Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

I pass by the firefighter, the same one that keeps gawking at Taytum, and hear what he says to Rush. “Yeah, it must have been a fluke. I’d change all the batteries in the alarms to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

I clear my throat. A fluke. 

“Emory, I’m fine.” Taytum is barely keeping up with Emory as he drags her through the empty football house.

We thought fast on our feet when we ran into Emory on the stairs. His heavy browline furrowed as he looked between us, and I jumped into action. I lied and told him that I went to look for Taytum when the alarms started to go off and that I had found her in a sugar episode.

“Are you sure?” Emory asks.

I put my hands in my pockets and try to act casual as I trail behind them. Taytum rips her arm away, and Emory lets go willingly. “Yes. I know how to check my sugar and when I need to give myself medicine, Dad. Chill out.”

“She’s fine, Em,” I add.

I make a conscious decision to keep my eyes away from Taytum, especially in front of him.

He doesn’t look convinced. “Whatever. I’m taking you home. Let’s go.”

Taytum hesitates, and I want to step in so badly and tell him that I’ll take her home, but that’ll only make things worse. He’ll ask why, and then I’ll have to come up with another lie. There are lies all over the place at this point.

“I can make it home without your help,” Taytum stresses.

“Go,” he urges, opening the car door.

She hesitates again, and my body burns the moment she swings her blue eyes in my direction.

Don’t do this to me, I silently plead.

I swallow my thick spit, keep my gaze as steady as I can, and say, “Later.”

Later? Did I seriously say…later?Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

If I could punch myself repeatedly without causing concern, I would.

Emory looks at me oddly, but I quickly turn and head for my car, because honest to God, I can’t make sense of my behavior.

When I’m tucked behind the wheel, I turn up the music to drown out the noise in my head. It’s a cluster of dirty thoughts, cravings, refusal, and guilt. I had every intention of going back to my dorm room to put myself in a much-needed time-out, but instead, I end up at the rink.

It’s just me, the rink, and the puck.

I swing my stick back, balancing on the ice, and shoot the little black biscuit into the net.

Swish.

Swish.

Swish.

I start to list every reason to stay away from Taytum halfway through my therapy session.

“Emory is your best friend, and he will kill you.” Swish.

“You’re too young to die.” Swish.

“Plus, you’re too good-looking to die.” Swish.

“You could lose everything.” Swish.

“If things go awry, there goes any family stability you have in your life.” Swish.

“You could lose her.” Swish.

My chest heaves as I send the last puck flying over the ice. It doesn’t make it into the net, which pisses me off. All my excuses to stay away from Taytum are valid.

Her family practically adopted me as a kid when it was most needed. Without them, I wouldn’t be skating on this rink. Without Emory, I wouldn’t know the true meaning of loyalty and realize that you don’t have to be blood-related to someone to consider them family. And without Taytum, I wouldn’t be half the man I am. I’d give up my life if it meant saving hers.

I rest my forehead against the glass and stare at the sin bin. That’s where I should be. My hot breath fills the glass with fog as I take deep breaths from rushing over the ice, but it didn’t tire me like I hoped.

I’m still out of breath when I get into my car. The dash says it’s well after midnight, and campus has slowly begun to die down. The streets are empty, and it’s just me, the moon, and the one window that’s still lit up on the front of Taytum’s sorority house.

My heart beats hard as I stare at the orangey glow from her bedroom. The window is open, and her curtain blows with the wind. I tell myself it’s a welcoming gesture. I hiss when a piece of bark scrapes over my palm, but I continue to climb the bare winter tree until I’m eye level with the little slant of the roof.

To my surprise, she’s not there, like I expected.

I should climb back down the tree, get in my car, and go home, but I have zero willpower when it comes to her.

Clearly.

With my long legs, I’m able to put one foot on the roof while I hold myself steady against the thick trunk of the maple tree. I creep along the shingles one by one with my heart in my stomach and use one lone finger to push the cottony drape to the side.

Relief settles my nerves when I see her prepping the insulin pen. Since she filled me in on purposely messing with her sugar levels, I’ve been worried that she hasn’t been taking it when she’s supposed to.

“I’m glad to see you’re taking your insulin,” I say, pushing one leg through the window opening.

She screams and drops the pen onto the floor. “Ford! What the hell are you doing climbing through my window?”

I glance back at the opening before pinning her with an obvious look. “It was open.”

She pretends to be annoyed. She flings her freshly brushed blonde hair over her shoulder and shoots me a dirty look, which is only encouragement for me. After I close the window, I skim down her body and realize she’s in her pajamas.

She looks cute.

Pink shorts and a loose, matching pink top with little red hearts placed haphazardly all over them. I swear to God, there are two hearts placed perfectly where her nipples are, and my mouth waters when I see that she doesn’t have on a bra.

I pull my eyes back to her face when she crosses her arms.

“That’s very stalkerish.”

How fitting, considering I’m obsessed with her.

We keep eye contact the entire time I walk toward her. I bend with ease and swoop up her insulin pen. “I hope you’re giving yourself the proper dose,” I say.

She sighs, and I have to refrain from leaning closer to feel her warm breath against my mouth. I have to get my shit together. “I am.”

“Let me.” I keep the pen steady in one hand and slowly lift her pink pajama top, brushing my fingers against her soft skin like she’s a drug, and I’m an addict. I don’t miss the way goosebumps run over her flesh and how the rising of her chest matches mine. I gulp, pinch the tender skin on her belly, and ask her if she’s ready.

Our eyes meet in the middle, and every single excuse I could think of in the rink disappears right along with my self-restraint. We keep a hold of each other while I press the pen into her belly and silently count to ten. My hand stays on her lower back well after I drop the pen to the floor, and I slowly pull her silk top down to cover her, but I can’t let her go.

And by the look in her eye, I don’t think she wants me to.

“You’re going to have to tell me to leave,” I admit, praying to God that she doesn’t.

I’m shaking with a need I feel in my bones. Every single time I touch her, kiss her, look at her, it pulls me in a little bit more. I don’t know how we got to this place, but the line was crossed the night I first kissed her, and I’m not sure I can cross back over.

Taytum presses up against me, and I feel out of control. “What’s the point in me telling you to leave? It’s not like you ever listen to me anyway.”

My chest constricts. I silently promise myself that this will be a one-time thing. I just have to get her out of my system, and then things will go back to normal.

“One time?” I ask.

I trick myself into thinking it isn’t a lie, and she helps drive it further.

Taytum swallows. “What about your rules? I thought you said I couldn’t fuck hockey players.”

I twitch. “Fuck my rules.”

Our chemistry heightens, and my blood screams with need. I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist with ease. I stare up at her as I walk us over to her bed. “I just gotta get you out of my system.”

She nods. “Same.”

“Then get ready,” I say as I lay her back, “because tonight you’re not my best friend’s little sister.” Her wrists are trapped in my hand, and I pin them to the pillow. “Tonight, you’re mine.”