Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
My orgasm was like having a long pee after holding it in for an hour. There’s relief, but it’s short-lived.
I get up from the bed, tug off the condom, tie it, and toss it in the trash can. I don’t have to worry about her doing anything sus with it because she’s not sleeping over.
“Thanks,” I say as she turns to smile lazily at me. “I needed that.”
“Thank you,” she says. “You rocked my world.”
“So, I need to get to sleep. I’ve got early training tomorrow.” She pats the bed next to her, and I cringe. I guess she’s never heard of this brush-off before. I try to pick girls who are regular skate chasers so we both know what to expect. “What I mean is, I don’t sleep well with someone else in the bed. I need my space.”
She smiles brightly, but just before it stretches her face, I glimpse disappointment in her expression. We both got the same thing out of tonight, and she can’t possibly believe that any man wifes a girl who sucked his dick within an hour of meeting her.
Maybe she does. Girls have funny ideas about romance. I blame it on fairytales and Only Fans.
I don’t watch her dress, focusing instead on pulling on basketball shorts and getting my training gear together for the morning. When I’m sure she’s ready, I walk her to the door and lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. The word ‘thanks’ slips from my lips, and I cringe, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” she says.
“Maybe.” I cringe again because there are no repeats of this show. It’s a standalone episode. Strictly a one and done.
On the way back up the stairs, I run into Jacob’s one-night stand, making her way down on shaky legs. She grins at me, oblivious to the bird’s nest her hair currently resembles. “If you’re up for it next time,” she says, resting her hand on my slick bare chest, over my tattoo, fluttering her eyelids. “You could join us.”
There won’t be a next time for her, either, but I don’t tell her that. I’m not averse to sharing with my brother, but not this girl.
“Have a good night,” I say, slipping past her.
I need water and sleep to get my mind back into hockey.
***
I leave home before anyone else is awake, jogging to campus with my stuff in my backpack. Once a week, I try to make an early swim at the student fitness center. The athletic center we use for hockey training has a sauna and plunge pool but no swimming facilities, and I miss the feeling of freedom I get when I do lengths. My shoulders need the rotation it provides and including it in my training regimen has kept me injury-free.
I’m the first person in the pool, and I dive in, lingering beneath the water for a while as it clears my head. My mom used to call me her water baby because I could hold my breath for ages in the bath, scaring the bejesus out of her.
Jacob and Hayes don’t understand my fascination with the ocean and don’t share my love of swimming, but that’s fine. It’s good to have something that’s just for me. Being a triplet has many pros, but it doesn’t stop me from craving individuality occasionally.
I start my lengths, counting strokes and keeping my breathing even. The power in my muscles surges as I strike through the water. My mind, so used to skimming across the ice, plays tricks on me, combining the two sensations, mirroring the tipsiness I get after three beers. After ten laps, I pull myself half out of the water, hooking my arms over the side and relax.
Until I realize I’m not alone.
A girl stands at the side of the pool, her blonde hair twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head, goggles already in place. Dressed in a dark blue one piece, which clings to outrageous curves, she stares into the water. She registers my presence, looking over at me for just a second before she jumps.
With just two seconds of visual contact, I connect the dots. She’s the girl from the Red Devil who chewed Jacob up and spat him right out. I smile at the memory. Shit, I love my brother, but he carries around a chip on his shoulder that inflates his ego with a hot-air balloon of arrogance. When we’re alone, he still resembles the Jacob I grew up with, the brother who’d step in the way of any danger to protect us, but out in the world, when he’s playing hockey or in a social environment, this other persona, a mask, takes over. At least, I think it’s a mask. It’s hard to tell. I pointed it out once, but his angry response was to tell me he’s not a kid anymore and no one will ever walk over him again, which just made me sad.