3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hayden

I enter the changing rooms, wincing a little as I kick a stray sneaker out of the way. Club Guy fucked my brains out last night. I don’t remember exactly what happened after he woke me up for a second round of sex, but I must’ve passed out, because I came by on the dingy couch in my apartment.

He must’ve taken me home then. None of my belongings were missing—not that he’d bother to steal anything when it looked like he’s not short on money—and my driver’s license was on the low table. My address is on that, so it explains how he knew where I live… which reminds me that I don’t really know where he lives, because all those high-end neighborhoods are built like fucking mazes.

Veering to the left, I trudge over to my locker. I mean, it doesn’t matter where he lives anyway. I don’t do repeats, period. Normally that is, because I also have never had such mind-blowing sex before.

Frowning, I squeeze the handle. What the fuck do I do with that?

“Johnson, you’re gonna join us for practice or stare at your locker like it’s Mona Lisa?” Anthony Park grumbles like a tractor in his deep and hoarse voice, appearing from the second aisle with lockers. He’s already suited up and two of the reserves are with him, giggling like gossiping aunties at his very unfunny and sad excuse for a joke.

Me and that redhead don’t mesh well. I’m not sure why, but there’s always been tension between us. We are both first line—I’m left wing, and he’s right, while Nick is center—and we can play well enough most of the time. Aside from yesterday, which is part of the reason Coach had a go at me. If that ass Park knew when to keep his mouth shut, I would have an easier time focusing on the game.

“Hilarious, Park. You should go be a curator. Who knows, maybe you’ll be better at it than hockey,” I toss back, flipping him over when he gives me the middle finger.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll give you free entry since that’s the only way you’re ever affording a gallery.”

Ouch, what a complete asshole. It’s not my fault my parents died in a stupid car crash and left me with nothing. I lived with my crappy uncle until I turned eighteen, but I’ve been on my own ever since. I have to say I’m doing fairly well considering my tightly packed schedule.

The scholarship I landed helps a lot since it takes care of the tuition fees, but rent, food and anything else, I have to cover with the meager earnings from my job at the parcel depot. Still, I’m not complaining. Hard work has never deterred me. I just wish it would start paying off soon so I can begin my life of riches and fame as one of the NHL’s all-time star hockey players.

I shuck off my hoodie and shorts, donning my practice gear. My skates are at the bottom of the locker, so retrieving them is a wince-worthy effort that I fail to contain. Aside from my ass, my hips are also a little sore, reminding me just how thoroughly Club Guy fucked me last night.

Here you are thinking about the hookup again, Hayden, when you should be rushing out to the rink, so Coach doesn’t tell you off for being late.

“Uh-oh, that didn’t sound good. Too much fun last night, Hayden?” Nick smacks me on the ass, laughing.

I startle and whip my head back, almost head-butting him in the chin. Fortunately, his reflexes are quick enough to spare us both the unpleasant experience.

“Jesus, dude. You know I hate people sneaking up on me,” I complain, stifling another groan as I adjust my skates and grab my helmet. Then I follow him out of the changing room.

“Is that why you disappeared off with that guy last night? ‘Coz you just hated how he ambushed you on the stairs and had to make him regret it?” he snorts, fisting his hands and humping the air.

I can’t help the grin. “You saw that?”

He pushes open the rink gate. “Yep. My heart legit did a freaking space launch. I thought you were gonna fly over the railing with the way the dude made you jump.”

I was shocked because even though I was alert, I didn’t sense Club Guy until he had me trapped. But that’s also part of what’s making it kind of hard to forget my pleasant encounter with him.

“Was distracted and he scared me,” I confess. We make it over to the bench and put our water bottles down, then make sure our helmets are secured.

“Clearly not enough to turn him down. So how was he?” Nick hums, blowing a loose blond lock that’s stuck to his cheek. He wears his hair longer than mine, the tips grazing his shoulders. “Please tell me he was at least a six. You deserve it after the shitty day you had.”

A six? Yeah, nah, try a sixty. Wherein lies the fucking problem. Like seriously, how am I supposed to get over a one-night stand when it scored a hundred out of ten across the board? And that’s not even counting the whole Daddy thing my stupid brain decided to try, or the fact that the dude seemed kind of into it.

I school the goofy grin that’s threatening to break out into a somber expression and give my friend a hard, stern look. His lips curl, eyebrows slanting downward in sympathy as he squeezes my arm reassuringly.

“He was a - fucking - mazing . Best sex I’ve ever had,” I tell him, snorting at the end as his expression transforms from worry to friendly irritation.

He scoffs, shaking his head and swatting my thigh. “Smartass. And here I was genuinely worried that his nice-looking ass couldn’t even get you off.”

I stretch my elbow. Do I tell Nick I’m the one that got railed, or do I uphold my toppy top image? Considering I’m never seeing Club Guy again, I suppose I can omit the fact that I had my slutty bottom awakening last night.

Reminding myself of that brings out shivers of desire that concentrate in my core. My hole clenches, and my dick gives a twitch. Fuck. I’m sort of getting horny now and practice hasn’t even started yet. I’m also a bit worried, but not like worried worried. It’s just that it was my first time taking dick last night and I can’t stop thinking about it. The tension, the stretch, the slight burn that came with that addictive sensation of fullness… The way I was at the mercy of another man for once.

“Yo, Hayden. You OK, dude?” Nick calls out, pausing a few strides ahead of me on the ice. “Get your head in the game, yeah? Coach still looks like he’s out for blood. Don’t give him another chance to use you for his outlet.”

I slide the shield down and take a deep breath. Nick is right. I need to focus, not daydream. My dick can wait for its turn.

“Coming!” I shout and head toward the blue lines.

“You sure you can do that, Johnson?” Park yells, making a jerking off motion with his hand. “Or should I give you a free lesson?”

I veer sharply to the right and beeline toward that asshole, mind reeling as I squeeze my stick so I don’t throw it at him. “What’s your fucking problem, man? You didn’t get any and woke up with your dick in your ass or something?”

His nostrils flare and he pushes past his buddies, glaring daggers at me as he rushes right for me.

“ENOUGH!”

We both freeze, snapping our heads to the left. Coach is standing by the bench, his bulging arms crossed over his chest. A massive scowl graces his rugged face.

“Either stop this nonsense, or I am benching you both. We’ve got plenty of others who’d love to take your spots in the showcase game.”

I glare at Park, but spin around and return to my position. Practice begins and goes well until we change sides, at which point Coach steps out for a few minutes to take a phone call. Things kind of go sideways before I even realize it. One second I have hold of the puck, and in the next, Park collides with me, snatching it with his stick and ruining the shot I was lining up. He gets lucky and scores, but it should’ve been me. I had it all set up until that asshole decided he didn’t care we are on the same team if it means stealing the spotlight.

“The fuck was this, Park?!” I shove my shoulder into his, panting and trying not to punch him. I’m squeezing the stick so hard I can feel it digging into my flesh even with the gloves on.

“Don’t be so fucking slow next time, eh, Johnson? The fans like action, not foreplay,” he says, humping his stick. “Oh wait. I forgot you can’t even get laid. My bad, buddy. But if you go sit on the bench and give up your first line position, I’ll buy you a whore.”

My ears hiss, hot waves spiraling down from my head. I’m going to explode from how much my body is vibrating with the need to hit him. Or kill him.

I shove into him again, causing him to slide backwards on the ice from the force of it. “Unlike you, loser, I don’t need to buy my fucks. Or pretend I don’t like dick.”

His eyes go wide, rage burning in them. Yeah, buddy . I’ve seen how you ogle the guys’ assess. You can pretend all you want, and you might be able to fool everyone else, but I know you aren’t as straight as you make yourself come across.

“The fuck you said, Johnson, huh? Not everyone is a bitch that likes to take it up the ass like you.”

It stings how accurate that accusation is after last night. Club Guy’s thick cock is all I’ve been thinking about this morning. I just can’t get it out of my fucking mind. The way it moved inside me, the pressure and burn of the stretch. My body is addicted and there is no rational explanation for it other than me liking it. Some hidden preference got triggered and now that I’ve tasted it, there is no turning back.

“Oh shit! You do, don’t you?” Park snorts, a shadow of something crossing his punchable freckled face. “Listen up, guys! Our left wing likes to take co—”

I send my fist under his chin. It makes a nasty thwack sound upon contact. His head tilts back, and he stumbles from the force of my hit, barely keeping his balance on the ice. I don’t give him the chance to recuperate. I’m onto him, punching and hitting whatever part I can get to. I know he is some billionaire’s spoiled rich brat, which only makes my blood boil and my heart hammer faster in my chest.

I hate privileged assholes like him. Just because your mommy or daddy or grandparents lucked out on money and brought you up without a care in the world doesn’t mean you own it. And Park… He’s one of the worst and needs to be brought down from his high horse, so I might as well do that, right? I’m doing society a favor.

A hook gets me in the flank. Grunting, I twist to the side, punching him in the stomach. He groans, baring his teeth at me.

“You are dead, Johnson, you hear me!”

A well-timed knee surprises me, but I gather myself quickly enough to avoid a jab to the nose. It gets the side of my jaw instead, making my teeth clatter, but at least I won’t be dealing with a broken nose. One of the others who have now surrounded us shouts for us to stop, but neither I nor Park are in any state to do that, so there isn’t an actual attempt to get us off each other. The guys know better than to get between two players having a scuffle.

I get Park in the side of the neck. He sways and I’m just about to knock him out when a scream to stop splits the air.

“Johnson! Park!” the coach yells, his voice icier than the rink. “Cut it out!”

I freeze. Park freezes, too. At least for a moment. Then he drops to the ground like a bag of potatoes and curls into a ball, whimpering and panting and playing the victim.

I blink at him, my brain not braining.

He did not .

Coach rushes over to us, giving me a nasty side-eye as he crouches down to check on Park. “Park, can you stand?”

The redhead moans in reply, overplaying it. “I don’t know. Johnson got me in the face. I think my nose might be busted.”

I roll my eyes. Is he seriously doing this? Throwing me under the bus like this? I did hit him in the face, but his nose is fine. At most, he has a chipped tooth or something.

“Let me have a look.” Coach sighs, helping Park into a sitting position. He inspects the asshole’s face for a tense minute, exhaling in relief. “It’s not broken, but your chin is bruising. Go put something on it. You are sitting the rest of practice out on the bench.”

“Yes, Coach.”

With the help of his two cronies, Park leaves the rink, disappearing down the hall leading to the changing room.

“Johnson. In my office,” Coach grates, annoyance contorting his features.

“Coach! He was say—”

“In. My. Office.”

Balling my hands into fists, I storm out. I catch Nick’s concerned glance, but there is nothing I can do. I messed up getting caught pummeling the spoiled rich brat, and even though it was a mutual effort, because of who he is and who I am, I am the only one that’s going to get burned.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what I needed.

“Sit,” Coach tells me in his authoritative voice. “How many times have I told you two not to fight?”

His raised tone makes me want to find a hole in the ground and hide there. I am not the most adept when it comes to reeling certain emotions in, but he has to know I wouldn’t have hit Park for no reason.

“His big mouth started it. I asked him, nicely, to shut up but he wouldn’t.”

“I don’t care. I thought I was clear last time.” He paces over to the window that overlooks the rink, rubbing his forehead. “It was only yesterday. Jesus Christ! You need to get your shit together or sitting out the next game will be the last of your concerns.”

I gape at his back, my blood thrumming wild as I shoot up from the old, squeaky chair. “No way! You can’t bench me! You know there will be scouts at the charity showcase! I need this, Coach!”

He turns around, his expression stern. “And I warned you. You are suspended from official play until I decide otherwise. You will still come to practice, but unless I see improvement, you’ll be warming up the bench.”

“I’m not the only one at fault here! You know how Park is!”

Coach’s eyebrows slant even further down, his lips curling in distaste. “I know neither of you is innocent. But you are in no position to be going around throwing punches at every spoiled brat who doesn’t know to keep their trap shut.”

“So you fucking agree then! Why am I the only one getting shit for this?”

“Because your parents are not one of the college’s official benefactors. You know how these things go, Johnson. C’mon, work with me for once. You’ve got potential. It would be a damn shame to waste it because you have a bad temper.”

Man, I’m really having the worst week since that time my credit card details got stolen and the bank didn’t lock it even after I reported it.

Coach circles back to his cluttered desk, stowing away a few folders as he lowers himself to the leather chair. This one is of the creaky type as well, but it seems to be holding up a little better.

“Go home and cool off. I want you on top of your game and behaving from tomorrow. If I see improvement, I’ll reconsider letting you play.”

Biting down a protest, I dip my head and stare at the worn floor tiles. Amazing. Just what I needed. Park is getting a pat on the shoulder, while I’m in real danger of ruining my chances of landing a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Not to mention the entry draft. How the fuck am I supposed to make it, if I’m not on the ice getting noticed?

“Fine,” I grind out. All I want is to lash out and scream how unfair this shitty world is, but it will do me no good.

I drew the short end of the stick and in situations like this, all that I can do is bend over and let life fuck me with its unlubed monster dick.