21. Harvey

21

HARVEY

I'm thinking about her so often that by the time Monday comes around, I'm desperate for practice. I hang around the rink all day, hoping she may show up for some time to herself. Work was a drag the previous day. Every time that front door swung open, I hoped it would be her coming through them, but it never was.

She doesn't look great when I see her, though. The same shitty braid I fashioned two days prior still hangs down her shoulder. She looks out of it, sickly and lackluster. Either she's using, or this is the effect of not using. No one seems to either notice or care, though.

I do.

Scott forgives her for being slow and sloppy during practice, chalking it up to the injury and benching her for the remainder of practice. She looks pissed, and it's only slightly adorable. I take her place as jammer and get beside K-Otic, waiting for the blow of the whistle to start the jam, but Venice Witch is taking too long with her water break.

"Harvey," K says amicably before placing their mouthguard back in.

I nod my chin at them, wondering if they're going to ask about the other night. Surely they'd already talked to Nia about it.

But they say nothing, and the whistle blows. Already too used to blocking, I focus on the defensive instead of going for the win. We go a few more jams before Scott calls it quits for the night, asking the skaters to line up for their measly little royalty checks from the last jam. It's nothing, probably fifty bucks per player, but it's enough to excite the skaters. Before this, we were paying dues monthly to keep the league going. Now, we're getting paid.

I hate admitting it, but somehow, this asshole knows a little of what he's doing.

Getting rid of him isn't going to be so easy, but now, I'm not sure what my options are.

No one else here can help, and even if they could, the majority have their own very real problems to deal with. Skateland can't be all of our burden to share. I look over at Nia again.

She's a mess, falling apart.

Unraveling at the seams.

This grief devours you whole, and Nia is in the belly of the beast.

Scott hands Nia her check first, letting her skip the line, and then he passes me one as well. I don't focus on the rest of the players and what they do next. No, I zero in on the five-foot-nothing jammer skating toward the locker room.

We haven't spoken since I tucked her into bed after the hospital.

Is she going to pretend she was too out of it to remember?

In the locker room, her gear is already off and thrown in her bag, her helmet peaking out, the plastic dull and dented, like it needs to be replaced. She stands there, in front of her open locker, watching me remove my skates, but neither of us talk.

The tension is borderline fucking painful.

I want to speak, but I need to maintain some sort of control here.

She just stares, and eventually, every single piece of my gear is off and put away.

It's the longest game of chicken we've played yet, and she plays it well. I tilt my head to the side, as if to say what's next, princess?

Stepping backwards, she keeps her eyes on me until she hits the wall behind her. She gives me a single look, pulls the curtain open in one of the shower stalls, and drops her clothes to the ground. First the fishnets, then the spandex shorts, and when the shirt goes, I have to remind myself to close my jaw.

She walks into the stall and leaves the curtain open. The only skater in here is Bae, who's oblivious to us with her earpods in. The others will be in soon.

Fuck it.

I pull my practice tee off and leave it on the bench before I do the same with my gym shorts and my underwear. Then, I walk in her direction, closing the curtain behind us.

Her back is to me, her casted hand lifted out of range of the water, and she doesn't turn when she hears me join her. I wrap my fingers around her hips and pull her to me, one hand traveling north, up her side, while the other simply holds her.

She glues her spine to me, like she can't help but get closer. I pull her in even tighter, and she melts. My fingers twirling the hardened bead of her nipple while the other hand dances lower. She lets out a soft whimper just as I hear DreadPool's loudmouth enter the locker room.

"Can someone tell Scott to just shut the fuck up?" they yell like they've been holding it in all practice.

A trail of laughter follows, the rest of the skaters packing in behind them. "You were saying ‘thank you, daddy' two seconds ago when he handed you your check," Nancy calls Dread out.

I don't let the distraction take me, and I don't let it take her either, my fingers sliding through the sticky heat waiting for me. She's so wet. Even with the water washing it away, she's still soaked, her arousal dripping down her thighs.

Nia lets out a squeak when I spread her lips, sliding past her clit and pushing all the way inside, my fingers curving and hooking.

"Shh," I whisper in her ear. "Do you want them to hear you?"

Their voices drown out in the background with their normal post-scrimmage conversations and plans for the night. The loud beating of the water makes it impossible to know what anyone is saying unless they yell.

But that doesn't mean they can't hear us.

I'm moving my fingers slowly, savoring the build up this time until I have her bucking her hips with each stroke. She's moaning, and it's nearly audible. If anyone is suspicious, they don't make it known. The stalls are tall, but it would only take someone looking in the gap beneath the curtain to see both our feet.

I flip her to face me, lifting her up by her hips and pressing her against the wall. She instinctively wraps her legs around me, holding herself up. A desperate, hearty moan falls from her lips once I move my fingers inside her again.

I cover her mouth with my free hand, but within seconds, she's wiggled enough to move it out of the way, biting it. Her teeth wrap around the outside near my pinky. She doesn't make another sound, instead, she bites harder the closer she gets to her release.

I take it as a challenge. The more pain I feel, the harder I fuck her.

Her explosion is catastrophic, a tidal wave of pleasure that pulses through her so violently, I can feel it in my own soul.

Satisfaction.

It's the only high I chase.

Somehow it's become intrinsically entwined into her existence.

I pull my fingers free once I feel she's fully down from the climb, raising them past her to my own lips so I can finally get a taste.

It's everything I knew she would be.

Now, I'm twice as fucked.

Her eyes are locked on mine, and she hasn't blinked. I lean closer, a quiet hum in her ear. "Now go try to pretend I didn't just fuck you again." Letting her down, she gives me one last look before she grabs a hanging towel and slides out behind the curtain.

I look at my hand, instant gratification at seeing the blood pebbling out from the mark her teeth left on my skin.

"I thought Cat was in the shower," I hear Bae asking loud, her headphones probably still on.

"Oh—uh, I think she's showering too." Nia's voice trembles just outside the stall, and the smile curves itself on my face like it belongs.

I wash, not bothering to relieve the ache between my own legs but still savoring the taste of her on my tongue. The water pressure sucks here, but it's enough to get the sweat off and do what it needs to.

When I'm done and dried, the locker room is clear.

I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.

It's Friday night practice now, and I've seen Nia Da Silva exactly two times since the bout. Monday and Wednesday. She's making a habit of sneaking out of practice early enough to get in the shower before anyone notices, always leaving the curtain open for me to follow behind.

I make her come, she sneaks away, and by the time I'm done, she's out of sight.

Tonight is no different. She's got her teeth wrapped around my hand, her eyes lasered in on me while I fuck her with three fingers. She grips the wall, the shower caddy, anything to hold herself up as she comes undone with tonight's orgasm.

But we still don't talk.

I open the curtain, already wrapped in a towel, but I'm startled when I see StarScreamer standing on the other side, waiting.

"Just so you know, I am one hundred percent invested in this." She grins like an idiot.

"What are you talking about?" I give her a side-eye before walking back to my locker and pulling clean clothes from my bag.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we still in the pretending phase? We all assumed since you two were getting it on in the shower all week that we were good to talk about it." She shrugs, staring off into the distance to give me something like privacy while I throw on my clothes. "We're all talking about it, so I figured you'd at least want to join the conversation."

I don't answer her.

"Fine," she says dramatically, like she's the one exhausted of me. "But I'm thrilled about it. I think you're perfect for each other."

"Leave it alone, Stella," I warn her, not needing to complicate things any further by adding a peanut gallery to our situation.

They thrive on inner-team gossip, and there hasn't been a relationship in the team since Venice and Lady Yaga screwed around that one summer.

At least they can stand to be in the same room again.

Star waits for me. It's standard to not let a skater leave the rink alone at night. The walk to the car is brief, but you never know when a weirdo might be lurking. The rest of the skaters have gone, but Nia is sitting on the hood of her car, biting her thumb nail as she stares at her phone. Her hair is unbrushed, tangled, haphazardly thrown into something like a bun at the top of her head.

Because she can't put it in a braid.

"Nia!" Star chirps, her tone full of dramatic suspicion. "What are you still doing here?" She gives me a sly grin and elbows me, like she thinks this is part of some plan between Nia and me.

"My car won't start." She huffs, and though she's looking at StarScreamer, it's the first time I'm hearing her talk this week.

I'm desperate for her attention.

It's a measly little crumb, and I devour it.

"Do you need a jump?" I ask, giving myself permission to initiate since it isn't a conversation about us.

"That'd be great." She just barely glances at me, and I'm not sure if it's me or if it's StarScreamer causing this reaction from her.

"Well, I'll leave you two to each other then," Star sings as she opens the driver side of her PT cruiser.

Nia's staring at her phone again, so I flip Stella off as I walk toward the trunk of my SUV. I grab the cords and get in my driver's seat, pulling the car up beside Nia's banged up little shit.

She's off the hood now, sitting on the curb, still staring at her phone. The nervous energy vibrates offher, evident in the way she bounces her leg to self-soothe. I attach the ends of the jumper cables, and she gets in her car. We both let it charge until she's satisfied it'll run.

"Call me if you get stuck," I offer, knowing she won't.

She nods again. Nothing else said between us.

It's torture.