by Mila Gray
“Tell me! I’d been thinking about you for months. It was driving me crazy. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
I blink at her in amazement. “Months? Seriously?”
She nods. “What about you? Come on.”
“If I told you, you’d laugh.”
“I won’t.”
I inhale deeply. “I liked you for years.” Her eyes widen in both surprise and disbelief. What the hell, I may as well tell her the whole truth. . . . “Forever. I don’t even remember a time I wasn’t in love with you. There’s never been anyone else.”
Em offers me her skeptical face. “What about Lauren?” she asks.
“Yeah, okay,” I admit. “There have been girls, but nothing serious.”
“Eight months is pretty serious.”
“What about Rob? You dated him for years.”
She pulls a face, her nose wrinkling. “Don’t remind me.”
We start walking toward the exit. “Was it serious?” I ask, not wanting to know, but at the same time wondering if she ever told him that she loved him. She must have.
We’ve reached the door—the spot where we kissed all those years ago. This time it’s Em who reaches for my hand and stops me. “No,” she whispers. “It wasn’t serious.”
I drop the bag and run my fingers through her hair, pulling her toward me. Taking a deep breath, I press my forehead against hers. She takes a deep breath in too, and I feel her shiver against me.
“Not like this,” I murmur.
She shakes her head. “No, not like this.”
Em
Jake takes me back to his place. Neither of us talks in the car on the way there, but the atmosphere is so electric in the car, I think we’re both scared to move or say anything in case the air ignites. Jake doesn’t take his eyes off the road except to glance over at me once or twice, and the fire gleaming in his eyes makes my pulse leap. A warmth spreads through me at the thought of what’s coming, an anticipation like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
We pull into his driveway and climb out of the car. It’s quiet except for an owl hooting. The moon is full, and we can see the pinpricks of stars in the patches of dark sky between the treetops. Jake takes my hand and leads me in silence up the stairs to his apartment.
He fumbles with the key, and I wonder if he’s nervous, which makes me feel slightly better because I am too, but not as much as I am excited. I never once felt excited about sleeping with Rob; in fact, I used to try to put him off as much as possible. I didn’t even like him seeing me naked, but the way Jake looks at me makes it impossible to feel anything other than beautiful.
Jake shuts the door behind us and there’s an awkward pause where we both just stand there. He hustles past me. “You want something to eat? Drink?” he asks.
I shake my head. There’s only one thing I want. And it’s standing right in front of me.
“Shower?” he asks.
I pause and then nod. I could use a shower after the skating, and it’s cold inside. As if reading my mind, Jake kneels down by the wood-burning stove in the living room and strikes a match to get it going.
As soon as it starts to blaze, he gets up and walks toward me, taking me by the hand and leading me into the bathroom. He turns the shower taps on and then tugs me by the hand toward him. I let him. One thing I love about Jake is how safe I feel with him.
He pulls my sweater over my head and tosses it to the floor, then slowly unbuttons my jeans. I step back to pull them down as he watches. His gaze travels the length of my legs and then he pulls his own T-shirt off in one quick move. I can’t help myself. I move toward him and rest my hands against his chest, stroking my palms over his shoulders and down until they rest over his heart. I can feel it pounding.
His arms loop around my waist and he pulls me closer, his hands sliding up my spine to undo my bra. He discards it with a trace of impatience and pulls me closer, his mouth hot—tracing across my skin, making me shiver. He draws me even closer against him so we’re skin to skin, and an ache starts to build inside me until I’m as impatient as him.
I tear at his jeans and he takes over undoing his fly as I step out of my underwear. The next thing I know, Jake’s stepping me backward and into the shower. Hot water drenches me, and I gasp as Jake presses me against the cold tile behind. He’s against me, his hands stroking up my sides even as I pull him closer, raking my fingers through his hair, desperate to feel every inch of him against my body.
His mouth is on mine, his hands holding my arms above my head as he keeps kissing me until I’m breathless. Then he drops to his knees. I tilt my head, letting the water shower over my face, as Jake expertly finds the place that makes me moan.
He doesn’t make me come, not yet, but I get close. I pull him back so we’re face-to-face. “I want you inside me,” I tell him, breathless. “Now.”
He grins, water cascading down his body, and I let my own gaze fall the length of him, biting my lip in anticipation. He takes my hand and we climb out of the shower. I stumble on shaking legs and he catches me and wraps me in a towel, drying me off before he takes a towel himself and wraps it around his waist.
He takes me outside into the living room, where the fire has now warmed the room up enough that when Jake tugs my towel open, I don’t even shiver. Or maybe it’s his look that warms me. Either way, I stand there naked as Jake continues to stare at me.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, and a lump catches in my throat. He’s the first person who has ever told me that. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head as though marveling at a miracle.
“So are you,” I say, running my hands over his skin, watching it contract in a long shiver. I strip his towel from his waist, and he smiles at me as I throw it to the ground, but the smile disappears when I push him backward hard and he lands on the sofa. He narrows his eyes at me, but I straddle him before he can protest. “I want you to know something,” I tell him as I lean down and kiss him on the lips. “I love you. And you’re the only person I’ve ever said that to.”
He catches my hands in one of his and forces me to look at him. His other hand curls around my neck. “Same,” he whispers.
“And”—I smile, cheeks burning—“you’re the only person who’s ever made me come.”
He frowns at me as he works out what that means. “Well, then you’ve got some catching up to do,” he says, and he rolls me over onto my back and starts kissing me all over.
It’s not until I’m aching so badly for him that I’m almost in tears that Jake tosses away the condom wrapper and finally pushes inside me. He rests on his forearms and he’s as gentle as can be, but I let out a cry anyway. He stops, but I urge him on, wrapping my legs around him to pull him in deeper. He sighs against me and I can feel every muscle in his body taut as a wire, as though it’s taking a monumental effort for him to hold back.
“More,” I whisper, urging him not to hold anything back. I want him every bit as much as I can feel he wants me.
He hesitates, but when I urge him again, he moves inside me even faster, his fingers still touching me, stroking me until I think I’m going to lose total control. My fingers bite into his waist, drawing him into me, and I arch up to meet him, desperate to feel all of him. I had no idea it could ever be like this, that it could ever be this good. It’s out-of-this-world unbelievable.
“Are you close?” Jake whispers in my ear.
I nod, feeling myself about to lose control. Jake strokes me with his hand as he drives into me even harder. I can feel his whole body starting to tremble. I bite my lip and suddenly I’m coming—a long wave of pleasure that rides through my body so hard that I cry out loudly. Jake’s waited and as soon as he feels it, he comes too, collapsing down on top of me, breathing hard, his face buried in my hair.
Jake
My heart is going to burst out of my chest. I’m aware that I’m probably crushing Em, but I can’t seem to make my muscles obey any command. Em strokes her hands down my back and I sh
iver, pressing my lips against her neck and her damp hair. I’m still inside her, and I take a second to revel in the feeling.
She hasn’t moved or said anything, so, worrying that I’m crushing her, I slide my arm beneath her waist and roll her onto her side so we’re lying facing each other. I have to brush her hair out of the way so I can see her properly. She’s flushed, breathing fast, her lips bee-stung.
Her arms come around my neck and she presses against me and I breathe in deeply. That was the best sex I’ve ever had. I can’t bear the thought of her sleeping with Rob, but at least I know that they had nothing on what we have. And I can safely say the same about any girl I’ve been with. I’ve told Em that there have been a few—hockey players don’t exactly have to try very hard to get girls—but nothing serious, nothing that felt this intense or so right. No one who could ever hold a single light to Em.
Every nerve in my body feels as though it’s being stroked, and the more that Em presses against me and traces her fingertips down my torso, the more shocks I feel zapping through me. If she keeps it up, then I’m going to be ready to go again in a few minutes, but by the sly smile on her face, I’m guessing maybe that’s her plan.
“I like making you come,” I murmur.
“I like you making me come,” she answers, laughing. And there it is, that braying donkey laugh I’ve been waiting on.
I still can’t believe that Rob never made it happen for her. What was the guy thinking? Why did she stay with him so long? It doesn’t matter. She’s mine now. And I’m never letting her go.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Ready for second period.” She grins.
I smile at her use of ice hockey terminology. “Yeah,” I say, “but are you going to be ready for third period and penalties? I think there are going to be penalties. As well as overtime.”
She’s grinning so wide now that I can see all her teeth. She slips out of my arms and climbs on top of me, her thighs gripping my waist. “I hope you don’t expect to beat me, McCallister,” she says, scowling.
“Wait,” I growl at her. “We’re on the same team, Lowe.”
She bends down and kisses me on the lips. “Yeah,” she says, “you’re right. Let’s see how many goals we can score.”
Em
I find my mom in the kitchen, sitting at the table surrounded by mountains of paperwork and a calculator. She looks up, flustered, when I walk in and pushes her glasses up onto her head.
“How was last night?” she asks.
I can’t stop the grin from taking over. “Amazing,” I say.
My mom raises an eyebrow. “You stayed at Jake’s?” she asks.
Oh God, I realize she thinks I’m describing something else as amazing, which it was, but she doesn’t need to know that. “No,” I say quickly. “I’m talking about skating. Jake took me skating.”
My mom gapes at me. “Skating?”
I nod, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the milk. My thigh muscles and shoulders are killing me, but it was worth it. So worth it. “Yeah,” I say, pouring a glass. “He got us private access. We were the only ones there. It was so fun.”
My mom shakes her head, smiling. “Have you told your dad?”
“No. Not yet. Is he awake?”
She nods. I lean over her shoulder. “You doing the accounts?” I ask.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, shuffling some papers.
“How are things looking?” I ask.
She gives me a bright smile. “Better.”
I narrow my eyes at her. My mom’s a lousy liar. Out the corner of my eye, I notice a red stamp on one of the papers at the edge of the table and grab for it. My mom tries to stop me, but it’s in my hand now. I read it, my heart tumbling to a stop.
“The bank is foreclosing?” I ask, my voice trembling.
My mom snatches the letter from my hand.
“How long have you known?” I ask.
“Em,” my mom says weakly. “It’s just a warning letter. I’m going in to speak with the manager today.”
“But . . . ,” I start to argue. “I thought things were picking up. With Jake and everything . . .”
“They are, but it’s a little too late. I’m hoping to show them the new projections, though, and get them off our backs for a little while longer.”
My shoulders sag. “It’s always going to be this way, isn’t it?” I ask. “We’re never going to be in the clear. It doesn’t matter how much we bring in when we have bills like these. . . .” I grab for one of the invoices from the health-care provider.
My mom sighs heavily. “We’ll manage,” she says, but she can’t look me in the eye.
“How?” I ask, hearing the note of despair in my voice.
Just then we hear the sound of something smashing and my dad calls out from the front room. We both start for the door, but my mom takes my arm and pulls me to a stop before I can get through it. “Don’t say anything to your father, okay?” she says.
I nod.
Jake
The phone wakes me at stupid o’clock in the morning. I’m groggy when I answer it, and it takes me a few seconds to understand what the person on the other end is saying.
I sit up. “Sorry? Say that again?”
“This is Jo Furness from ESPN. Could we get a quote?”
“What?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. I glance blearily at the clock. It’s only 6:44 a.m.
“About the drug test that you failed.”
Instantly, I’m wide awake.
“What does this mean for your career, do you think? Can you tell us why your coach covered it up? Is this indicative of a bigger issue at play in college league hockey?”
With my blood turning to slush in my veins and my heart hammering a thousand beats a minute, I hang up the phone and then sit there for five minutes, just staring at it in my hand. It keeps ringing—the number unidentified. I keep declining the calls. In the end I turn it off.
Shit. How did the media find out? I get out of bed, weak-kneed, and start pacing. What does this mean? I reach for my phone again. My first instinct is to call Em, but then I remember the time. No. I need to think straight. I need to speak to my coach, find out what’s going on.
My pulse races ragged in my throat, making me feel like I’m about to throw up. It’s only now that I’m faced with losing my career that I realize how much I want it. Yes, I told Em that sometimes I’m tired of hockey and the crap that goes with it, and I know that it’s a short-lived career, but the thought of it all being pulled out from under my feet because of one stupid mistake is enough to send me into a spiraling panic.
“Sarge?” I say as soon as my coach picks up the phone.
“Who is this?” he barks. Coach Foster is an old hockey pro. He reminds everyone of a character from an old Vietnam War movie, the screaming sergeant—which is why we all call him “Sarge” rather than “Coach.”
“It’s McCallister,” I say.
“What do you want?”
“I . . . ESPN just called me.”
“What?” Sarge snaps.
“They know. About the drug test. About you covering it up.”
“Shiiiiiiit,” Sarge mutters.
I wait. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Who called you?” he suddenly demands.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. A woman. She wanted a quote.”
“Tell me you didn’t give her one,” he growls. “Tell me that.”
“I hung up.”
“Good. Keep your phone off. Give me a landline number or some other number I can call you on.”
I think for a moment and then give him the number of the store. I’m supposed to be working there in an hour.
“Does anyone know where you are?” he asks next.
“Um, my parents,” I say. “I guess maybe a few others. I don’t know.” My head is full of wool; I can’t think straight.
“Right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Sarge says, and I find myself calming down just hearing
his straightforward, no-nonsense tone. He’s got this. Everything is going to be okay. “You listening?” he barks.
“Yes,” I say.
“You’re going to not answer your phone, and you’re going to keep a low profile,” he warns. “I’m going to find out what’s going on and who the hell leaked it, then I’ll call you back.”
I swallow. “Okay,” I say. He hangs up and I sit there contemplating the shit I am. Shit I brought on myself. How can one stupid mistake count?
Because the stupid mistakes always do.
* * *
I’m first at the store. I’m covering a shift for Toby, who’s using the time off to work on the construction site at Em’s place. He’s managed to turn the project into one he can get college credit for, so it’s a win-win situation. I stand at the counter, staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring. When the door pings behind me, I jump.
“Hey,” Em says.
I turn around. She’s smiling, but her smile disappears when she sees my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, freezing on the spot.
“They found out.”
“What?” She scrunches her face in confusion.
“ESPN. The sports channel. They know about my drug test—that I failed it. A journalist called me this morning.”
Em comes toward me. “What does that mean?” she asks.
I shake my head. She leads me to the stool and sits me down. “I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear.”
“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her arms around me. I rest my head on her shoulder and try to breathe, but all I can think about is the penalty for a failed drug test. I know what it is. I’ve seen it happen before to other players. A suspension for the season, sometimes a total lifetime ban, depending on the type and scale of the drug abuse. The phone rings, jolting us apart. Em reaches for it, but I beat her to it, snatching it to my ear.
“Jake?” Sarge barks.
The fact that Sarge is using my first name makes my whole body sag. It’s got to be bad. I collapse down onto the stool.