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“Until I fuck up. Until I don’t do my job. Until I don’t get them the Cup they’re expecting at the end of the season. I was traded late last season, so the team’s fate was pretty much already sealed. This season, everyone’s going to be looking at me to make sure we end up where we want to.”
She sighs as if she’s watching one of those dog commercials where they talk about them being abused and not fed. Why the fuck did I admit that to her?
“There’s a reason you were traded here. There’s a reason they believe in you. I’m sure all the pressure you’re feeling is hard to deal with, but you’ve already bonded with your teammates, built the chemistry between you, and you’re getting a fresh start when the puck drops on that first game. You’re going to be fine.”
I roll over but hold her hips to keep her on top of me. “You sound like you know hockey.”
A look crosses her face, but it vanishes too quickly for me to ask. “Just good at pep talks, I guess,” she shrugs.
I run my hands up the sides of her torso. “Your turn now.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“I want my hands on you, and you’re probably sore, so this way we both get pleasure.”
She giggles, slides off my lap, and rolls onto her stomach on my bed. I get up on my knees, crawling between her legs. I bend one and lift it up in the air, kissing her ankle.
“This isn’t like the normal massages I get.”
I chuckle and continue a path up her leg. “It’s a special one.”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
“That’ll be extra.” I kiss all the way up her leg before lowering it and grabbing her other ankle.
“What if I leave a big tip?”
“Trying to swindle yourself a deal?” I ask, twisting her ankle to inspect her tattoo.
It’s a black anchor on the side of her ankle. It’s little, but sexy.
“Why an anchor?” I ask, moving my lips up her legs. Every inch of her is delicious and addictive.
“I went through a rough patch in college. My friends all went to a tattoo parlor. I wasn’t going to get one, but then I started looking. One of the artists came over and I was talking to him and said that if I got one, I wanted something with significance. Not just something I picked out from a book. He asked me a few questions and brought up the anchor when I said I was considering dropping out of school. It just felt right.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
She sighs. I’m not sure if she doesn’t want to tell me or if it’s because my lips are on her inner thigh now. “For me, it’s about resilience and getting through the tough times. A reminder that I’ll get through them.”
“May I ask what the tough time was back then?”
I know I shouldn’t. It’s not my business when we’re just messing around with one another, so if she says no, I can’t fault her.
“I wasn’t making it in college. I felt lost at my drawing board. Like I shouldn’t be there. I had no fresh ideas. My professors kept calling me in and asking what the problem was. I didn’t think I had what it takes.”
I hate that I have to ask her the next question because though I could sculpt her pussy from memory, I have no idea how she supports herself. “What did you go to school for?”
She laughs, and I move up to massage her back. I’ve never really given a massage to anyone, but her muscles feel tense and constricted.
“Sorry, that’s weird. I guess I never told you. I went to school for fashion design.”
“That’s impressive. So, you’re creative, huh?”
“I’m not sure about that anymore. But yeah.”
I should offer some advice like she gave me a second ago. We’re both clearly at a point of our lives where the uncertainty of the world we live in has us feeling a little off balance. “Are you struggling with a design or direction?”
She doesn’t say anything at first, and I watch her back rise and fall with a big breath. “I guess so.”
