Faking It with the Forward: Wittmore U Hockey

Rolling over, I wake up with a wince at the sharp throbbing between my legs. I want to say it’s just biology—morning wood—but it’s been like this since I left the bar with Twyler the night before.

Rubbing one off in the shower did nothing to abate it.

It’s not like it’s a challenge to get me hard. I get a semi every time I see a hot girl on campus. Sometimes even if they’re not hot. But being close to Twyler all night? Fuck, we passed semi after she licked that shitty beer off her lips and moved onto full-on boner. I haven’t been able to get her off of my mind since–or if I’m being honest–longer than that.

I flop on my back and let my cock breathe, tenting under the sheet.

Sunshine really doesn’t get how cute she is, even with Axel panting on her like a dog. After months of being surrounded by chicks wearing little to nothing, there’s something refreshing about her more modest outfits. That little strip of skin between her shirt and jeans? Wondering how big her tits actually are? Fucking tantalizing.

Axel noticed it for sure.

The instant I realized she was talking to him; something came over me. I muscled my way through the crowd at the bar, not giving a shit who I bumped into on the way. She had that bitchy-amused look on her face as he bent down to speak in her ear, a cocky grin tugging at his mouth.

Nope.

Fuck no.

That’s all I thought as I slung my arm around her shoulder and marked my territory without crossing any of her boundaries. A fucking kiss on the forehead and I’m over here humping the mattress like an animal.

Fumbling under my shorts, I release my cock and give it a long stroke. I hadn’t thought this part through when I made the arrangement. No hook-ups with other girls and no hooking up with the one I’m pretending to date. My dick is going to get real familiar with my right hand. It’ll be like high school all over again.

I shut my eyes and go through the playbook. Puck bunnies, porn, the underwear models that have supplied my spank bank for years. My brain latches onto one familiar scenario, and I pump my dick to the image of Scarlett Johansen dressed like the Black Widow on her knees, her big eyes looking up at me as she begs for my cock. Her lips make a perfect circle—the perfect place to bury myself. Except when I look down again, her fair hair turns dark, the length long and hanging over her shoulders. Then those eyes, dammit. Ice blue.

Yep, my fantasy just slipped right back into what I was trying to avoid.

Twyler Perkins.

I’m too far gone to pull the plug on this so, I lean into the fantasy, guiding my hand up and down my cock with long strokes. Watching the tip as it slides across that puffy bottom lip. My balls pinch and my breath grows heavy—

Bang bang!

“Yo, Cap!” Jefferson calls.

“Yeah?” I muster, shuddering through a tight breath.

“Breakfast in ten.”

“Got it. Be right out.”

The image of Twyler vanishes, replaced by Nadia’s accusatory glare. She’d given me more than a warning last night.

“Twyler’s not like most girls.” There was an underlying tone—hostility if I had to guess.

“Obviously you want to say something to me.” I lifted my chin. “I’m all ears.”

“Twyler is special.”

“Okay.”

“She’s been through a lot with some super shitty men in her life and the good men…well,” she swallowed, “she can’t rely on that either. She doesn’t need games, Reese. She needs kindness and stability and someone willing to help her work through her vulnerabilities and if you’re not here to be that for her, stop whatever the fuck this is before she gets hurt.”

There was a fierceness in Nadia’s eyes that made my balls shrink up a little. Twyler told me that the one thing about Nadia that she could count on was her loyalty. After last night, I don’t doubt it.

“Look,” I said, holding her eye. “You’re right. She’s different and in a good way—a great way. I like her. She’s funny and quirky and…” A fucking great kisser. “She surprises me, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been around a woman that does that.”

Across the bar Twyler had emerged from the back hallway, and I’d quickly looked back across the table. “I’m not going to hurt her, but if I do, you have free rein to kick my ass.”

Nadia thrust her hand across the table. “Deal.”

We’d shaken on it. And here I am, hours later, with my dick in my hand, exploiting her friend in my depraved masturbatory fantasies.

For the second time.

Jesus, I think, dropping my dick and feeling my balls deflate. I’m a fucking asshole.

I don’t see her again until I’m in the gym that afternoon, getting in a pre-practice workout.

She’s back in her trainer uniform—although the gym is hot, and she’s ditched the hoodie for a Wittmore Hockey T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

The workout room isn’t crowded. Practice doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, but I felt the need to work off a little energy. The other guys in the room must feel the same way, either that, or they’re here for a prearranged meeting with Coach Green or Twyler.

Lifting a set of free weights, I discreetly watch her work with Hartman on the mat as he stretches out his calves. “That’s right,” she says, kneeling in front of him. A flash of my fantasy comes barreling back. “Spend a little time doing each of these exercises before and after practice and I think it’ll reduce the tightness.”

Hartman’s eyes are glued just below her chin, directly at her tits.

Hell no.

I rack the weights with a loud clank, and cut across the room.

Coach Green steps out of the office and looks up from his clipboard. “You need something?”

I blink, knowing I need to say something. “Oh, yeah, I’m feeling a little tight after that last practice. I thought maybe a stretch could help?”

“Perkins,” he says without looking up, “when you finish with Hartman, Cain needs some attention.”

Her gaze shifts over, but she keeps her expression neutral. “Sure. We’re almost finished.”

I grab some water and wait, feeling stupid. Feeling territorial. We’d made a firm agreement not to let this interfere with her work, yet here I am, interfering.

“Thanks, TG,” Hartman says, obviously catching on to Axel’s nickname. He grins at me. “Hey, Cap, having a problem?”

“Nothing a little stretch can’t fix.” He looks over at Twyler again and irrational annoyance licks up my spine. “Why don’t you get a head start on the ice,” I tell him, arms crossed over my chest. “Work on wrist shots before everyone gets out there.”

He nods, looking a little guilty. Wrist shots are a weak spot for Hartman, and I just called him out on it.

“Good idea.”

He exits, hustling to the locker room. I face Twyler and she grabs a file out of the slot on the wall and opens it. I see my name on the tab. Reese Cain.

“What’s going on?” she asks, a hundred percent professional.

“Um, my uh,” I think back to what Reid said about Twyler being great at massaging his hamstrings. “My hamstrings. They’ve been really tight lately.”

She frowns. “You’ve been stretching?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, well,” she jots something down in the file and then points to the mat. “Why don’t you get on the floor and I’ll take a look.”

“Sure.” I drop to the floor, hands flat on the mat behind me. She stands before me. My eyes wander to her thighs. Is that a birthmark?

“Give me your foot,” she says, returning the folder to the slot. “I’m going to apply some pressure. You let me know if it hurts or feels uncomfortable.”

Twyler offers her hands. I drop back to my elbows and put my shoe-covered foot into her cupped palms. She adjusts, leaving one hand to brace my foot at the heel and the other moves to my calf. She gently massages the back of my leg, then leans forward, stretching the muscles. Damn, maybe my hamstrings are tight.

I groan. “That feels good.”

“Lie back a little more.” I do, and she bends, leaning over me, and I get a straight shot of what Hartman was ogling before. Her shirt gapes, giving me a full view down the neck. She’s wearing a black athletic bra that pushes up her tits, and it’s not sexy, or is it? Shit. I don’t know anymore. And neither does my cock.

“Yeah.” With a wince, I rise up, bending at the waist in an attempt to cover my semi. “I think we’re good. Thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” I glance over my shoulder. “I can do that against the wall, and it looks like Schwartz is waiting.” I jerk my chin at the first string offender. “You go ahead, man.”

Adjusting myself, I’m halfway to the locker room when Reid catches up to me. “Everything okay, Cap?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

“Shut up,” I grunt, heading for the locker room, ready to get on the ice.

Something’s gotta cool me off.

If I don’t get a handle on myself it’s going to be a long fucking month.