Power Plays & Straight A's (CU Hockey 1)
“Yes!” He tips a small amount into my cup. “Took it like a pro. This time, aim for your throat. The goal is to taste as little as possible.”
That sounds suspiciously like advice I could utilize in other areas of my life.
I stare into the cup at the liquid taunting me, and a full-body shudder rips through my limbs.
“Like this.” Christopher tips his head back, and the liquid disappears. “Now you. One … two …”
Alright then.
“Three,” I say, and throw the drink back sloppily. It splashes into the back of my mouth and my head immediately twitches at the taste. Why do people do this to themselves?
Christopher stays with me, words a bit choppy as he dips in and out of focusing on the conversation and the people who pass by. We have another shot. And another.
“Don’t you have friends to get back to?”
He waves a big hand. “They’re somewhere.”
“Then why are you in here?”
“Eh, why not.” He pours us more drinks, this time not straight tequila, which makes them easier to drink.
After a couple of minutes, I have the answer to my question.
Why do people do this to themselves? I look down at my tingly hand and start to laugh. “Do you know Foster’s smarter than me?”
Christopher raises his eyebrows. “There’s no way that’s true.”
“Nope. It is. He knows things. About humans. Things I will never understand.”
“Grant’s really good at reading people. That’s why he’s our captain. He knows exactly what we need when we need it.” He leans heavily into me. “He’s the best.”
I blink up at the heavy jock using me to stay on his feet and wonder when my life did this complete one-eighty. And how long I can possibly stay upright when my knees feel like they might buckle. “You seem heavily intoxicated.”
“And you don’t seem intoxicated enough.”
I beg to differ. The room won’t stay steady. I blink at the couple still by the fridge. “I don’t understand,” I say, fixing my glasses that he keeps knocking askew. “Why wouldn’t they find a quiet place upstairs?”
“Are you saying they should get a room?”
“I-I suppose—”
“Yo, Jenkins!” Christopher shouts. The guy comes up for air, looking completely dazed. “Sawyer here thinks you should get a room.”
Jenkins throws up his middle finger and goes back to kissing.
Christopher leans in. “Sometimes the anticipation is equally as fun.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I can a-assure you that’s not the case.” There is no amount of anticipation that could live up to how Foster took control of me. Reliving that moment reminds me of what’s to come later, and I quickly polish off my drink.
Though … I’m struggling to remember what I was nervous about. Yes, it’s all a little overwhelming, but I want, so badly, to see Foster naked. I want to taste him and feel him against me … I pour myself another drink because this stuff is clearly working.
“—still can’t believe he went apeshit on Morris.”
The name catches my attention, and I tune in to what Christopher is saying. “Morris is a dick.”
Christopher roars with laughter, finally releasing me to cup his hands around his mouth. “Morris is a dick!” A few cheers answer him.
I join them and take a drink.
“You’re not so bad, Zach Sawyer.”
“And I think you’ve successfully intoxicated me, Christopher Jacobs.”
“No. God no. No, with the Christopher.”
“Well I refuse to call you Jacobs. I don’t buy into the, umm … the concept of … the last names.”
“Everyone calls me Jacobs.”
“Not me.” I shake my head and my glasses shift. “Am I not meant to address you at all?” I step closer and laugh. “Oh, excuse me, exceptionally large, ah, hockey person.”
“Cute nickname, but a few of us would answer to that.”
“Behemoth?”
“I think that one’s been taken.” He sways.
I laugh. “Kitten?”
“I will crush you.”
“Of course. It needs to be something exceptionally masculine.” I put on my deepest voice. “Me hockey player. Like to crush people.”
Christopher laughs so hard he doubles forward. “Please. I beg you. Put that voice on when you talk dirty to Foster later.”
“Talk … dirty? I have a feeling you don’t mean hygiene.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
I shoot him a sly smile. “I’m inexperienced, not completely naïve. I’ll have you know I’ve amassed a sufficient porn collection—”
“Wait. Just how inexperi—”
“Topher!” I shout. “Yes, Christopher is too old and stuffy. I’ll call you … wait. What was it?”
“Topher.”
“Yes, Topher!”
“Who’s Topher?” A warm voice asks as arms snake around my waist.
I squeak—squeak? What was that?—but as soon as I register it’s Foster, my whole body relaxes, and I point at Topher. “My new friend Topher. It’s his name. The one I made up for him.”
“I like it.” Topher grins. “Shortens my name to the best part. Top. Her.”
I snort back a giggle. “That doesn’t sound enjoyable at all.”
“We’re about to find out.” Topher downs the rest of his drink and sets it on the counter.