Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey 2)

He rolls his hips, milking the last of what he has left.

When he eventually pulls out and collapses on top of me, we both struggle to breathe.

His hot mouth peppers kisses along my collarbone as he makes his way up to my mouth, while his fingers slip between my ass cheeks. He circles my hole, then slides one finger back in.

“What are you doing?”

“Pushing my cum back inside you.”

Fuck me.

I cup his head and pull him into the kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth.

Jacobs makes a noise at the back of his throat that sounds part whine and part needy, but then he pulls away and rolls off me.

He lands next to me and wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me as close to him as I can get. “That was …”

I lie in his arms, still reeling from the major revelation.

I’ve never been in love before, but that’s definitely what this is.

I think.

All I know is I’ve never felt this way about someone.

Instead of elation or clarity or any of those good things I should feel about it, all I can think is love at our age always ends.

For the first time in my life, I’m allowed to take everything into account and choose what I want to do.

My original plan was moving to New York. Jacobs probably still thinks that’s what’s going to happen.

He doesn’t know that I have an out, and he doesn’t know my future is up for grabs.

If he did and didn’t want to be a part of it … I don’t have the time or energy to go through heartbreak this year. Not with my new course load.

We lie like that in silence for a while until Jacobs recovers.

He leans up on his elbow. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”

I laugh to cover my anxiety over us. “Was it not me on the ice with you?”

“You know what I mean. We live next door to each other, we have practice and games together, but it’s like I never see you.”

“I’ve been super busy with studying. A shocking thing about me that you would have never guessed is I didn’t plan my classes accordingly, and now all my hard subjects are this year. I’m talking back-to-back lectures every day.”

Jacobs smiles. “That is such a Beck thing to do.”

I swallow hard. “Where are you thinking of getting a job when you graduate? Here in Burlington or …” I know the answer before I finish the question. “Near Dorset, I’m guessing.”

“That’s the plan. I want to be close to the farm so I can help out on weekends. Mom and Dad don’t have the money to employ more people, and my brothers aren’t going to be around forever. Rafter will be in college in two years.”

The distance between Colchester and Dorset isn’t a big distance—it’s about the same between Grant and his boyfriend, and they’re making it work.

“Maybe if I get out from underneath my father, your parents can adopt me and make me work on the farm.”

Jacobs scoffs. “You’ll need to build usable muscle, not the gym-made shit you’re carrying around. Besides, isn’t there more chance of pigs flying than getting out of working for your dad?”

Tell him about the deal.

“Yeah … probably.”

Idiot.

I know my reasons for keeping it from him are thin, but I guess I’m not ready to face it all yet.

I’m not ready to admit aloud that I’m terrified of failing.

I’m scared of admitting that if my father doesn’t accept my plan and tries to make me work for his stupid company, I don’t know how to live without my money. My choice would be picking between toeing my father’s line or learning to live on a budget. And honestly, that’s probably the scariest thing I’m facing. No way in hell am I complaining about that to Jacobs. It’s the ultimate definition of privilege, and money is the barrier that kept us as enemies for three years.

Jacobs’s finger traces over my frown line. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Close your eyes.”

He rubs my temples, and I think I’m in heaven.

“Go to sleep and get some rest.”

I practically pass out before he finishes his sentence.

31

Jacobs

Waking up without Beck for the third day in a row has a permanent scowl etched into my face. I know it’s there, because I can feel the deep lines in my forehead, the tension in my jaw, and the headache building behind my eyes.

It makes concentrating in class a bitch. Beck’s been distracted since school started, but I’m trying to rationalize it. It’s our senior year, and it’s not like he’s out partying. He’s been busy in front of his laptop, half checked out of our conversations, and cagey about why he can’t make our lunch dates. The only time he comes alive again is on the ice. Or when we’re fucking.