Power Plays & Straight A's (CU Hockey 1)

Foster wraps an arm tight around my waist. “Yes. Always yes.”

So I do. On my knees under the desk I work him over until I’ve successfully pulled his attention from whatever he’s studying. He’s so big, and I haven’t figured out deep-throating yet, but I’ve had enough practice over the last few weeks that I am determined to master this thing. And when Foster grunts and comes down my throat, hands tangled in my hair, we lock eyes and something settles inside me.

I’m happy.

This relationship business is a lot easier to understand now that I’ve had practical experience. Foster pulls me back onto his lap.

“Ironman, eh?” He shifts me up until I’m kneeling on his thighs, gripping his shoulders for dear life, and returns the favor. Unlike me, my boyfriend has well and truly mastered deep-throating. It takes him next to no time to set me off.

When I settle back on his thighs, Foster grabs my head and kisses me deep. It’s consuming when he gets like this, as though he can’t get enough of me.

“I love coming back to find you in my bed.”

“Technically, I was sitting on the floor.” I nod toward where my laptop and textbook rest.

“And in my shirt.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It feels better with you here.”

I give him a dry look. “It’s because I put the heat on, isn’t it?”

“It’s so warm in here.” He smiles. “I haven’t seen you much the last few days.”

“I know.” I rest my head against his. “Dumb hockey. Dumb thesis.”

“Agreed. You understand though … that I can’t blow off practice?”

“Yeah, of course. And”—I bite the inside of my cheek—“the thing is, when I’m busy, time becomes the last thing I worry about. I don’t realize how much I’ve missed you until I’m with you again.”

Foster narrows his eyes as his hands tighten on my hips. “That almost sounds like you don’t miss me at all.”

“I can assure you that’s not the case. Have you already forgotten my need for attention?”

“I do like it when you’re needy.”

He makes me laugh. “You’re exhibiting those alpha male traits we’ve discussed.”

His response is to squeeze my ass and stand. I scramble to grab his neck and lock my ankles behind his back.

“Y-you’re supposed to give me warning first.”

It’s interesting how deeply our animal instincts run. Every time Foster shows off his strength, I’m putty in his hands. I understand what’s happening, but the chemicals overriding my brain are addictive.

“I like hearing you squeak.”

“Excuse me, I don’t squeak.”

“You squeak, and it’s adorable.”

I pretend to scowl at him, but it clearly has no effect because he laughs.

“That’s adorable too.”

“One day you’ll be terrified of me.”

“You have no idea.” He swats my ass and I, well, I certainly do not squeak. My feet drop to the ground. “As sexy as you look right now, you need to get changed.”

“Why?”

“I wanna get out of the room for a bit. We leave for another game tomorrow which means another few days until I see you again.”

I sigh dramatically. “The ails of dating the great Foster Grant.”

“You really are a lucky guy.”

I wriggle back into my jeans and pull my hoodie on over Foster’s shirt. I shrug on my coat since it’s close to freezing outside, but I didn’t bring a hat with me, so Foster gets one of his beanies and pulls it down to cover my ears.

He studies me for a moment then drops his head back. “I take it back. I’m the lucky one.”

I will never understand.

Foster holds my hand as we cross campus. The Halloween decorations have disappeared, and the trees are prematurely strung with Christmas lights.

There are a lot of people out for a November evening. It’s fascinating. Are they not worried about the cold? Or are they determined to make the most of their nights before the snow sets in?

We’re not out for long before my nose feels like ice and we take refuge in the coffee shop I like. The one where the baristas know not to engage me in conversation. I buy our drinks since Foster did last time, and we find a corner booth. Someone is playing a guitar on the other side of the café, and with the low lighting and Foster’s warmth against my back, I feel sleepy and content.

Our drinks arrive along with a massive good luck cookie the barista says is on the house. CU and its hockey, I swear. That doesn’t stop me from splitting the treat with Foster while I tease him about all his fans.

“It’s a hardship”—he sighs—“but it got me the sexiest guy on campus, so I’m not complaining.”

I tilt my head. “Topher?”

Foster chokes on his drink. “You little shit.” His fingers dig into my ribs, and I laugh as I squirm away. “First, you know I’m talking about you. And second, you’d better think I’m the hottest guy here or we’re gonna have words.”