Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl

17. Hooking

The act of impeding an opponent by placing the blade of a stick into their body.

Quarter Finals (Game 1) Nashville Predators

Home Game

Evan

It’s hard to focus on the game when my attention is constantly drawn to the stands and those douchebags sitting behind the girls. Every play they’re mouthing off and have something to say. I can hear them on the fucking ice and want to take my stick and hack their faces.

I know Callie can handle herself. Unfortunately, her own mouth has a way of getting guys riled up at times. When they started in, so does she.

When the Predators score, the crowd hangs their heads, dejected that we might lose. Hell, I am too but this game just isn’t going the way I want. We’re all fucked up over Dave being traded.

That’s when the chirping of those fans picks up. Leo and Remy both notice. Their heads keep turning to watch when we hear the commotion. One of the guys has shoved Callie, and I’m not standing for that.

I take the end of my stick and hit it against the boards, scowling at the guy. “Knock that shit off,” I yell at him, knowing he can hear me.

He looks up, stunned, holding his hands up, and then flips me off with the hand he’s not holding a beer with.

Well played. Fuck face.

What he doesn’t see is the security guard behind him.

The game is fucking horrible. Not only are the fans distracting us, but we play poorly and for no reason. It’s the start of the playoffs and we aren’t starting off good.

Granger, a player known for his aggression and dirty hits, has it out for Leo all night. He finally gets him near Nashville’s goal. It’s a cheap shot right at the crease and knocks Leo out cold.

“Oh fuck that shit,” I yell, dropping my gloves in front of Granger. “Pay up, pussy.”

You know what I’m really sad about after that? Fucking Remy got the first hit.

That isn’t the way we wanted to start off the series, and every guy on that team understands that. We have something to prove, and goddamn it if we aren’t going to prove it.

To try and ease our frustrations about the loss, we head to the bar.

“Hey, man,” Remy nudges me. “Pay attention.”

I look over to the group in the back of the bar. They’re standing around a high-top table listening to Nashville’s left wing, Trey Swartz, telling a joke. That’s when Ami walks by having used the bathroom. They must have made a few crude remarks because she raises her hand to flip Trey off and then spins around, making her way back over to us. Her scowl tells me she isn’t pleased, and fuck if I’m not livid instantly. Anger pulses inside me, stirring, festering to the point it’s about ready to explode inside me.

If he touches her, I swear to God I will fucking kill him. I know I don’t talk about it much because I’ve been preoccupied with Ami, but they still haven’t found the guy. Now every time someone looks at her, I wonder if he’s the one. When I’ve been drinking, those thoughts twist on me and I’m ready to defend her against anyone.

Hockey players are notorious for bar fights. It seems the aggression on the ice has a tendency to carry over. I’m not an exception, but I like to start them, and then everyone else gets involved.

Here’s the thing: people like to shove each other and act like all around dicks in the bar. Some chose to ignore it, some don’t. If you do that shit around a hockey player, we’re going to turn around and lay your ass out. We don’t give a fuck.

Listen, by no means am I badass, and more times than not my mouth gets me into situations my fists can’t get me out of. I’m a skilled fighter when I need to be, but there are several times I’ve had my ass handed to me. I like to think I can hold my own with this douche from Nashville.

So I catch his stare when Ami’s walking by Trey. A warning. He knows what he’s done. Pissed me off is what he’s done.

“Ohhh,” Remy whistles. “I’ve seen that look before.”

Trey’s eyes stop on mine, lighting up with surprise that maybe he’s pissed on my territory. I’ve known him long enough to know he fucking lives for shit like that.

He nods, gestures with a tip of his head to Ami and then winks. Like that shit should be funny to me.

I don’t know what makes him think we want him to come over to us, but he does and starts to make conversation, conversation I want nothing to do with. So I shove him away from the table, letting him know, physically, he isn’t welcome on this side of the bar. I might have added a “Go fuck yourself,” but I’m not entirely sure.

Catching himself against the table, two of his teammates are beside him. He looks at me, then Ami who’s behind Remy now, bent that I’ve killed his chance to score. What he doesn’t realize is his chance to score belongs to me.

“What’s your fucking problem?” he asks, searching my eyes.

“My fucking problem is you.” I give him a threatening smile. “Now get lost before I make you.”

“Hey, man,” he holds his hands up, “I’m not looking for anything special. Just a quick introduction to the twin cities,” he says, looking to Ami again.

What a fuck face. “I’ll introduce you to twin cities all right,” I snap, Ami’s eyes immediately shooting to mine. I can feel her staring at me, wondering where this is going to go.

“Relax, Mase,” Trey drawls, his lips twisting into a smile. A look of defiance crossing his face. He turns to me, his back facing Ami. “She’ll be back on your dick tomorrow. What’s a little fun for one night?”

Okay, he’s pissed me off and I stand immediately. Up until now, I’ve kept my composure. “Hey, fucker, think your team can win if you’re in the hospital?” I taunt, getting in his face.

In the next second, Ami is in my face. “Come have a drink with me.” She springs forward, latching onto me. “Please?” she pleads in a soothing voice, reaching her hand up to cup my chin, trying to turn my head to make me look at her. Rather than fight against her, I back off and nod when Ami adds, “He’s an asshole and not worth it.”

Protectively wrapping my arms around her, I draw her away from Trey and his buddies, my hand resting on the small of her back. “You’re right, he’s not. You are.”

Surprisingly enough, I’m not the one who lays the fucker out. Remy is.

“What was that for?” Leo asks, smiling at Remy.

“I just wanted to hit someone,” he notes, walking away as he shakes out his hand.

“Well, that was fun,” Callie teases, as we sit down at a table. I’m surprised we weren’t asked to leave.

Ignoring Callie, I reach for Ami and have her sit on my lap. Am I being overprotective? Yes, probably.

Will I stop? Nope. Not unless she tells me to.

“What’s his deal?” she asks as another round of drinks is delivered to the table, and looks over at Trey one last time as him and his friends leave the bar.

“We got drafted the same year,” I tell her. “Any time you get two hot shot rookies looking for notoriety, you go head-to-head on the ice. A lot.”

“I’ll say,” she says, keeping her arm wrapped around me.

For the next hour we stay at the bar until finally we’re asked to leave when Leo pisses on the side of the building because the line to the bathroom is too long. Little jerk has no class sometimes. And a concussion.

Back at my place, I’m still irritated at the shit Trent pulled. Ami tries to relax me, and well, she succeeds as she always does.

She slowly slides her hand up my thigh, boldly skimming her fingers higher over my hips while I watch Sports Center.

My eyebrow quirks, curious where she’s going with this touch. Every day we’re getting closer and more intimate. Every day we’ re learning more and becoming comfortable. Like a good line, we have a unity.

Spurred on by the look in her eyes, I raise my hand from the remote and touch the side of her face. It doesn’t take long before my mind is imagining certain spots of her naked, and yeah, I get hard.

Her hand moves, wrapping around my erection, which she can clearly see through my dress pants, and then squeezes firmly.

“You can’t do that if you don’t intend to take care of it,” I groan, grabbing her wrist to stop her, and then pulling her down on top of me to lie on the couch.

She moves, her legs falling to either side of my hips, and sits up. Her hands slide down my chest to my stomach and then to the hem on her T-shirt. Peeling it off slowly, she winks at me when it’s off and tosses it on the floor, along with her bra.

Without saying a word, she takes my hands and moves them to behind my head. I chuckle playfully, trying to keep from getting too excited, but the fact that she’s pretty much in control here is hot as fuck.

With my hands behind my head, I let her move at her own pace doing whatever she wants to do. With shaking hands, she unbuttons my black dress shirt and then reaches for my buckle. Once she has that undone, she sits up to take my pants off, down around my knees but not off completely.

It takes me a minute to realize what she’s doing, but then it finally dawns on me when her mouth is on my dick. I jolt back just slightly, surprised that Ami, my innocent girl with her shyness, would want to do that. Fuck if I haven’t been dreaming about it, but damn, I never thought she’d want to do that or even know how. She says nothing but gives me a look that asks if it’s okay.

I nod, groaning deeply, and dropping my head back against the arm of the couch.

My stomach trembles as she trails her tongue along my hip, following the path with the tip of her finger. I can tell she’s scared, not knowing what to do, and it makes me feel a little better to think this might be her first time doing this. I like to think it is.

She wraps her fingers around me first, giving me a few lengthy strokes, and then looks up at me. My eyes lock with hers, wanting to let her know with that one look how unbelievably sexy she is.

Then she goes for it. She closes her eyes and lowers her mouth onto me.

I must have said something, a few things at least, but I can’t remember anything other than a few choking gasps. It’s been a while since I had a girl’s mouth on me like this, and goddamn if it isn’t everything I have dreamed about and missed.

My hips thrust slightly of their own volition and Ami takes me deeper, pausing for only a moment to adjust her angle.

My hands behind my head move to her hair, gripping it slightly. She makes a whimper.

“This okay?” I grunt, trying not to pull on her hair too much. Other girls will tell me to pull as hard as I can. Ami’s different.

“Mmhmm,” she hums in approval, taking me deeper.

My hands remain in her hair, not pushing or forcing, just simply setting the pace. I try to warn her after a minute, since Ami doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who will want that in her mouth. “I’m gonna come,” I warn but as always, she surprises me and smacks my hands away.

Who am I to challenge her?

So I come in her mouth.

When she finishes, I have to repay the favor a few times. We go at it like that for hours, always trying to one up the other. I wonder where Ami learned how to do the things she’s doing, the things she’s so fucking good at, but then I have to shake those thoughts away. There’s no fucking way I want details.

I’m at the point where I can’t get enough of her, and I’m ready to drop the gloves if she’s willing to dance.