Faking It with the Forward: Wittmore U Hockey

I can’t sleep.

Not in Reese’s bed that smells so good. Not knowing he’s shirtless and asleep in the chair across the room. Not after feeling his erection jamming into my ass when he pulled me into his lap downstairs, and definitely not after seeing his perfect torso. Christ on a cracker, I wanted to touch him.

Nope. My whole body is too warm. I already stripped off Reese’s heavy sweatshirt trying to cool off but nothing—

“Son of a—’

The curse hits my ears before the crash does, the loud bang and clatter cutting through the dark of night. It sends a jolt to my heart, and thrusts me upward, sheet clasped between my hands. Then I hear a groan.

“Reese?” I whisper.

“Down here, Sunshine.” I grapple for my phone on the bedside table and turn on the flashlight, shining it toward the chair. Except there is no chair, or at least it’s on its side. Reese is crumpled on the floor in all his bare-chested glory, rubbing his head.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Fuck. Does he have a concussion? Or a broken bone? What if he’s injured? A million injuries run though my head as I scramble off the end of the bed down to him on the floor. One of them being, how the hell will I explain this to Coach Green?

“I’m fin—”

A tap sounds at the door. “You two okay in there?” Reid’s muffled voice calls out. “I heard… something. It could’ve been sex, or it could’ve been a serial killer breaking in. I just wanted to check.”

“We’re okay, Reid,” Reese says, stifling a laugh. “Thanks for checking on us.”

“Sure, um… Twy?” His voice sounds like it’s right next to the door. “You okay?”

“All good,” I call, my voice scratchy with sleep.

“Alright, I’ll leave you guys alone.”

Neither of us speak, listening to the sound of his feet padding down the hall and the click of his door. When I look back at Reese he’s sitting inches away, sprawled out on the floor. I kneel before him, resting my light on the floor. “That was sweet,” I say, reaching for his arm to feel for any breaks or swelling. “You know there’s still that ongoing case in North Dakota where four college students were slaughtered in their house one night.”

His lips curve. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Then there’s Ted Bundy and the sorority house murders.”

“Mmhmm.” He mumbles, watching me as I assess for injuries.

I apply light pressure to his wrist. “Any pain here?”

“No.”

“Did you hit your head?” I hold the light up to his face to check his pupils. He winces from the light and pushes my hand away.

“No.”

“Swelling? Contusions?” I move closer, pressing my fingers to his chest, his very muscular, defined chest. He grunts another no, and as I get lower, checking his kidneys, his hand snaps out and cinches around my wrist.

“I’m good, Sunshine. Nothing’s broken, but you gotta stop touching me like that.”

He shifts, as though he’s uncomfortable, and I start to question it, when my eyes land below the waist of his shorts. Oh.

My eyes lift, meeting his for a beat, right before his drop down to my chest and the black boy shorts covering my lower half.

“Where’s my sweatshirt?” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“I got hot and took it off. It’s in the bed somewhere.” His eyes are glued to my top, which isn’t exactly sexy. “Do you want—”

“Get back in the bed, Twyler,” he says, voice gruff and filled with warning.

I grab the phone and sit on the edge of the bed, and push back on my heels, scooting back to the middle.

He stands, groaning, and holding his back. “Did you—”

“It’s not the fall. It’s the chair. Just slept weird.” He bends to shift the chair upright.

There’s no way I can inflict that on him again. Not if it’s causing him pain and if the chair itself won’t support him. “How about,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat, “we share the bed and stay on our own sides.”

He straightens and I see the length of him, the full glory of all six-foot-four of Reese Cain, shirtless and in nothing but shorts, the front tented with an obvious erection. It was one thing to feel it pressed against my ass, but a whole other to see the thick bulge straining at his shorts. The first one I blew off like it was just biology, I was sitting on him for god’s sake, but now that I see the heat flickering in the back of his eyes, I know better.

Reese Cain is horny.

“You sure?” he asks, not so subtly adjusting himself.

“Yes,” I slide back to one side of the bed, pressing against the pillow. I turn off the flashlight, preferring the darkness right now. “It’s your bed, you shouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

My eyes acclimate to the dim light coming from the window as he grabs his pillow and blanket, tossing them next to me before climbing in. He winces again at the pain in his back.

“Roll over.” I nudge his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Let me check your back. Roll over.” He shifts, the bed sinking under his massive weight. “On your stomach.”

He lies flat, giving me an impressive view of his muscular back and, well, amazing ass. Taking a deep breath I ask, “Where does it hurt?”

His hand reaches behind him, and he gestures to his lower right side. “About here.”

I run my fingers over the spot he’s talking about. “I’m just going to get in a better position.” I straddle his body and sit on the back of his rock-hard thighs. The thin material of my shorts is barely a barrier.

He groans, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“Am I too heavy?”

“Light as a feather, Sunshine.”

He bends his elbows and rests his cheek on his hands. The position makes his biceps flex and that flutter of want is back. I want to blame it on being in the presence of perfection, the expanse of muscles running down his back, but I can’t. He’s ripped. It’s like muscles on muscles, each section of his back carved and buffed out of stone. There are other guys on the team with bodies just as fit—but none of them make me feel like my ovaries may explode.

I press the heel of my hand down and he moans in response, “Fuck, that feels good.”

“So it’s right there.” I feel around, poking and prodding. His body twitches when I find it.

“Yep, that’s the spot.” He exhales. “Fuck, your hands are like magic.”

Using my thumbs, I make tiny circles in the area, attempting to work out any strain. Slowly, the length of muscles along his back untense. After a few minutes, he turns his head and says, “The other night you said you know everything about me, what does that mean?”

“It means I read up on all my players. It’s my job to be familiar with your medical files, articles about your career, status reports. If it’s been documented, I’ve read it.”

“Medical files I get, but why do you need all of that other stuff?”

“Because your history tells a story. Like, how you broke your femur in the fourth grade, not on the ice, but on the monkey bars during recess at school. I know that it healed clean and hasn’t caused you any problems since.”

“Okay,” he says thoughtfully. “But why stats?”

“Because if you’re a center forward and the number one scorer in the region, then the wear and tear on your shoulders and wrists are going to be higher than a simple defender who takes and gives a lot of hits. That tells me what muscles and ligaments need to stay strong and healthy for you to achieve maximum results.”

He makes a little face, like he’s impressed. “What else?”

“I know that you’re lactose intolerant which is why you drink your coffee black and you try to eat gluten free, but that’s not an allergy, you just want to stay as lean as possible.”

He lifts his head and a small grin curves his mouth. “Twyler Perkins, are you stalking me?”

I pinch his neck, applying pressure where I know he’ll feel it. He seizes and presses his face in the mattress, suppressing a howl.

But I’m on a roll and keep going. “I know you’ve only had the one girlfriend, Shanna, who you dated all through high school and college, but suddenly broke it off last year—although now I know that you were the one that broke up with her. I don’t think you really said why.”

“We had different ideas on my career,” he says, eyes fluttering shut.

“I know New York wanted to draft you last year and you said no, which means you’ll become a free agent after the season is over. It was considered a risky move when you had a sure thing locked up.”

His breathing evens out, but I can tell he’s not asleep, just fully relaxed. Quietly, I add, “I know you call me Sunshine because it bugs me, and you try to shock me by saying outrageous, dirty things.”

“That’s only partially true,” he answers without opening his eyes. “I say outrageous, dirty things because I’m a hockey player and that’s just kind of how we are. It’s a bonus that you look so fucking cute when you blush.”

I’m pretty sure he says that to make me blush. I move away from the area I was massaging and spread my hands across his back. His skin is hot to the touch, and I just want to explore him, feel the power and strength under my fingertips.

This man and his body are the complete opposite of what it was like to be with Ethan.

“Do you want to know why I turned down the deal with New York?” he asks suddenly.

“Sure, if you want to tell me.”

He rolls over, but keeps his hand on my hip, not allowing me to shift off. I’m now straddling his lap, looking down at his gorgeous face. There’s no mistaking the hard length of his erection pressing against my core. He doesn’t look a bit apologetic about it either.

“My father took a similar deal when he was in college. Junior year he got drafted by Boston. He started in the minor league and after a year made it to the NHL.” The angles in his face are so sharp in this light, making his cheekbones seem even more dramatic. “He married my mom, and she got pregnant with me, and he promptly had a career-ending injury.”

I actually know all of this. I’ve read his father’s history as a player and coach—Reese’s coach.

“The fact he never got a degree fucked him, Twy. He didn’t have the opportunity to go back because he was a husband and dad. He had to work and the only thing he knew was hockey. The best he could do was coaching at the junior level, barely able to support us the way he wanted to. It caused a lot of strain in the family.” His thumb rubs against my hip. “I love hockey. Like, I fucking love it. But I want something secure to fall back on just in case.”

“That’s understandable. I think you’re smart to get your degree. Career-ending injuries happen all the time.”

He laughs darkly. “Shanna didn’t think it was smart. She wanted me to take the deal, get the signing bonus, and marry her. All she wanted was to start building a life as a professional athlete’s wife.”

“And that’s why you broke up?”

He nods. “She gave me an ultimatum. Her or college. I think she really thought I was going to cave and was shocked when I didn’t. That’s why she’s been coming around again.”

And why he needs me to pretend to be his girlfriend.

Except the way we are sitting right now, the way he feels underneath me, and how he looks at me. None of this feels fake. Not the conversation. Not the way my body is reacting. Not the way his fingers brush against my skin.

I reach out and press a hand to his chest. The thrum of his heart feels like wings. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“It does that when I’ve got a hot girl straddling me in my bed wearing nothing but booty shorts and a bra.”

“Reese…”

He sits up, bringing his face to mine. I’ve still got my hand pressed against his warm chest and his fingers fan over my cheeks and then graze under my chin. “I call you Sunshine because when you occasionally venture to smile, it lights up the whole damn room.” His mouth is inches from mine. “You’re not easy, Twyler. You’re tough and can wrangle a locker room of asshole hockey players, which is fucking impressive. You wear a shield over your heart, but the few times you’ve let me see inside, I’m overwhelmed by who you are.”

“You’re crazy,” I tell him, unsure of how to accept what he’s saying. From the start, the one thing about Reese that has made me nervous was the fact I felt like he saw me when no one else did.

“Maybe.” His fingers curl under my jaw and he lifts my chin. “Can I kiss you?”

I should say no. I should get out of this bed and go home because this isn’t what we agreed to. He’s got a hundred other girls that would happily be in his bed, and a sophisticated ex that wants him back. But I don’t say no. I nod my approval and he tilts his head, licking his bottom lip. I think my heart is going to burst through my ribcage.

Like the last time, he starts slow, setting a tentative pace, like he’s afraid I’ll run. Fair. It wouldn’t be the first time I took off on him. But his mouth parts, and mine follows suit, and when his tongue slides against mine, every nerve in my body stands on end. Reese Cain is a fantastic kisser. Calm and confident on the outside, dominating underneath. The same way he is on the ice. The reason he was named captain. He’s a leader—a partner. He knows what he wants, and how to get it.

His big hands flatten against the bare skin on my lower back, and I loop my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through the fringe of hair. I pull him closer, wanting to feel his body against mine. The heat between my legs builds, and I grind against him, biting down on his bottom lip with my teeth.

He growls, flipping us over, pressing my back against the mattress. He hovers over me, breathing hard, no longer kissing me, no longer touching me at all. His eyes are wild with lust. His fingers graze my jaw, dropping to my neck. I flinch instinctively, and he jerks his hand back.

“We…” he says through a shuddering breath. “We should stop, before I do something I’ll regret.”

I withdraw my hand. “Okay. Right. Too far. We made an agreement,” I move to shift away from him, back to my side of the bed, “and this goes way outside the boundaries we set.”

His hand clamps down on my hip, keeping me still.

“Don’t.” His fingers graze down my cheek and his gray eyes hold mine. “Don’t you fucking think this is because I don’t want you. I’ve wanted you since the first time we kissed. But this isn’t what you agreed to, and we need to reassess when you’re not sprawled in front of me half-naked.”

His confession stuns me, which is why I don’t argue as he presses his lips to my forehead and then rolls onto his back, next to me. The room is quiet, other than the two of us trying to catch our breaths.

I move to curl on my side, but in the dark, his hand catches mine. That’s how we both finally fall asleep, linked.