Last night at practice with the Lightening, little Kyle Adams – who has terrible aim - took a slap shot at the goal but nailed me instead, narrowly missing my eye, and giving me a nice, purple and blue shiner.
It hurt like hell, and looks even worse.
And now that I mention it, Kyle cried and apologized repeatedly for a solid thirty minutes, snot dripping out of his nose and on to his practice jersey.
I touch the bruise and find it still tender, then give pause to study my other contusions: fractured collarbone. Gashed lip. Chipped tooth.
Wincing, I continue to dry off, wrapping the towel around my lean hips before walking into my closet. I grab a ratty tee shirt, jeans, and a Michael Kors Henley sweater, throwing them on quickly before adding shoes. I head to the foyer, grab my cell phone and keys off the dresser, stuffing them in my back pocket and head out the door.
Cecelia
Back in the good old day – you know, when I was in high school – one of my favorite things to do was shack up in my bedroom and hunker down to study. I’d throw myself across my bed, lying flat on my stomach with text books scattered out in front of me and do my homework that way.
So, in homage to those days, I’m spread out on my comforter, text book and papers fanned out, laptop glowing – and yes, even a bag of pretzels is on “stand-by” not too far away on the desk.
I’m comfortable: black yoga leggings and a heather gray, off the shoulder, cashmere sweater. On my feet are the most comfy (see: worn) chenille socks. Basically, it’s like I’m giving myself a big warm hug, and I snuggle down with my butt in the air, Pandora playing Taylor Swift’s new 1989 playlist softly through my pink ear buds.
I tap the keys on my laptop, humming to her new single ‘Style’ and briefly space out, before stopping to stare blankly at the plain white wall of my bedroom. I’m so so ridiculously close to being done with this last paper, but right now I’m finding it impossible to concentrate. Rather, my mind continues to drift, wandering everywhere; my Master’s program, where I’m going to live in a few weeks, and then yes… it eventually wanders to Matthew.
I wonder what he’s doing right now; is he home, or out? Alone, or with his friends. Is he pissed at me? I haven’t heard from him since Starbucks, which was two days ago, and, for someone who claims he wants to live with me, it’s pretty telling that he hasn’t had the decency to even text.
Rude.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear the bedroom door crack open, and gasp when a large pair of strong, solid hands slowly run up the back of my calves, up my inner thighs, and squeeze my ass cheeks.
I pull out the ear buds and look over my shoulder at a grinning Matthew.
“How’d you get in here?” I ask, not the least bit put out by his presence. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I came down the chimney,” he smarts, stepping in between my legs, which are sticking half-way off the bed. His hands lazily run up my spine, and he leans forwards, planting a kiss on my naked shoulder. “I missed you.” Matthew’s breath is on my neck and I swallow a shudder, determined to remain nonchalant.
“Did you now,” I gulp, voice sounding way too throaty to be calm, cool, and collected. If I don’t watch myself, I’m going to be a puddle of mush within minutes. “Never would have guessed it. You never called.”
He leans forward and presses another kiss on my shoulder, his chest pressed against my back as he trails his breath along my neck. I close my eyes and bite my lip – I’m sorry, but it feels so good. “I wanted to, but I also wanted to give you some time.”
I lay there, on my stomach, as Matthew hovers over me, bracing one strong arm on bed and running his other hand up my rib cage, under my sweater, all the while breathing warm kisses on my bare neck and shoulder. I tip my head to the side, and let out a soft moan.
“Did you miss me, too, Cecelia? It sounds like you did.” His tongue slips in my ear and my traitorous body tingles all over.
“Of course I did, you big idiot,” I groan, amazed at my ability to speak under the circumstances.
Even as he chuckles deep in his chest, Matthew’s pelvis pushes into my backside, and I can feel how hard he is through the thin fabric of my leggings as he begins grinding himself slowly into my ass crack.
Seriously, it feels so good I want to pass out from the pleasure of it all… and we’re both fully clothed – that takes talent.