Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(67)

Keisky gets off a pass to me, and there’s nothing but an empty net in front of me.

I shoot, and for a split second, I think I’ve totally missed, but then the puck clips the side bar and ricochets into the goal.

Thank fuck.

Relief surges through me so fast, I barely notice when my team slams into me. Someone knocks my helmet, and gloves are patting my back, but I break away from them and head for Tripp.

He’s grinning and holds up his mitt for a high five that I gladly accept.

“Feel good?” he asks.

“It’d feel better if it was on purpose.”

“Why? None of your goals are ever on purpose.”

I shove him, but we barely make it past the next face-off when the buzzer sounds.

“Shit, yes,” I shout when the score of 2-1 flashes on the screen.

It was one of the hardest games I’ve played in a long time, and it was so far from perfect we’re going to have to work hard to pull it off again, but for now, the win feels incredible.

It’s the injection of hope the team needs.

The relief is obvious with us all.

Except Fensby.

The vein in the middle of his forehead is standing out against his reddened face, but even his bad attitude can’t bring me down.

I ignore him and join the rest of the team, ready for a long-overdue celebration.

After pressers and showers, on our way out of the arena, Tripp leans into me. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You have to kiss my helmet before every game.”

“If it helps us win, I’ll suck your dick if I have to.”

Tripp laces his fingers with mine. “Nah, that you can do for fun. Whenever you like. Whenever you’re thinking about doing it. Just go for it. I won’t stop you.”

I really don’t think he means every single time I think about it, because honestly, I think about it a lot. At the most inopportune times too. I don’t see him saving a lot of goals if his cock is in my mouth during a game.

Shit. Maybe that’s our problem on the ice. I’m too distracted thinking about my husband’s cock to hockey properly.

Right. Okay. Time to switch my brain off when it comes to playing. It should be easy. I’ve had plenty of practice not using my head.

Our game turns around right now.





Twenty-Eight





TRIPP





Our game doesn’t turn around completely, but it also doesn’t flatline again. We have to fight tooth and nail for every single win, but our losses aren’t a complete slaughter.

After a packed week on the road to play Minnesota, Buffalo, Philly, Pittsburgh, and DC, we’re finally home and have home games for the next two weeks.

We’re barely into the season, and I’m already exhausted.

Last year, time flew so fast. Winning nearly every game does that though. It’s still too early to tell, but I’m worried about our chances of even making the playoffs this season.

The schedule is always so busy with back-to-back games, road trips, and constant training that for the last three nights away, Dex and I haven’t even wanted to make each other come, and when we got home last night, we went straight to bed and slept through until our alarms went off to tell us to get to the practice rink.

I don’t have any insecurity about the lack of sex, because I’ve been more than happy to climb into bed next to him and fall asleep like we always did as friends.

That part of our relationship hasn’t changed, and there’s something promising in that. It gives me hope that when the year is up, we can go back to how it was between us. Maybe.

I will always love Dex and always want more from him, but it’s not like I can force him to stay married to me. I can’t chain him to my bed and not let him leave.

Although the image of Dex tied to my bed does have its appeal.

When we get home from this morning’s practice skate, we drop our gear bags at the door, and Dex stalks toward the couch, but I chase after him and wrap my arm around his waist before he can throw himself down on it and stay there for the rest of the day.

“Let’s go to bed,” I murmur in his ear.

“And I’m suddenly not so exhausted.”

We don’t even bother undressing before collapsing on my bed.

We lie side by side, our legs intertwined, our mouths tasting and nipping at each other playfully.

While our hands wander, it’s gentle and exploring. There’s no need to hurry this up. It’s only been a few days since we were intimate, but the need to cherish Dex is more powerful than the need to maul him just to get off.

I roll us over so I’m on top, my hardening cock grinding against him. He tries to lift his hips, but I’m in a torturous mood where I’m going to draw out every moan. I’m going to take my time and—

My phone starts ringing.

“Noooo,” Dex complains.

“I’m turning it off.” By the time I wrestle it out of my pocket, the call’s gone to voicemail, but then Dex’s starts. I climb off him so he can get his phone.

“That can’t be good,” I say as I see the team PR number on my missed calls list. “Is that Graham?”

“Yep.” Dex hits Answer. “Hey, you’re on speaker.”