Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2

SERAPHINA

Overtime is busier than usual, and empty tables are in scarce supply when Chloe and I arrive in the middle of the dinner rush. There are a few seats scattered on the opposite end of the bar, but we spot a bunch of obnoxious-looking frat boys nearby and decide to steer clear. Abby would’ve dragged me straight over and insisted we sit near, if not with them.

Truthfully, I’m thrilled to be out with someone who’s not Abby. Chloe and I have been able to carry on real conversations about meaningful things beyond bars and boys. Music, current events, activities to do around town. I still like fun, frivolous things too, but sometimes it’s nice to discuss topics of actual substance instead of debating which nightclub has the best VIP section.

A little company is exactly what I needed today, especially because Tyler is ignoring me. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. I texted him a few hours ago—six, but who’s counting?—and he never wrote me back. That wouldn’t be as concerning if not for the fact I know he saw it. I know it sounds needy, maybe verging on insane, but this is the longest he’s ever left me on read without replying.

Is he getting tired of all our messages back and forth? Has the appeal of our twenty-one (now twenty-six and counting) questions with me worn off? I know I’m overthinking, but it’s impossible not to with a legitimately overactive brain.

Finally, Chloe and I find a small table near the pool tables at the back and snag it before anyone else can.

She slips off her navy jacket across from me. “Your poem today was amazing, Sera.”

Heat laces my cheeks. “Thank you.”

All of my writing is personal to me, but the one she’s referring to is about my mom’s cancer and BRCA. Although the true meaning is shrouded in heavy amounts of symbolism, it’s the most naked thing I’ve ever put down on the page.

“I loved it. The part where you used the wind as a metaphor gave me chills.”

“Really?” Her validation eases some of the tightness I’ve been carrying in my shoulders. “Oh, thank god. I was worried it wouldn’t make sense.”

“No, it totally did. How was it sharing your work? Was it terrifying?”

Surprising even myself, I voluntarily offered up some of my writing to workshop in class today. Everyone will have to do it at least twice this semester, so I figured I might as well get used to it. After the initial moments of terror passed, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. All of my classmates were nice, and I got some useful feedback.

“I was a nervous wreck,” I confess. “But I’m really glad I did it. I’m surprised how much I’ve been loving class so far.”

“Me too. Though I’m not looking forward to next week. The syllabus says we’re studying love poems in honor of Valentine’s Day.” Chloe makes a face. “Might as well study fairy tales.”

“You don’t believe in love?”

She scoffs. “About as much as I believe in the Easter Bunny. I mean, it’s a nice concept. I’m sure it’s out there for other people. For me? No. I’ve abandoned that idea. Love, dating, all of it. Plus, between work and school, I don’t have time to date. Like, at all.”

“That last part sounds like Tyler,” I muse. “I mean, my roommate.”

Worry glimmers in the back of my mind again. Why didn’t he write me back? If he’s blowing me off, I can live with that; I’d just like to know. Actually, that’s a lie. A big, fat lie. If he’s blowing me off, I’ll be crushed.

Our server takes our drink orders, and once she disappears, we agree to split a bunch of appetizers instead of getting entrees. It’s one of my favorite things to do at a restaurant. My bottomless pit of a brother is the first person who introduced me to it. Somehow, it feels vaguely naughty in a fun way—like you’re a little kid who’s bending the rules by not eating a “proper” meal.

We quickly settle on spinach and artichoke dip, buffalo chicken wings, pulled pork sliders, and chili-garlic shrimp, vowing to split the white chocolate brownie after if we still have any room left. It helps that we planned ahead; I got to preview the menu online ahead of time, thereby avoiding the usual overwhelm I run into when I’m put on the spot to make a decision.

Chloe sets down her Diet Coke, catching my eye. “Before I forget, there’s a writing contest through Revolve Magazine I meant to tell you about. There are a few different categories, and I think the grand prize is five thousand dollars or something. The winners will be compiled into their yearly anthology, which is a huge deal. Maxine’s been featured in it multiple times.”

“Anything Maxine has done is goals for sure. Are you going to enter?”

“No, silly. I meant you should.”

“Me? That’s nice of you to say, but I can’t see how I’d ever have a shot at something like that.” While I’ve always gotten by in school, I’ve never been an exemplary student. I don’t get straight-As, I don’t make the honor roll, and I definitely don’t win contests for my work. Those accolades are for organized, prepared types of people who have their acts together. In other words, not me.

She angles her head, leveling me with a look that says she doesn’t understand. “Why not? You said you’ve been writing for a while. It’s not like you’re new.”

“I’m new to writing properly,” I counter, biting into a piece of spicy shrimp.

“There’s no right or wrong with poetry. Remember what Maxine said in class today? ‘Good poetry makes you feel something.’ Your poem definitely made me feel something, and I’m not the only one.”

Cautious hope blossoms within me. Chloe seems to believe what she’s saying, but that doesn’t make it true. It’s possible she’s just being supportive.

“Thanks, Chloe. I’ll give it some thought.” Can’t see myself actually going through with entering, but it’s nice of her to think of me.

We plow through our food in short order, making it to the famed white chocolate brownie topped with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. It’s ridiculously over the top and decadent and I inhale my half with zero regrets.

When the server brings our bill, I grab the black leather folio and stick my credit card inside. “I got it.”

“What?” she protests. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“You picked me up, so I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.” Based on some of our conversations, I’ve gathered that finances are tight for her, which is why she works full-time while juggling school.

She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, then closes it again. “Okay, but only if you’re sure. Thank you.” Her gaze lands off in the distance over my shoulder. “Actually, I need to hit the washroom before we go. Be right back.”

Chloe excuses herself to use the washroom before we leave. As soon as she’s out of sight, I unlock my phone again to check my messages. My hopes crash and burn when I find several new texts from Abby and none from Tyler.

Footfalls thud beside me as someone approaches the table. I lift my chin expecting to see Chloe, and my heart does a twirl when I lock eyes with Hades himself.

A fitted black Henley drapes across his firm chest, long sleeves pushed partway up to reveal his inked forearms; a pair of perfectly broken-in jeans emphasize his strong hockey thighs; and the leather watch he’s wearing somehow makes it all ten times hotter.

He looks absolutely, aggravatingly perfect.

“Hey, Ser.” Tyler stuffs his hands in his pockets, giving me a boyish grin that makes my insides turn to mush. If I didn’t know better, I might think he’s nervous. Not sure why he would be when he’s the one who left me hanging.

I paste on a smile I hope looks more genuine than it feels. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t write you back earlier. Forgot my phone at the arena after practice.” Tension stretches across his face, and he forks a hand through his sandy hair, mussing it. “It’s been a day.”

A paradox of emotions hits me. Relief, giddiness, along with a strong undercurrent of embarrassment at how I overreacted. I feel silly even though no one else knows I did.

“That’s okay,” I say. “Are you here with the team?”

“Just finished up with my goalie coach. We grabbed some dinner after training.”

Chloe speed walks up to the table, her gaze glued to the phone in her hand. She’s so frazzled, she doesn’t seem to register Tyler’s presence.

“I’m sorry, Sera. There’s an emergency at work, and they need me to come in right away. It’s on the other side of town so I’ll drive you home quickly, and then—”

“I got it,” Tyler interjects. “I’m heading home anyway. I can drive her.”

Her attention lifts from her screen and lands on him, her mouth parting in a little “O” of confusion. I didn’t mention having a boyfriend, and that’s probably what she’s assuming right now. Or she thinks I’m about to leave with some random guy.

I gesture between them. “Chloe, this is Tyler, my roommate. Hence the driving home offer. Tyler, this is Chloe. We have a class together.”

Her shoulders sag with relief. “Would you mind? My boss is such a jackass. I feel terrible. It’s probably something like a clogged toilet he can’t be bothered to plunge himself. Again.”

“All good,” I assure her. I’m more excited about Tyler driving me home than a normal person should be. It’s a ride home, not a date. Then again, we’ve already had one eventful car ride with my audiobook.

Once I get my credit card back from the server, we walk Chloe to her car where it’s parked near the back of the lot.

Tyler turns to me as she pulls away. “Mind if we make a quick stop at the rink to grab my phone?” His words are puffs of steam against the frosty night air.

“No, that’s fine.” Like I’d turn down a chance to be alone with him longer. The minute we get home, we’re going to go our separate ways and act like we hardly know each other, then send a bunch of texts back and forth until we fall asleep.

We fall into step together as he expertly navigates across campus, teaching me several new shortcuts along the way. The chill nips at my ears, and I pull up my hood, but it doesn’t help enough. Between my admittedly impractical outfit and my failure to pack a beanie or earmuffs this morning, I’m frozen and I’m starting to shiver.

“Here, Tink.” Slowing to a stop beneath a streetlamp, Tyler pulls something out of his backpack. Then he tugs down my hood and carefully slides his black falcons beanie over my head, his touch light like he’s trying to ensure he doesn’t ruin my hair. The thick wool covers my ears and buffers the wind on my face, instantly cutting some of the chill.

He studies me for a beat like he’s inspecting his own handiwork, and one side of his mouth tips up. “You’re cute.”

“Cute?” I pout.

“Among other things.” His gaze does a slow coast down my body before he catches himself. Inclining his head, he gestures for us to start walking again. We pick up our pace as Northview Arena comes into sight in the distance, so close but so far from the sweet relief of being indoors.

Tyler opens the oversized glass door and holds it open, motioning for me to go first. Warm air washes over my face as I step inside, and he follows.

“For reference, my answer to your question is cleaning.”

“Cleaning?” I can’t remember what my question was.

“You asked what I do when I’m stressed out,” he says, taking a left to lead me down a hallway. “I clean. Or when I have more time on my hands, I get tattoos.”

Picturing Tyler with a mop in one hand is both oddly cute and surprisingly endearing. I hadn’t pegged him for the domestic type.

“Does that also include the occasional piercing?” I ask.

I nearly fell over when my hand wrapped around his cock in the bathroom at XS to find not one, not two, but three silver barbells at the base. A full-on Jacob’s Ladder. I’d never been with a guy who had piercings before, and let’s just say I’m a newly converted believer. It hit the spot—literally.

“Just the once.” A grin tugs at his cheeks. “No plans for any more of those, I don’t think. Your turn to answer.”

“Truthfully? Probably go out with my friends and pretend whatever’s stressing me out doesn’t exist, but as you know, that strategy doesn’t seem to be working out so well for me lately. It looks like shopping is going to be my coping mechanism moving forward. I’m big into retail therapy.”

“The constant carousel of online deliveries gave me some idea,” he says wryly. “As did the fact you’ve started to take over the hallway.”

“I’ll organize my room… Someday.” I really need to finish unpacking. Maybe I can pay someone to come help me. How much do professional organizers cost? Probably worth it.

“Hopefully before you move out.”

I groan at the reminder. “Oh, god. Things have been so crazy that I haven’t even looked for an apartment.” It’s one of the billion balls I’ve dropped since moving. Others include working out and eating an adequate amount of fruits and vegetables. At the rate I’m going, the guys are going to get sick of me long before I manage to find a place to live.

“I’m not in a big hurry to see you go, Ser.” His voice softens, melting me right along with it.

In a few more turns, we reach the doorway to the Falcons locker room. Finally warm enough, I slip off Tyler’s beanie and tuck it in my purse. I smooth my static flyaways while I hang back, waiting for him to enter his ID for access. He holds open the crimson-painted door for me, and I brush past him, savoring the familiarity of his masculine, clean scent.

Much to my surprise, the dressing room smells fresh, tinged with a hint of Windex and cleaning solution—a far cry from what I assume it smells like after a game. The door clicks shut behind us as he flips a switch on the wall, and a three-dimensional Falcons logo in the center of the ceiling lights up, illuminating the space. It’s spotless; sleek and modern, all shades of red, black, and gray.

Equipment cubbies run along both sides, with padded leather benches in front and stainless-steel name plaques marking each player’s spot. To the right is a wall listing of alumni who went played professionally after attending Boyd. I run my fingertips across the embossed metal plaques, scanning their names, some familiar and some not.

“You’ll be up here soon,” I tell him.

He winks at me. “That’s the plan.” Striding to the opposite end of the room, he opens a red locker and emerges with his phone. A moment later, he comes to stand in front of me, an indecipherable look across his face. “Do you need to get home?”

Excitement crackles beneath my skin. “No, why?”

“I want to show you something.”

Taking me by the wrist, he leads me to the door, and we step back into the hall. I’m equal parts confused and disappointed. Our sneaky locker room break-in had my mind going in a dramatically different, far dirtier direction, and I thought “showing me” was code for something else.

A heavy, muscular arm slides around my waist as he wordlessly steers me down the corridor, his grip casual like it’s the most natural thing in the world for the two of us to be this close. I’ve been so desperate for him to make a move, I’m on the verge of hyperventilating now that he is.

Two flights of stairs later, we come to stand before another locked door. Tyler punches in a code and pushes it open to reveal a small room filled with audiovisual equipment. Wide panes of glass along one wall look out onto the arena, a faint, blue-tinted glow from the emergency lighting system filtering through. He closes the door behind us, but he doesn’t flip on the lights.

“The announcer’s box?” I guess, scanning the array of dormant electronics.

“My dad brought me up here when I decided to attend Boyd. He gave me this long inspirational speech about how proud he was of me. I always looked up to the athletes he worked with when I was kid, and this was the moment when I felt like I’d finally made it to the next level.”

“You and your dad are close, huh?” My throat tightens at the reminder of everything I’ve missed with mine. Losing him in that helicopter crash when I was nine changed everything. It changed me.

“Yeah,” he says. “We talk all the time. I think we’re a lot alike.”

“What’s the rest of your family like?”

“My younger brother Jonah plays hockey too. He’s good, though maybe quite not as good as he thinks.” Tyler smirks. “Then my mom’s a doctor, and my sister Elise is into competitive gymnastics. It’s like a whole family tree of overachievers.”

This doesn’t come as a huge surprise, and it’s starting to shed some light on why he pushes himself so much.

“Were you close to your dad?” he asks softly.

A familiar pang of longing sets in. “I was a total daddy’s girl.”

His eyes hold mine. “I’m sorry, Ser.”

I can tell he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Dead parents make even the most well-intentioned people uncomfortable. I don’t hold it against anyone. If they haven’t experienced it themselves, it’s impossible for them to relate.

“It’s okay.” I step closer to the bank of windows, taking in everything from our elevated vantage point. Down below, the spectator stands are completely empty, the playing surface vacant aside from the painted lines and massive Boyd U Falcons symbol beneath the ice. This perspective from above drives home the massive scale of the seventeen-thousand-person arena, which is bigger than some professional hockey venues.

“Nice view,” I murmur. “Everything looks so small from up here.”

“Feels a lot bigger when you’re standing down there in front of the net.” He comes to stand beside me, the heat of his body warming mine. Our fingers brush, and my heart skips a beat as he threads them together. I have no idea how something so small can have such a big effect on me.

“Did you always want to play goal?”

He nods, his gaze focused on the other side of the glass. “The first time I stood in that crease, I knew.”

“Makes sense. Goalies are built different. Some people say they’re a little cr—’

“Watch it, Tink.” Tyler pokes me in the ribs, and I yelp, trying to scoot out of his reach. He pulls me toward him instead, easily overpowering me. Pivoting, he walks me backward a few steps until I’m trapped between a table and his broad, solid body. My skin thrums in response to his proximity, the throb in my core growing stronger by the second. I’m wound so tightly I can hardly breathe.

Cupping my chin, he tilts my face up to his. “Care to finish what you were going to say?” Slate eyes peer down at me, gleaming with a mixture of desire and amusement.

“Goalies are crazily talented?”

He tsks, fighting a smile. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

“I try.”

For a few tense breaths, neither of us moves. His calloused thumb runs across my cheek, caressing, and his gaze falls to my mouth, darkening to a smolder that lights a fire low in my belly. My heart skips a beat as he lowers his lips to mine until they’re almost touching. I circle my arms around his neck to pull him closer, and he draws in a jagged breath, covering my mouth with his.

Finally.

Exhilaration floods my veins, and I let out a sigh, twining my fingers in the soft hair at his nape. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently, then licks where he just nipped me. This is different than last time; more deliberate and controlled, like he’s savoring every second.

Strong hands cup my ass and set me on the table behind us. He nudges my legs apart, then pulls me to the edge until there’s no space between our bodies. Our centers aligned perfectly, my hips move into his, and I feel him harden against me. The empty ache in my core is nearly unbearable.

My palms smooth up his chest to his shoulders, impatiently urging off his jacket. Without breaking our kiss, he shrugs it off, then removes mine. The room fills with breathy moans and the rustling of clothes, murmurs and the clanging of his buckle. We’re on a mission to see this through to completion, neither wasting time on foreplay after we got left hanging last time.

Fumbling, I unfasten his jeans while he yanks up the hem of my skirt. His fingertips hook onto the sides of my panties, yanking them off in one decisive swoop. Rough palms smooth up my bare legs until he reaches the apex of my thighs. Cupping where I’m heated and aching for him, he strokes my clit, and a feral growl rumbles in his chest.

“Such a perfect pussy.” His finger dips inside my entrance and strokes my inner wall, curling to apply perfect pressure.

“Ty.” I groan, writhing as he teases me again. Pleasure sparks in my core, flickering in and out while he deliberately keeps me hanging on the edge.

My hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs, skimming past his smooth, taut abs to grasp his cock. He’s even bigger than I remembered, thick and heavy in my palm. His breaths grow shallow as my fingertips skim down his shaft, tracing the three piercings at the bottom.

When my fist wraps around the base, his hips jerk, and he groans into my neck. “Fuck, Ser. I can’t control myself with you.”

“Condom,” I manage, panting and desperate and soaked. “In my purse over there.”

In a blink, he’s sheathed and settled between my legs again. My back arches, fingertips greedily scrabbling to pull him closer. He grips himself, rubbing the head of his cock up and down along my swollen, sensitive clit.

I whimper. “Don’t tease me.”

He kisses me as he thrusts forward, swallowing my cry. It’s a snug fit that fills me completely, leaving me lost for words. He pushes into me until he meets resistance, the base of his pelvis rubbing my clit.

Euphonia floods my core, and my legs wrap around his waist. “Oh, god.”

“Shit.” His hips stutter and he grabs my waist roughly, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. He falls still for a moment, exhaling slowly like he’s channeling his control. “You feel so goddamn good, Tink. So fucking tight.”

Once his composure returns a second later, his lips tug into a wicked smirk. He lowers his mouth to my ear and his warm breath skirts my skin. “I’m going to fuck you nice and hard, and you’re going to be quiet for me like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” My voice is breathy, my body desperate for him to start moving.

He eases his length out before he thrusts inside me, rattling the equipment behind us. My eyes squeeze shut, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of pleasure. Our bodies align together so perfectly it’s like it was by design. It’s so much more intense than anything I’ve experienced with anyone else.

“Do you feel how hard I am for you?” He plunges into me, nudging my G-spot.

“Yes.” I gasp as my walls clench around him, embarrassingly close to coming already.

With the next snap of his hips, my purse falls off the table beside us and crashes to the floor, its contents scattering all over.

“Leave it,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”

His growl tells me he had no intention of stopping. Body rolling, he rocks into me, going deeper and creating friction where I need it most. He hits the perfect spot inside over and over, relentlessly dragging me up to the peak as I hold onto him for dear life.

Pleasure coils in my core as I teeter on the edge, entirely at his mercy. A string of pleas slips through my lips, desperate for release—and then he gives it to me, expertly fucking me through an earth-shattering orgasm.

When he’s finished, I’m reduced to a quivering, boneless mess, and I’m so sensitive I can’t handle another second of stimulation.

“Give me a sec.” Sighing, I slump against him.

He huffs a low laugh and kisses the crown of my head. “Only one.”