Page 19 of Pucked Into Position

“Good night, Phoenix.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go home to your good luck charm, grump.”

When I finally make it back to the penthouse, I expect Lana to be curled up around my pillow, asleep. It’s nearly midnight and she has class tomorrow. Instead, I find her sitting up in bed reading one of her textbooks, a highlighter clutched between her teeth.

“Ryan!” She jumps up and flies at me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and she looks up with a mix of awe and affection I had no idea I was missing before. My heart swells; this beautiful, nerdy blonde angel is all mine.

As the season moves forward, Lana and I settle into a wonderful yet exhausting routine: she does her best to stay ahead of her coursework, and I try to maintain focus during away games. Oftentimes, I’d call at night to find her tucked away in a corner of the campus library. But she never misses a home game, cheering from the family box until she’s practically hoarse. I know she tracks every away game too, whether it’s from my TV at home or on her phone.

We manage to make a few more strategic, highly publicized dates during my home games to keep Brenda happy. Behind the walls of the penthouse, however, we consume each other, blurring the lines where one of us begins and the other ends.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I’ve only got one worry hanging over my head.

Tucker.

The guilt of not telling him the truth sucks. We've never hidden anything from each other. Worse, I’m terrified that by not telling him the truth, Lana will begin to think I only want her because our relationship is good for my image.

I want to take her out on a quiet date, just the two of us—no cameras, no sly reporters, and no Brenda breathing down our necks. I want to show her just how serious this is for me. There just hasn’t been time with our grueling schedules.

The separation hits its peak during my first away game. We've been hot and heavy, and I miss her spread out on the bed every night, moaning my name like a prayer, then curled up beside me, lulling me into easy sleep. The team is on its longest away trip, playing multiple cities in a row, leaving us all with barely a chance to breathe.

After a hard-fought game in Chicago, I sit alone in my hotel room, still wired from the game, my muscles aching. I check the time. She should still be up.

I dial her number and she answers on the first ring.

“Hey, babe.” Lana’s melodic voice immediately relaxes me.

“Hey.” I lean back against the pillows. “Did you see it?”

“Seriously? Of course I saw it! You were amazing!” she gushes, her excitement pouring through the speaker as she recounts every play and her reaction. “I couldn’t leave my favorite goalie without his good luck charm even if it was only in spirit.”

I sigh contentedly and let out a low, rough chuckle, my chest tightening. “You know you’re a lot more than a good luck charm to me, right, baby girl?”

“I-I know,” she whispers, her voice softening. “I miss you.”

“I miss you so much it hurts,” I admit, dropping my voice. I hear Lana’s breath hitch and the distance suddenly feels more unbearable than it did five minutes ago. I crave her soft hands exploring my body, having her falling apart beneath me.

“Put me on video,” I command, needing to see her.

Before she can answer, I pull the phone away from my ear and switch the call to video. Half a second later, the screen blinks and Lana’s beautiful face fills the screen.

She’s lying against the pillows on my bed, her hair piled into a messy bun, her cheeks already flushed. The sight of her there—in my bed, waiting for me even when I’m miles away—makes my cock press harder against my boxers.

“Touch yourself for me?” I ask, holding the phone out to show her exactly what she’s doing to me.

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and nods, propping the phone against a pillow at the foot of the bed. I shift on the mattress, unable to take my eyes off her.

“Like this?” she asks softly, pushing down her pajama shorts to reveal her bare pussy. Her fingers slip between her thighs.

“Lana,” I groan, biting my lip. “Just like that.”

I push my boxers down, and her breath catches. The sound goes straight through me. I hate that there are miles between us, that I can see every little reaction but can’t reach out and touch her.

A knock rattles my hotel room door.

“Ryan!” one of the guys calls from the hallway. “We’re grabbing dinner and drinks. You coming?”