Hooked: A Hockey Romance

by Abby Donne

  “Layla.”

  “Hmm?” She hummed, blinking her way out of her own head.

  Tyson was twisted on the seat, looking at her with his brows furrowed. “Are you ok? I asked if you wanted to get started working on our project.”

  “Fine. Sorry. I’m just tired.” She hopped off the sofa and grabbed her Macbook from the short island that doubled as her kitchen table.

  “Did you work today?”

  “Just on campus for a few hours. It was really boring, actually. I mostly helped reset passwords and worked on a bug kicking people off the server.”

  Backpack retrieved, Tyson was now taking up basically all the space on her loveseat. Her chair was more of an accent piece. Functional but not comfortable. That left her sitting on the floor or her bed. After a few seconds of debate she said fuck it and slid on her bed, lying on her stomach with her head at the foot of the bed. When Tyson looked over at her they were eye level. Close enough that she could smell his toothpaste when he laughed and booted up his laptop.

  “What?” She asked, frowning at him.

  “Nothing,” He murmured, shaking his head. He kept his eyes on his screen. “Want me to Airdrop you my notes?”

  “You have notes?”

  Shit. She hadn’t even started. The one time she googled Ernest Hemingway she made it as far as the Wikipedia page before the words blurred together. She exited out of the page promising herself she’d go back to it after a nap. She never did. It wasn’t like she had time. She worked twelve hours Friday, slept all of Saturday, then worked another ten hours Sunday because she had to cover a shift.

  “Just some. General stuff. I went over the assignment details a little more and highlighted the big things we should put in the presentation. We’re supposed to pick a few short stories and then type up a report. I got bored and stopped right about there though.”

  “Wow. I feel like a slacker.”

  “I only spent like twenty minutes working on it,” Tyson said sheepishly, looking over at her again. “This dude had an insane life. We got lucky. Heath and Pete picked Herman Melville and he was telling me its super dry shit to get through.”

  “The Moby-Dick guy?” She scrunched her nose up. That sounded about as fun as reading all the war stories Hemingway wrote.

  “The exact reason Heath lobbied so hard for him. He has the mind of a thirteen year old boy.”

  It wasn’t her business, and she definitely didn’t want to gossip but Layla couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Emma told me her and Heath have been talking.”

  He cranked an eyebrow. It was adorable. “Really? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “Right? She just told me today. Apparently they’ve been talking since the party.”

  “They looked cozy, but she left with you so I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Yeah, the party…”

  Suddenly, the air felt different. From the moment he walked into her apartment there was a thread of sexual tension underlying everything but now there was just tension. Pure tension. Layla didn’t feel threatened in the slightest, but she felt like she was on the wrong end of things. Rolling over and sitting up on her heels, she stared at him while chewing on her bottom lip. She shouldn’t have said that, but there were a million things she wanted to say. A few hundred thousand things she should’ve said, a hundred thousand more she shouldn’t have.

  Sensing the change in the room, Tyson abandoned his Macbook and turned fully to look at her. The questions that danced in his eyes were heavy. His jaw was taunt, like he was waiting for her to talk first. What was there to say, though? After that night they went on acting like nothing happened at her request. It wasn’t like anything profound passed between them that night. Nothing overly sexual or soul binding.

  She felt something that night, though. Something that scared her and excited her all at once. Something she tried her best to avoid, but now he was sitting in her apartment just a few feet away from her looking like he didn’t know if he wanted to fuck her or yell at her.

  Honestly, both seemed like a cop out.

  Layla didn’t know what she wanted and that’s what frustrated her the most. Yes, she wanted to kiss him. Yes, she wanted to forget about him. Yes, she wanted to move far far away. And yes, she was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen if she got trapped up in a relationship.

  Clearing her throat she lowered herself back on her stomach like nothing happened. She cast her eyes down, but not before she saw the disappointment in Tyson’s eyes. “Anyway, how do you want to do this? We can have a Google Doc so we aren’t taking the same notes. I like lists, so we can compile everything then break it up for the presentation. We can do the stories last and still be okay, I think. Or if you want we can do them first so we have a better understanding of his style or whatever. I only half pay attention to Jackie, but I think that’s important.”

  She was definitely rambling now, and she wasn’t a rambler.

  “Whatever you want, Layla,” He muttered, scratching his cheek. He still hadn’t picked up his computer.

  And because she couldn’t keep her big mouth shut and she was still annoyed for being horny, she poked. “It’s your project too, you know. I’m not going to do all the work.”

  “You haven’t done any of the work so far.”

  “I’m just saying,” She snapped.

  He turned back around, his arm draped over the back of the couch. “That’s the problem. You keep talking, but I don’t think you have any idea what’s coming out of your mouth.”

  There she was, back up on her haunches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly,” He puffed out a laugh. Shaking his head, he went to grab his computer. “Forget it. Let’s just work on this.”

  “No. I want to know what you meant.”

  “I said I don’t know what I meant. Forget it, Layla.”

  Poke, poke, poke. She was good at it. As much as she hated to admit it, she was getting the tiniest little thrill out of seeing his jaw clench. Tyson was always laughing. Always smiling. Pressing his buttons sent tingles down her spine.

  “How am I supposed to focus when you said something like that?”

  “How I am supposed to focus when you’re back there huffing and puffing, looking at me like you want to suck my cock?” He countered, rendering her speechless for the first time since they started their little back and forth.

  He stood and she knew she was in trouble. More than trouble. Layla was in deep shit. Because Tyson was rounding the loveseat and coming up on the side of her bed. A storm brewed in her eyes, and every rational thought went up in a cloud of smoke.

  “I’m not,” She started, but the argument fell dead on her tongue.

  She liked to think she would’ve kept going if he hadn’t kissed her, but there would be know way of putting it to the test. Tyson’s lips slanted over hers as he pulled her body towards the edge of the bed. Unprepared for the movement, she felt forward even more into his hold. The shock of the kiss wore off when he took her surprised gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. Everything rushed back to her then. The reality was Tyson was in her apartment with one hand tugging on her hair while he kissed her.

  And she was kissing him back.

  Kissing him and kissing him. There was never a doubt in her mind when she finally caved – although she didn’t think it would be this soon – that having his lips on her would be spectacular.

  A muscle in her leg spasmed from the weird position and she twitched, uncurling it without thinking. It threw her off balance and she started to tip backwards. Her other leg unfolded, nearly kicking Tyson in the groin, and she started to fall backwards on the bed dragging him with her. Her foot grazed an undoubtedly hard cock at the front of his jeans, earning a groan that made her brain go fuzzy.

  How they went from a heated kiss to her sprawled out on her back with his body cloaking hers while he sucked her face off was beyond her. Need pulsed through her body, and Layl
a’s fingers digging at his scalp didn’t feel like enough. She was white hot fire, and she ached.

  Tyson was good at reading her body, knowing exactly what she needed. He pressed into her just a little harder, bringing his cock right up against her core. He shifted his weight to one side, resting it completely on the arm that was braced above her head, and used the other to slink down her belly. Her shirt was tailored to be off the shoulder, but all the jostling had one of her tits practically spilling out. He wasn’t even focused on her breasts. He was tenderly stroking a patch of skin above the band of her jeans, a movement that seemed completely at odds with the way he was devouring the rest of her.

  It was the hottest moment of her life and they both were fully dressed.

  Breathing erratically, Tyson pulled back. She mourned the loss of his lips, his body. A few seconds after he growled and licked his lips like a feral beast before tugging her bra the rest of the way down and attaching his lips around her now free nipple she didn’t mourn a damn thing.

  Feeling needy and hot she moaned, arching in a wanton effort to get as much friction as possible. The push she got in return paired with his tongue sucking her nipple was maddening. Whimpering, she managed to get out his name. His eyes, the color of melted chocolate, met hers few things happened all at once: she realized she was totally and completely hooked on Tyson and this was probably a bad idea and her phone rang.

  The spell evaporated as soon as his distracted gaze shifted to her phone, which lay just an arm’s length away on her mattress. His jaw ticked in anger, not arousal, and she tilted her head to the side. Her view was partially obstructed until he shifted off her.

  DAN flashed in big, slanted, white letters.

  Her boss.

  Her tongue twisted as she went to say just that, not that it was any of Tyson’s business, but he was walking backwards and rubbing at his chest. Fire burned in his eyes. A few seconds passed, the call going to voicemail, and Layla was pretty sure she had the same angry heat on her face because how dare he get angry over something so stupid and trivial?

  He had no right to be angry.

  Neither did she, really, but she adjusted her top. Was there a tasteful way of sticking your tit back in your bra?

  Her phone went off again, the same name flashing. Pissed and still aroused, much to her annoyance, she answered and snapped, “Yeah?”

  “Jesus,” Dan huffed. He was in his thirties, a crazy chain smoker, and lacked a backbone. Overall he wasn’t the worst boss in existence, but she was growing to have less patience whenever he called on her ‘days off’. “What’s your problem?”

  “You’re calling me,” She said, voice flat, as she watched Tyson close his laptop and slide in into his bag.

  Again, her boss made an upset noise on the other end. “Wow. I just wanted to talk about the Red Bull delivery. It wasn’t our normal number of units. I left you notes.”

  “You called me on my day off to talk about Red Bull,” She stated. Maybe she heard him wrong. Normally she wouldn’t talk back to Dan, but she was so tired of putting up with his shit. When he got back from his vacation to Atlantic City with his bros – his words, not hers – he had the audacity to ask her if she’d be interested in picking up his shifts on Wednesday and Thursday. The two days she practically begged to get off last minute because Wade promised he’d visit. “I don’t think I get paid enough for this.”

  “Are you really going to do this over the phone right now?”

  Tyson looked less annoyed. It was okay, she could be irritated enough for the both of them. He stood with his bag a few footsteps away from her. She couldn’t lash out at him. She couldn’t lash out at Dan. She’d do her best to bottle it up and implode at a later date.

  “I’m sorry, Dan,” She breathed. Her hands clenched. She needed to invest in a stress ball. “I’ve put in the orders before. Midterms are coming up, and I thought it would be a good idea to order more. We almost ran out when you were gone.”

  “Oh.”

  She waited for something else. For him to tell her he needed her to come in because someone called off or didn’t show up at all. To ask her about their business over his long weekend gone. To go over her inventory notes.

  “I’m going to go. See you tomorrow,” Tyson muttered. He didn’t even look at her as he slipped out the door.

  “Was there something else?” Layla whispered in the phone.

  “No,” Dan finally said. It sounded like he was shuffling papers wherever he was. And because life always found a way to get the final word, he said goodbye with a simple, “Anyway. Catch you later.”

  chapter nine

  Tyson’s day might have started out as a heaping pile of shit but things were starting to look up. His morning consisted of waking up late with a steel cock after a night of persistent dreams that included Layla’s luscious tits. Say that five times fast. He managed to jerk off in record time, opting to skip making his morning protein shake and catching an earful from Heath about almost sleeping through their five am practice. Muscle memory was the only thing keeping him from making an ass of himself and he skated like shit, which meant Coach would ride him harder for their second practice later that day.

  He and Heath were late to Jackie’s class on the one day she showed up on time. Tyson spent ninety minutes next to Layla, his poor dick tenting his shorts, while she pretended like they didn’t dry hump less than twenty-four hours ago. She didn’t ignore him; she just went on like they were before, tip-toeing the line of flirting and friendly. That pissed him off more than getting interrupted by some random dude. The angrier he got as he listened, the more irritated he became with himself because it wasn’t his business. At all. When he put the pieces together and figured out she was talking to someone from work he felt like an even bigger jackass, and he shifted his anger to her. There was no reason for him to get so worked up over Layla and anything involving her, yet there he was stewing in the hallway outside her door debating going back in and fucking her until his heart stopped twisting to such a fierce beat and storming out of the building like nothing happened.

  He left and went to the gym. He didn’t leave until his body screamed in pain. Probably another reason practice that morning sucked hair balls. Needless to say, after the abuse from Coach on the ice and the blasé attitude from Layla in class Tyson spent his morning stomping around campus like a prick. He was in the middle of snapping at Nate for not picking up his dirty dishes from the living room when his phone rang.

  He almost didn’t answer it, but at the last second he caught the name. Jordan Wingham. His agent. He hadn’t heard from Jordan since the two week camp he went to in Chicago over the summer. Tyson hated the fucking Blackhawks, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to deny a chance to network and see what his competition looked like.

  “Hold the fuck on,” He grumbled out loud, forgetting whatever dumb shit Nate was saying as he stomped out of the living room. Tyson cleared his throat and answered, “Jordan. Long time no talk. What’s going on, man?”

  “Livin’ the dream. Preseason going good? I’ve been hearing some great things about your speed. Big improvement from last season.”

  As a forward playing the right wing, speed wasn’t an option. His entire game depended on how fast he was on his skates.

  “From who?”

  “I have eyes and ears everywhere. Anyway, looks like opening night is going to be a good one. Michigan Tech has this freshman, Lincoln Anderson, heard of him?”

  Tyson paced around his living room, tossing the name around in his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Kids fucking killing it. I don’t see him staying there beyond this year. Someone’s going to sweep in and take him. He slid right under my damn radar. Crazy aggressive. Glides right across the ice like some kind of figure skater. Keep an eye on him, okay?”

  The draft was a sore spot for Tyson. He couldn’t remember a time when playing in the NHL wasn’t his dream. He was such a cocky little shithead in high school, strutting ar
ound like he already had a signed contract in his back pocket. He almost didn’t go to college, but the offer he got to go straight into the AHL wasn’t what he wanted. His parents talked him into it as a fall back plan. Tyson knew he didn’t need a Plan B, but the thought of getting to develop his skill and get time with some of the guys he’d be going up against was enough to get him to accept Stanberry’s offer. It was five hundred miles from home, but Stanberry had one of the best collegiate hockey programs in the Midwest.

  When he got passed over by scouts his freshman year so he could become more seasoned it was an ‘oh shit’ moment. The kind that made him try harder on the ice and in the classroom. Two more seasons went by, and Tyson was pretty sure he was as seasoned as he would be. This was his year – his senior year, his last chance. Sure, he was a little bitter. Jordan promised him his time would come, though, and he trusted the guy.

  “I will. This is all fascinating, but why are you telling me this?” He wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. He’d just have to try harder.

  Jordan laughed. If Tyson weren’t already irritated it would’ve just rolled right off his shoulders, but he was mad and horny and tired and he just wanted to go take a nap. “Oh, come on Tyson, just giving you some advice. You should thank me for the heads up, especially since I finally managed to get Terry Wakeman off the west coast and get his happy ass to one of your games.”

  He must’ve heard that wrong.

  Terry Wakeman was a scout for the Anaheim Royals. The Royals had been Tyson’s favorite team since the first grade when he watched them win the Stanley Cup. It was his dream to play for the Royals. As much as Jordan had hyped Tyson up over the last however many years they’d been working together, he could never get Wakeman to make it out to one of Tyson’s games. Until now, apparently.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I wouldn’t joke about Wakeman, especially with you. I’m telling you Tyson, straight up, no bullshit. Keep playing like you did at United Center and you’re in this year. This is probably our only chance to make an impression on Wakeman, and it sucks that it’s so early in the season but you gotta make it one that will last. It’s not enough to just play well.”