the butt end on the floor, leans lightly into it, and the motion pulls that sheer dress tight over her body.
“That’s not how you hold it,” I tease, unable to stop my smile.
“Mmm.” She tilts her head, eyes dragging slowly over me, from my bare chest down to my board shortsand back up. “Maybe you should come over here and show me.”
The way she says it sends a hot line of want straight down my spine.
I don’t move. I want to see what she does next.
“Fine,” she sighs dramatically. “Have it your way.”
She shifts her hands, sliding one higher on the shaft, one lower. The motion forces her to step wider for balance, bare feet braced on the hardwood. The sheer fabric of her dress slips up her thighs.
Then she starts to move to the low beat of the music from outside. A slow drag of the stick along her body as she turns it vertical, the blade skimming up the outside of her calf, past her knee, pausing at the curve of her hip. Her fingers trace the tape, eyes never leaving mine.
She slides her hand down, following the stick as she lowers it again, the movement pulling the dress higher, the outline of her ass clearer against the light. My cock twitches in my shorts.
She lifts the stick, shifts her grip, one hand higher on the shaft, one lower. Then she starts walking toward me slowly. The blade taps my chest and she pushes. It’s not hard, but it’s firm and insistent. She uses the stick like a lever, guiding me back step by step.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though my legs are already moving, letting her steer.
“You’ll see,” she says.
Another nudge. My calves hit the armchair behind me. I drop into it, more because she clearly wants me sitting than because I chose to.
