Page 11 of Never Pucking Ending

She walks into the kitchen and sets her purse down on the counter, fiddling with her phone. I should apologize for not getting back to her when she texted me. I should tell her I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I don’t get the chance to.

“My mom is coming tomorrow,” she blurts, flinching at the abrupt statement. Swiping her hands down her jeans nervously, she smiles. It’s not the natural one that comes effortlessly and lights up her whole face. This one is forced, not meeting her eyes. “Well, both our parents. You probably know that though. My mom and I are planning on having lunch the two of us before the game, then meeting up with your dad at their hotel so we don’t have to take two vehicles.”

Wetting my lips, I stiffly nod. “My dad called me about it. I’m going to try making a reservation for afterwards so we can all grab food.”

She perks up. “I can do it if it’s easier. You’ve got enough going on. I know it’s still strange seeing the Penguins on the opposite side of the ice.”

I haven’t let myself think about Pittsburgh’s team since I saw them on the schedule. They’ve undergone some changes since Moskins and I left and signed with the Fireflies, but they’re still strong. Maybe even stronger than us because of the seasoned players on their roster.

“It’s fine. Keeps my mind busy and away from other things,” I tell her, seeing the pink settle under her cheeks as soon as the words are out.

Fuck me.

“I mean away from the game. Not…” Letting my words fade, I close my eyes and rub the lids with the pads of my fingers. Christ, I hate this.

The smallest exhale releases from her. She’s watching me when I focus again, her cheeks still faintly pink and her smile wavering like she’s struggling to keep it.

She hates this too.

This awkwardness.

We’ve never been awkward around one another. Sure, we’ve had some moments over the past few years that I’d rather forget, but nothing we couldn’t overcome. I don’t want this to blow up more than it already has.

“Look—” I begin the same time she says, “I don’t like this.”

We both stop, staring at one another again.

My shoulders drop. “I don’t like this either,” I agree, palming my tired face. My body is screaming from this week’s practices and our away game in New York. I’m exhausted, and mentally trying to prep myself for tomorrow’s home game against the team that made me who I am today. I don’t have time to let myself be distracted by anything else.

Belle stands taller. “You saw my boobs,” she states matter-of-factly. There’s a flicker of discomfort in her tone that she doesn’t let mold to her face. “And…a lot more. But mostly my boobs. And it isn’t like you’re foreign to seeing things like that. Women flash you all the time at games, and God only knows how many you’ve seen up close and personal outside of the rink.”

I blink slowly at her, unsure of what to say.

She keeps going. “You’ve dated like, a million people. Well, dated may be a generous way to put it. You’ve definitely seen a lot of naked bodies, though, so this shouldn’t be that weird for you. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. One day, I could accidently walk in on you changing and see—” She gestures toward my waist, waving her hand in the general direction of my dick. “You know. And we could laugh it off and say we’re even.”

One of my brows quirks up. I don’t like the idea of her laughing at my cock. “Are you saying you want to see my dick to be even?”

Belle gapes at me, eyes rounder than her shocked mouth. The pink on her cheeks turns to red. “Oh my God. No. No! I just meant that it could happen to anybody. I could have easily seen your penis.”

Said appendage jerks at the attention she’s indirectly giving it, and I have to mentally think about literally anything else to get to go back down. My dead grandma. My dad coming here tomorrow. The game. Those certainly do the trick, and it simmers in my pants.

I lean back in the stool and cross my arms over my chest. “For the record, I haven’t seen millions of tits. And I sure as hell haven’t dated that many people.”

Am I virgin? Fuck no. That ship sailed when I was fifteen. But hockey was always a constant in my life, and training for the big leagues took precedence before anything else. Including a serious relationship. So most of the flings I had were just that—flings. Something that would be a one-time thing or a short time escape. I don’t remember the last time I saw a woman for longer than a few weeks. And when Belle moved in with me, that became even fewer and far between. The thought of bringing people back when she was around… Well, I don’t like the reaction my body has to that. And since it’s rare for her to ever bring guys around, something tells me she finds it odd too.

On the off chance I do find someone to hook up with, I usually go back to their rooms or apartments and avoid Belle seeing me with another girl. Once in a while, I’ll even let my guard down when I’m exceptionally pent up and let them get me off when we’re out. Although, the guys never let me hear the end of it when I disappear into the bathroom or a dark hallway with one of them whenever I do.

“You know what I mean,” she mutters, fidgeting with her mood ring. She’s worn that thing since she was seventeen, despite it never changing from the hideous green-brown color. I’d won it for her in one of those dumb arcade games, and you would have thought it was a diamond ring when I handed it to her.

But I get it. Belle doesn’t want to make this weirder than it has to be. And since she hasn’t brought up this morning, something tells me she has no idea that the tension coiled in my shoulders has more to do with hearing her orgasm to the thought of me than being seconds away from touching her yesterday afternoon.

Think about grandma, I order myself when I start thinking about Belle’s body on display for me. The old woman who used to smack with a rolled-up newspaper toward the end of her life helps distract me.

“We should just forget about it,” she suggests, shifting from one foot to another. Her voice is timid, unsure. “Pretend like it never happened and move on. No big deal. It’s only a body.”

It’s only a body.

A truer statement has never been said, but that doesn’t mean she’s right. Because what I saw in that bedroom yesterday was so much more than just a body.