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stlbluesbrat21 · 30 days

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;; Tainted Love 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: The stars seem to align for the first time when you and Ross Colton meet up for drinks while the Colorado Avalanche are in town. But it's a dangerous game you're playing because the spark is still there and is hard to ignore even with the both of you being spoken for. Kinks & Tropes: CHEATING (putting this in all caps because I want to make sure it's clear. It is a very prominent theme in this fic), alcohol consumption, car sex, unprotected sex, no forms of contraception used, pull-out method, dirty talk Word Count: 4.5k+

I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me.

The cold, caught somewhere between a fall and winter wind, reddened your cheeks more than blush ever could. It stung as you walked through the quiet streets; you head down and the collar of your jacket popped in a desperate attempt to stay home. It was late, the only life seen in the bars and restaurants on either side of you as you passed. The streets were empty, the bustle of traffic long forgotten. The only vehicle was a single cab picking up patrons or dropping them off. There were still four hours until closing time.

This, usually, was late enough for you to crawl into bed. You'd throw on a Netflix show, or listen to an audio book until you fell asleep. But you made plans. With your boyfriend out of town, you shouldn't have, but you did.

You felt like you had to, because this might have been the only opportunity you had to see Ross.

In town for one night only, and with his curfew broadened just because they had granted him more time to spend with his family, you couldn't say no. You never had said no to him either. The two of you shared a connection like you couldn't describe. Ever since you had first met on a dating app after one casual swipe in the right direction, you had clicked.

And even after the first date didn't work out, the encounter lasted no more than 5 minutes. You still kept in touch. You would get the occasional check in text. But beyond that, the two of you had gone your separate ways.

You had your boyfriend, and months later he had his girl. And your respective relationships remained unbroken, fully committed. But in time, even after months of not speaking to one another, you always ended up in each other's messages. Just to catch up, nothing more, always innocent - or at least, that was what you told yourselves.

And that's what meeting up in a bar you'd never been to would be. Just catching up over a drink. Nothing more.

That was what you told yourself when you stopped at the front door, her head tipping back to look up at the dimly lit sign. Your body quivered with a shaky breath.

Nerves? No. Ross never made you nervous.

You knew what you were feeling, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. It was wrong. Yet, you did it anyway.

You were greeted with a gust of warmth, a smile spreading over your face as you entered the busy bar. Bodies crowded around the bar top, music blared, and each television was broadcasting one sports event or another.

Finding a table near the back, the broadcast talking about tomorrow's Devil's game was a welcome distraction. You watched it as you draped your jacket over the back of your chair, and as you glanced over the menu, you had pulled up on your phone with the help of the QR code stuck on the tabletop. It was a distraction more than anything. You almost always ordered the same drink, no matter where you went. You just wanted to look busy until Ross arrived.

He announced his arrival discretely to not draw the attention of the surrounding people. He did it simply by speaking your name as his hand caressed over the small of your back in a featherlight touch.

Your smile was too wide as you answered him, “Ross.”

Without thought, you stood up from your seat and threw your arms around him in a brief embrace. And he returned it, the strength of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And for a moment, the two of you just stood there - just long enough to enjoy his embrace, but not long enough for it to be awkward. Then, your limbs fell away from him so naturally as you perched yourself back up on your chair.

From there, you admired him as he rounded the table to sit across from you. Ross was over dressed in every sense of the word. He wore a white button down, your eyes drawn to the black buttons that trailed down his chest, and he shrugged off his sports coat, the color one you couldn't quite make out under the dim multi-color lights of what you deemed a dive bar.

He draped the coat over the back of his chair, and his eyes that were bright with his smile found you.

“I'm a bit over dressed, huh?” His question laced with a chuckle as he sat.

You nodded. “Just a bit.”

“Just came from dinner with the family,” he explained, as if you needed one. You weren't going to complain. He looked good in a suit. There were worse things you could get stuck looking at.

“How was it? They must have been excited to see you.”

And that was how the conversation began. So effortlessly, so naturally, as you moved from one topic to the next. His family, yours, how he had settled into Colorado, his girlfriend, your boyfriend. You talked about it all over a drink that quickly led to two.

Once you finished sucking back nothing more than melted ice cubes from the bottom of your glass, you were cursing yourself for being such a lightweight. You could feel the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. The jitters in your hands, and the racing of your heart in your chest. One drink more and your brain would have fogged, but there wouldn't be another.

It was late, and Ross was already asking for the bill.

He paid it in full.

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that,” you said as you stood up from your seat. Thankfully, you didn't waver on your feet.

“You can cover it next time,” he said in such a way you believed him.

But you knew there wouldn't be a next time. He would be flying back to Colorado after the game, and he had a girlfriend. You had a boyfriend. It couldn't happen again. It shouldn't.

Together, you shrugged on your coats in the first awkward silence of the evening. Was this where you should say goodbye? Should you let him go on ahead and order yourself some water?

“Let me walk you to your car?” Ross’ voice cut through the silence. He had made up your mind for you.

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

Keeping your head down, you left the bar together. Ross’ frame leading the way through the crowd that was now dwindling. It would be closing time soon.

Stepping out into the cold air, you took in a sharp exhale. Its harshness almost left you light headed - or maybe that was the alcohol.

You should have drunk some water.

“I'm parked just up this way,” you told him and began the walk along the sidewalk with a casual stride.

You walked together, your arms bumping up against one another with each casual stride. The contact left a soft smile on your lips, your gaze rising to look at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had dipped into his pockets, and his collar popped to keep himself from the cold. And you stared for a moment, admiring how the city light reflected off his features. And how it ignited his too-perfect smile when he caught you staring.

“You look amazing tonight,” his voice cut through the silent street, sending goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Your smile tugged a little tighter at your cheeks.

He shouldn't be giving you a compliment like that. You shouldn't have liked hearing them. But you didn't stop them.

“Thanks, but I feel a little underdressed.”

Ross’ smile split wider, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he threw his head back. It was a laugh so comforting, so familiar, that it warmed your entire body as you came to stand in the empty parking lot where your vehicle sat alone.

“This is me,” you gestured to the mid size SUV with the lazy sway of your arm.

“Well,” he sighed out almost hesitantly, “it was really nice seeing you-”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiles on your faces and your eyes fixated on one another. Unmoving. Not quite wanting to leave.

Then, he was stepping forward, his arms encasing you in his embraces, and your arms winding around him in return. Your cheek rested against his chest, his warmth radiating to you as he held you. You stood there, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your body. The feeling of his hands on your back, and one dipping down. Down to where your ass peeked out from the edge of your jacket. There he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel his gentle exhale as your own was trapped in your own chest.

He shouldn't have touched you like that.

You shouldn't have let him.

And you shouldn't have liked it.

Drawing back slowly, you tilted your head back to look up at him. And Ross was looking back down at you. His bright eyes were half closed in a dreamy gaze and the corners of his smile had gone soft, leaving his lips slightly parted as he let out each exhale.

It washed over your face in a blossom of heat, and smelt of the sweet alcohol on his tongue. Ross’ face was so close to yours you could practically taste it–no, you just wanted to.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you muttered out a quiet goodbye, your limbs not ready to recoil away from his body yet.

“You should come, I can get you a ticket,” he offered, his words a breath into your hair that ignited your skin as he spoke.

“I might take you up on it,” you told him, but you wouldn't.

“I'll see you soon,” Ross sighed, his words igniting your skin as he spoke.

Yeah, sure you will. Was what you wanted to say. To mock him with those words and a hint of a laugh. Because you knew how this would go. You would go home tonight, and Ross would go back to the hotel room. He would ask if you made it home safe, and you would answer. But then you wouldn't hear from him for days, weeks, maybe months until you crossed his mind again, or he was left with the lonely opportunity to message you.

Instead, you said nothing, and you smiled a soft, tired smile.

It was then his hands fell away from you, his touch trailed down your curves, ghosting over the peaks of your hips before you were void of his touch, his warmth, and left numb by his absence.

So suddenly you felt cold, empty as you stood there in the parking lot. Your head spun, your eyes shutting tight as you tried to process a single thought. But there, as you sought for reason, for logic, there was only action.

Your arm lurched out before you could stop it, and your hand found what it was looking for as fingers wrapped around Ross’ wrist and dragged down to coast over his palm. Your fingers traced over each crease slowly until you could feel his fingers so close to slipping away, but then his hand captured your hand in return.

The sudden grasp of your hands together had his body recoiling into your own. There was a moment of tension in your arms before Ross stepped back into his place in front of you. Then, he took another step, forcing you to step back again and again until you were trapped between his body and your car door. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. You didn’t have to. You could see all of what he wanted to say in the look of his eyes and how they searched yours so desperately for what you wanted from him.

But what was it that you wanted?

You said your goodbyes, yet it didn’t feel like enough. It never did, and that was probably why you so desperately clung to any kind of relationship with him. To fill and satisfy a void your boyfriend left in you, but also in hope that one day have the satisfaction of being with him the way you always thought you might but never could be.

You had always run to Ross in a sense, especially during hardships. He knew you better than most, and he knew more of your secrets than anyone - and you were the same for him. Through tears and through laughter, the love you shared was unique. Unlike any other. Tainted. So close to friendship, but there would always be more.

And for the first time, it truly felt like you could finally cross those lines together. With his girlfriend back in Colorado, and your boyfriend away on business, it almost felt like fate that the two of you were left alone in New Jersey together.

His girlfriend didn’t know you existed, but you knew about her.

Your boyfriend didn’t know he existed, but Ross knew about him.

The two of you knew every little detail of each other's lives with your partners and helped each other through problems in your relationships that no one else seemed to understand. And it all seemed to be for nothing as you stood there in the night just waiting, hoping that he would kiss you.

You held your breath as Ross’ hand came up to stroke over your cheek. His touch was so warm, so gentle, that it left your every thought melting from your brain. You held no worry, only anticipation that coiled in the depths of your stomach and left your limbs to tremble. All you could focus on was his fingertips and how they traced every angle of your cheek, down over your jaw, and finally to your lips that quivered with an uneven breath.

It left your chest aching as you held the softened gaze of his eyes as they moved in as he closed the distance between you. You managed a single jagged breath before it was stolen from you, the warmth of his mouth all consuming as the kiss started in what was the careful brush of his lips against your own.

Then, it was like a dam broke.

There was no innocence in how Ross kissed you. His teeth moved hungrily against you, mouth open, and tongues gliding along one another before teeth clashed and desperate inhales were taken before you both dove further into self indulgence. It left you dizzy, your body pressed firmly back into the dirty door of your car. There, Ross knocked your legs just a single step apart and wedged a single leg between yours. You could feel him against the inside of each of your thighs, and so close to their apex. With just the single tilt of your hips, you could have ground yourself against him. Instead, you fumbled in your coat pockets for your keys.

Your fingers moved over the buttons blindly in your pocket, moving over one button and then the other until the lights flickered and you heard the locks disengage. The loud thud was like the gunshot at the beginning of a race. You couldn’t move your hands fast enough, and neither could he as you both reached for the same door handle, his hand gripped your, gripping it and pulling open. It sent you stumbling away from the door and into his body that helped you into the backseat of your car.

It was a spacious SUV. One you had slept in the back seat of on a road trip years ago. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was what you had, so it would do. You crawled up the length of the bench seats, giving Ross room to climb in behind you - but there was no space left between you when you heard the door shut firmly behind him.

His hands were quick to find your body, his grasp so firm on your hips to draw you back into him. Your bodies were a knotted mess as you tried to get situated in the back, the driver’s side seat digging into your front, then your side, and finally your back as you threw your leg over his to straddle him. With his warmth back between your thighs, you stripped off your coat to try to ignore just how hot he made you. Tossing it aside, your hands were freed to explore. Your hands found his body, your touch stroking over the angles of his own face as you kissed him, tasted him.

You were sure you had kissed him once before, but it had been so long you had forgotten the taste he left on your tongue. It was intoxicating, coaxing a moan up your lips as your hands found their place to rest knotted in the dark wisps of his hair. You toyed with the locks that would threaten to curl if they were only a little longer, as his hands trailed down the curves of your body. Ross caressed just under your breast, his thumb curiously reaching up and grazed just shy of your pert nipple that was pressing into the inside of your bra with the desperation of wanting to be touched. Then, his hands dipped lower over the circle of your waist, the rushed movement wrinkling the fabric, leaving the small of your back exposed.

Touching your skin was like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. It sent Ross’ lips wandering from yours as his fingers stroked your soft, exposed flesh. His kiss traveled down over your chin, tickled your neck, and found your collarbone with a playful nip. It sent your heart racing.

He knew you would like that.

But you had to be careful.

“No marks,” you breathed out, your eyes shutting as you tried to ignore why that had to be.

“Yeah,” he breathed out quickly, “yeah, got it.”

With your exchange, it brought you both to a pause. Your chests heaved for breath, and your eyes seemed to look at everything except at each other. A decision needed to be made. You could stop before things could get any more complicated, or Ross could take off your shirt as he so desperately seemed to want to as his hand dragged along its delicate hem.

You bit your lower lip firmly as you tried to look out the already fogged window. You could see the rainbow of colors that were the city lights shining through each drip of condensation. Focusing on a single droplet, you followed it down to the edge of the window and took a breath that escaped you with a sigh.

You knew what you wanted to do, but before you could say anything, Ross’ voice filled the air, “We don’t have to-”

Your head snapped to look in his direction. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not what I'm saying,” he answered slowly, his teeth biting his own lip as his eyes fixated on yours.

You knew what he was getting at. You were nervous, hesitant, but you knew you wanted this. You just needed the assurance that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him.

“Ross…” you breathed out his name. It was the very beginning of the thought that threatened the very tip of your tongue, and that was left strangled in your throat as you felt Ross grip the swells of your hips.

He held you firm in each hand, and with that hold, he guided you back and forth over his lap. Your hips angled instantly, grinding your needy core over the expense of his lap. You moved to and fro with his moments, and quivered at the feeling of his stiff cock beneath the thick seam of your jeans.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his words slow and clear. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to hear it from you, too. Ross needed you to make the decision on your own, and to hear it from your own lips, even if he had already made up his mind for himself.

“I-” you gasped out, your heart beating up into your ears like drums. It pulsed through your body, right through to your core that throbbed against the stiff outline of his cock.

You should have told him to stop.

You should have pulled your coat back on and sent him on his way.

But you didn’t.

“Don’t you dare,” you answered him after a moment, your voice stern, “just,” you took in a long inhale, “let’s be quick - unbutton your pants.”

Your bodies strained in the tight place as you both fought close quarters to undo your pants. You leaned back against the driver's seat to try to get the angle just right to work your jeans down, while Ross pressed down onto his heels and lifted his hips up high to work his hands just low enough for his cock to spring free.

And while his pants rested around his knees, and that’s all he needed to do to be ready for you, you struggled. You let out a frustrated huff as the head of the driver’s seat dug into your back, and your arms fought the tight denim down your hips. The awkwardness left you slipping. Ross’ hand was quick to catch you before you could fall awkwardly onto him and his stiff cock that was so exposed, hard and ready for you to take him.

“I got it,” Ross’ words were a rushed promise, his hands gripping the fabric and pulling them down your legs until they rested on the floor of the car with your shoes - but your panties they remained. You watched as Ross admired them for a moment. The simple pale colored lace that looked gray in the darkness.

Your core clenched as his finger toyed with them, pushing and tugging at the fabric as he lured you back in close to him. And when you were a mere breath away, his finger dipped beneath the fabric and dragged along your slick core, if only just to tease you as he pulled the damned fabric to the side.

“I wish I could enjoy you, the way you deserve to be enjoyed,” Ross hummed out, his hand guiding you forward to hover above the very tip of his cock.

You nearly quivered at his words. Many times, he had told you how he would fuck you. How he would enjoy tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue before leaving you moaning as you took his cock like the slut girl you were. But there was no time for those luxuries.

Angling yourself over his cock, you took hold of it in your cold hand carefully. The hiss that left his lips left your grinning, but it was him that was left with the last laugh as he thrust up into your wet cunt, leaving you overtaken by a pathetic whimper that came with the feeling of taking his cock inside you for the very first time.

“You like that?” Ross asked you in a whisper, his hands remaining firm on your hips to guide him along his cock with the slow roll of your hips.

You nodded feebly, your mouth opening to tell him just how good his cock felt, only to unleash a moan instead.

“Look at you,” his grin grew, “so pretty as you take my cock, and taking it so well you don’t even have the words to tell me - and you’ve always been so good with your words,” he purred, “such a shame really.”

Ross reached up with his hand, his fingers stroking over your lips as you were left on the verge of another moan. One you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having just yet.

“I like when you tell me what a dirty slut you are,” his thumb tugged at your lower lip playfully as he thrust up hard into your cunt, coaxing that moan you had choked back into the depth of your throat, “but you sure do have a pretty moan.”

Your core clenched around his cock at the compliment, your hands lurching forward to grip at the leather head rest behind him.

“Shut up,” you spoke through grit teeth.

“Oh?” he raised a brow up, his heels digging into the floor again and thrusting so deep your body couldn’t physically take him any further. “You don’t like when I talk dirty to you?”

Your core clenched again, then you gasped, “no, I-”

You moaned again, your entire body reverberating with the sound.

“You’re so close, I can fucking feel how desperate you are on my cock.” Ross didn’t bite his tongue. He liked to see you so close to the verge of pleasure, practically melting in front of him, and your cunt flexing around him.

With weak legs, you met every single thrust, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him and not for you, either.

Ross gripped the fleas of your ass firm in both hands and used it as leverage as he lifted you up and guided you to lay out on the leather seats all without leaving the warm wet embrace of your cunt. With you sprawled out, Ross gripped your hips and guided your legs to wrap around his hips just right. Every thrust made you tingle, made you moan, and soon your toes were curling, your body near recoiling with pleasure. Yet, he thrust through each wave, through every flex of your core, sending his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure.

“I’m close,” he choked out, your heart suddenly racing with panic.

“Pull out,” you told him, voice stern, “I’m not, fuck I’m not on the pill. Pull out.”

“What?” he seemed shocked, his cock still buried deep inside you for a thrust, then another before he pulled out and found the warm embrace of his own hand.

You lay there, panting, legs still quivering, as he worked himself through his climax. His face softened, his body arching over you as he painted the inside of your thighs and the leather seats with his cum.

“Should have given me a heads up,” he panted out after a moment.

“Would it have changed anything?” You countered.

His head shook, “no, but I would have gotten you to suck me off or something-”

“You wish,” you shoved him playfully, “now, get your pants back on.”

Ross settled back into the seat the two of you had started in, but you remained laying there for a moment. You were seeing stars as you stared up at the ceiling, your one hand dipping between your legs and swiping over your cunt to make sure there had been no accidents before you put your panties back into place. Then, each of your moments had to be deliberate. The cum on the inside of your thighs had already begun to dry, but the cum on the seats was still hot and sticky. You couldn’t risk getting it on any of your clothes. It would have to be something you had to clean up before you got home, but first, you had to say your goodbyes.

You pulled your pants up slowly in silence, then your shoes before you heard the door open and the cold night air infiltrated the car. It sent a shiver coursing through you, your hands desperately reaching for your coat as you slipped out of the car behind him.

“Are you good to drive home?” Ross asked slowly, his hands in his pocket.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Message me when you get in?”

You looked to your empty driver seat, “yeah, just-” you sighed gently knowing you would be going back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend even if it was empty for the next week, “don’t be surprised if you’re blocked in the morning when you try to message me.”

Ross’ feature faltered into a frown. “Regretting me already?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t know how to feel, or how you would feel in the morning when you had the night to fully comprehend the choices you had made.

“Regret you? Nah, never.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you stepped in, your hands on his chest as you pressed up to give him a goodnight kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, one that had you pulling back like the gentle rise and fall of waves until he pulled you back in with both hands and kissed you deeply, making sure that you left with the taste of him on your lips.

Then, you got into the driver's seat of your car, and brought the engine to life with the turn of your key. It reeked of sex, of cum, but it was nothing a good wash and a new air freshener couldn’t mask - but even then as you sat there, your eyes fixed on Ross as he stood there in the parking lot, watching you leave, you barely noticed the smell. No, the heavy feeling in your chest was too distracting. This time really felt like a goodbye. And not just a goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever.

#this was GOOD #“regretting me already” could never regret that man #car sex is hot when you write it lol

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stlbluesbrat21 · 30 days

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Cellythefloshie's Birthday Bingo Celebration 2024

It's that time of year again!

My birthday is in September, so we will have the "deadline" set to September 2nd 2024.

I will reblog any fics on @cellysbookshelf and will be following the tag #cellysbingo2024 but please be sure to tag me at @cellythefloshie to assure I don't miss it!

5 in a row = bingo!

at the start of the fic please include the 5 tropes you have chosen

There is no word count or expected format. You can write it as a fic, or in my imagine/blurb format (example), I will be happy with either.

I do not have a preference for reader insert or Original Character content.

Will only read player x reader or player x original character stories. I am not interested in player x player content.

Please do not write about players drafted after the 2018 draft. I will not read them.

If you have a player you are unsure about, feel free to message me and ask about them!

Smut is welcome but not expected. Please tag all 18+ content accordingly.

If writing smut please avoid themes of BDSM, degradation (mild is okay), non-con (dubcon is okay) and anal sex. I thought this list would be longer, but I can't think of anything else.

RE: FREE SPACE - pick any trope on the board that is not in line with the row you are after.

RE: INSPIRED BY - this can be anything inspired by a song, album, tv show, etc. Example: Inspired by a Taylor Swift Song. Inspired by this Grey's Anatomy Episode. Get creative!

RE: TABOO - includes and isn't limited to infidelity, stepcest, sex work etc. Please specify the taboo element in your fic if you choose this space.

Now, if I have tagged you I do not expect you to write anything. But if you could please give this a reblog it would be greatly appreciated - and thank you for making hockey rpf such a wonderful community to be a part of! @hockeyboysimagines , @hagelpoint-3821 , @hischierdevils , @stlbluesbrat21 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @claireelle18 , @senditcolton , @mp0625 , @laurenairay , @swissboyhisch , @comphy-and-cozy

I welcome stories from any and all in celebration of my birthday!

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stlbluesbrat21 · 30 days

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Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Jack gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

#goooooddddd that was adorable #i loved it sm #lovesick jack makes me weak in the knees

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stlbluesbrat21 · 1 month

Text

;; The Signing

Summary: Morgan struggles to forget about Emmy, a fan he met at a meet and greet. And when he the opportunity presents itself, Morgan doesn't shy away from taking his shot. Kinks & TW: mild sexual fantasies about a stranger, hosiery, first kiss, dry humping, unprotected sex, fingering, wall sex, creampie. A/N: I think this is only my second time writing male POV smut so be gentle with me. I'm tired so I'm not editing this well, and this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS so no I'm not waiting any longer to share this with you. Shout out to @hockeyboysimagines who planted this seed of self indulgence and has supported me as I ran with it. I know Barron isn't a well known/well loved guy in this community but fuck it, this fic has been so much fun to write. Morgan and Emmy 4 Ever. About the OC: Emmy, brunette with brown eyes... that's about it. If I took the time to really develop her, this would be a full on novel. Word Count: 13k+

When you played hockey, even just as a child, you were part of something bigger than yourself. There was a greater community, one that would always stand by you and you by them through victory and loss, and things greater than the game of hockey itself. Morgan Barron had experienced that first hand out on the ice during the many themed nights from when the New York Rangers would support First Responders to the Winnipeg Jets as they supported the cultural diversity of their great city, and everything in between. And he had felt it all again after he had taken a skate blade to the face during the Jets' appearance in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The community had so quickly rallied around him, and in turn, giving back and getting out into the community was one of Barron’s favorite things to do during his downtime during the season.

Some of his outings included visiting the children’s hospital with his teammates, others he spent alone - like the night he spent in a local sports collectible shop for a meet and greet with the fans, the community.

The parking lot was full, and the overflow of parking sprawled up the length of the residential street. In the darkness, lined along the street curb, was the dim glow of headlights. One after the next, as each person wanting to meet him waited in the warmth of their cars instead of lining up in the Winnipeg chill caught somewhere between fall and winter.

There was no snow on the ground yet, but the air was cold. And the roads were uneven, ridden with potholes, even as he turned into the parking lot. It rocked him in the seat of his truck as he pulled into the one spot that had been reserved for him. Sliding out of the cab, he took in a shark inhale, the cold hair harsh on his lungs, but the jog to the front door was brief. Inside, the little staff they had set up a table and chair for him and once he sat in it, his jacket draped over the back of it, his night began.

One by one, Morgan met the fans. He loved it, but a part of him almost felt bad. Chances were, at the end of the night, he would remember a handful of their faces and one or two of their stories as they told them to him. While to them, meeting him would be a story on their social media channels at the very least. The things he signed would be added to one collection, or another. But to him, each conversation blurred into the next.

Some asked about his scar, others pointed out just how nice it had healed. Then came those who commented on his game and wished him luck for the rest of the season. And with every single one of them, Morgan gave them all of his effort and undivided attention. That was all but one.

Morgan has been in the middle of personalizing an autograph when he heard the door chime. Through the first fifty or more meet and greets, it had been nothing more than background noise as fans came and went. But for some reason, he had decided to look up as his silver Sharpie marker finished off the now too bold 36.

Through the door came a young woman, no more than five years older than her, maybe even five years less. It was hard to tell these days, especially when someone was alone. If you were lucky, you would be able to guess just by how she interacted with her friends. But he had a mere few seconds to stare at her between signings. She stood just inside the door, her hand pulling her ticket out of her pocket to show her placement in line. And while that was the first thing she did, the first thing Morgan noticed was her smile. It was one that was almost too perfect, one that could only come from wearing braces. And her pale face was framed by lone, brunette curls that almost looked auburn in the fluorescent light. They may have even hung down into her eyes if it weren’t for the sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head, more of an accessory than a necessity with the sun having set not long after the traditional workday had ended.

Morgan tore his eyes from her when there was a shuffle of footsteps at his side. The next fan had finished paying for their small pile of photos to be signed, and the hockey cards that rested on top of them. He greeted them with a smile and fell into the same casual conversation he had all night.

He did the same with the next, who had a single number from the 3 and 6 pairing that would be stitched onto the back of a jersey that would bear his name.

It was then, after two encounters, that felt more like lifetimes than minutes, that the woman who had so easily stolen his attention stood at his side. With a small step to the side, she was offering her cell phone to one of the staff members to take a few photographs before she was handing him the puck she had brought to be signed. It was in a square plastic case that took up the space on his palm. The small square of paper inside listed his name and the time at which he had scored the goal. Morgan smiled as he read it over. The puck itself had been from an AHL game. From back when he had been traded from the New York Rangers to the Winnipeg Jets and had played the remainder of that season with their affiliate, the Manitoba Moose.

She must have been watching him play for some time.

Smiling, Morgan looked up at her, waiting to just catch a glimpse of a smile back at him, but she didn’t do much more than glance his way. She must have been nervous, trying to hide it between a laugh and avoiding eye contact as she spoke more to the staff than to him.

She was telling the story of just how his trade, and his play with the Moose had put her on the path of being a Jets fan, again. Morgan signed the puck slowly, his eyes raising to look up at her on occasion until he had finished fitting the signature onto the puck. Then he sat back, and the chair listened to her tale. Not once did his smile fade, and his eyes did not leave her - even if they did wander.

On her shoulders rested one of the Winnipeg Jets Reverse Retro Jackets that had been sold during the last regular season. It was a jacket that had been earning her compliments since she had walked through the door. And they weren’t wrong. It was a nice jacket. It looked great on her. Hell, she looked great, period. He couldn’t tell much of what she wore underneath the jacket, safe for a sliver of black fabric. He was sure could only be her blouse, and the small glimmer of a silver chain that hung around her neck. But it was her legs that quickly caught his attention. Even in the cold, she had gone out wearing a miniskirt. Intentional or not, she had caught his attention. His eyes dragged up and down the length of her, from the ankle of her brown boots, up over the curves of her thighs that disappeared under the plaid fabric that encased the breadth of her hips.

He did his best not to stare at how she shifted the weight of her body from one foot to the next awkwardly as she spoke. Or how the slit of her skirt, as it rested over one thigh, looked as if with one wrong move, the stretchy fabric would reach its limits and rip. But it was there as his eyes fixated on the fabric that he did notice a rip, not in her skirt, but in her tights. To anyone else I would have gone unnoticed, but to him as he sat at her side, looking up and so fixated on every bit of her, he was taking in every little detail. The barely there run in her thighs started just above her right knee. The pale hosiery almost an exact match to her flesh, but he followed the run in the tights up, over the flesh of her thigh and to where it seemed to disappear between her thighs.

Morgan’s mouth went dry, his eyes fixated there on the shadows between her thighs. Without touching her, without even getting out of his chair to get closer to her, Morgan could feel that would radiate off her skin. It made his palms begin to sweat, and it ignited a fire that burned over every inch of his body as he thought about how smooth her skin would feel as his hands slid over her thighs. And how tight the hosiery would be as he took it in each of his fists and tore a hole in them in just the right places-

Taking a sharp inhale, Morgan fixed his eyes on her smile one last time before he could really let his mind falter. It was then he caught a single word of her story that challenged the smile that had grown so wide his cheeks had begun to hurt.

Boyfriend.

She had a boyfriend.

Of course she would. A woman like her, they always had someone waiting for them back home. But that didn’t make him feel any less stupid. He shouldn’t have been looking at her the way he knew he had been with his wide grin and his eyes looking at her in a way he didn’t have words to describe. It was embarrassing, laughable even, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Nobody did.

Closing up the protective casing on the puck, Morgan left it there on the table as he stood. He would give her one proper picture before they would send her on her way, and he would move on to the next fan that had already been kept waiting.

With the single step of his white sneaker scuffing against the floor and Morgan was standing right beside her. Even with the thick heel of her boot, he towered over her. She came up no higher than his chin as he reached out and placed his hand against the wind breaker. It was a light touch, not enough to earn that horrible scratch sound of its unique fabric, but just enough that he could feel the curve of her body against his palm.

Morgan stood there with his smile, his dark curls threatening to fall down into his eyes, as he tried to ignore how she felt beneath his touch. And he fought through the temptations of letting his mind falter back into the depths that were his unfound fantasy about a beautiful stranger.

When he pulled back, he secured the puck with the glide of his thumb over the plastic sticker she had pried open to give him access to the puck inside. Then he handed it back to her, her rough fingertips grazing over his soft touch as she muttered out a soft thank you.

“Thanks for coming,” he leaned in as he spoke, hating that he could muster anything more clever or more thoughtful to say.

He wanted her to stay. To listen to her laugh, and to her stories. To learn her name, and give him time to say anything else but those pathetic words that left his lips. But Morgan could only watch her. Her hand tucked the puck into the cross body bag that hung across her body, and with one final thank you to the girls working the meet and greet, she was gone.

The young woman would remain nothing more than a stranger, a memory. And with that acceptance of fate, Morgan sighed, carded a hand through the thickness of his curls, and he moved onto the next fan in line whose face would be nothing but the one that blurred into the next.

After a loss, there was always a certain calm on the bus ride to the airport. No one said a word after a greeting from Schmidt, a quick, “we'll get ‘em next time boys!” before they claimed their seats and fell into their routines. But Morgan had started before he could board. With his headphones thumbed into each year, and his music loud, he kept his head down as he moved to the back of the bus and took a seat.

It was never a long drive, but he was sure to get a few tracks in, as they played a little too loud in his ears to block out the noise of his teammates around him. -He desperately needed the distraction. While he wasn't playing poorly, Morgan felt he could be playing better. He could always be better.

Maybe he was being too hard on himself, but sometimes you needed to be. And when that weight became too heavy on his shoulders, Morgan disconnected.

The music blared in his ears, and his eyes fell onto the hypnotic glow of his cellphone as he cradled it in one hand. With the swift motion of a single thumb, Morgan browsed one social media timeline and then the next. Sinking further and further into the rabbit hole until he found himself staring at his own Instagram profile. More specifically, his tagged photos. It was there, his thumb stilled. His eyes fixating on one picture that stood out among the masses of images the Winnipeg Jets had tagged him in.

The picture stood out to him, the backdrop of a small hockey collectibles shop instead of a hockey rink. And he wasn't alone in the picture, or joined by any of his teammates. Beside him stood the pretty brunette from the signing all those nights ago. Her arm bent so casually behind his back as his hand rested just above the small of hers. Any lower and he would have gotten himself into trouble, but it was innocent enough.

Morgan smiled a crooked smile as he studied the angle from the other side of the camera. Her smile was a little awkward, and she wasn't as photogenic as she was magnetic in person, but she still held his attention all the same.

Fingers tapped the side of his phone almost anxiously, his thumb hovering over her account name on the screen. He shouldn't have been so curious, but it was quick to get the best of him.

Her account name was one that could have only been made in high school. Something silly, clever at the time, but she never got around to changing. And it didn't have much more to offer him than that. With her first name, Emmy, the only name left there for him to know she had left no age, no emojis or lovers' initials for him to read.

And her photos are nothing more than mere snapshots into her life. She liked to paddle boards - one of the many beautiful Manitoba lakes the backdrop to the curves of her body in tiny bikinis. She hikes and fishes in the summer too, the pictures shared of winding trails and her latest big catch. But her winters are reserved for the love of the sport she played - the occasional photo of Canada Life Centre posted on the screen. And she has a cat, who she takes more pictures of than anything or anyone else. Even more so than herself, with her selfies few and far in between.

Scrolling down, Morgan pressed his thumb to the touch screen to prevent it from scrolling any further as a realization took him. She was alone in almost every single one of her photographs. Returning to her profile, Barron scrolled and looked at the small collection of images she had chosen to share. Each one seemed distinct. Alone and unrelated to the one that came before and the other that came after. Fractures of what once was there; her boyfriend.

There was no sign of him anywhere on her profile. Not one picture or tag. He had been removed from her life with the click of a button.

His smile grew. It shouldn't have, but it did as he leaned back against the seat.

Then, the idea of messaging her made his smile go broader, and Barron cast a glance to the surrounding seats to assure he hadn't gathered any unwanted attention from his teammates. And when he was sure they were distracted by one another or something on their own phones, Barron opened a direct message and watched the cursor blink.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, his mind blank, as he could decide what to say to her. In a perfect world, He could say literally anything to her and she would answer. But even as a NHL player, the chance of her screening him was high - hell, it felt higher than if he were just some average guy. And he didn't know if she was even looking for anything. A relationship, a friend, just someone to talk to… There was so much Morgan didn't know, including just how long she and her boyfriend had been separated.

But he messaged her anyway.

You google my name, and you get an entire Wikipedia page about my life. You google Emmy, and you get the awards. I want to know your story, if you’ll let me.

Staring at his phone screen, Morgen's heart fluttered in the depths of his chest at the unread message. It left him feeling nervous, sick even, knowing that she could read it and never reply-

“Hey,” a sharp shout met his ears. It was Schmidty calling to him from the front of the now empty bus. Well, empty except for him. “Bear. Com'on. Coach won't let us leave without you!”

It was time to fly home.

For the entirety of his fight back to Winnipeg, Morgan slept to keep himself from constantly checking his phone. It was the only way to keep himself from holding his breath, leaving his lungs burning with the great anticipation of waiting for Emmy to reply. Hoping that she would, and the disappointment that would come if she didn’t. But that didn’t stop him from holding his breath as he walked out to his car and started up his phone. The bright light off the screen sent his eyes squinting as the darkness of the night surrounded him. One notification after the next had his phone vibrating in his hand, and his heart thundered as he read each one. And once he saw it, her smiling profile picture beside an Instagram notification, he held his breath until his lungs burned. She had answered!

It was the first of many messages exchanged between them. The first of many conversations held between the awkwardness of his schedule. He sent quick messages in the mornings, after practice and before games and the late hours after. And she would answer the best she could when she could between her own chaotic schedule that came with working shift work. It wasn’t easy, but they made it work - but it made Morgan all the more nervous when he finally decided to ask her out to dinner, and all the more excited when she said yes.

Earls on Main street was one of the nicest restaurants in Winnipeg without being intimidating and unapproachable for a first date. It was a place the guys on the team liked to frequent after a victory or during some downtime in a city that really had very little to do during the season unless you liked ice fishing or comedy clubs. And it was somewhere close to both of them, with it behind a mere ten-minute walk from the arena where Morgan parked his car and Emmy had claimed it was close to home for her as well, though Morgan did worry she had only said that to be agreeable.

He arrived early, securing a table by the window looking over main street as it was already becoming congested with rush hour traffic. Cars sat bumper to bumper on weather eroded roads. The music that set the ambiance of the restaurant couldn’t even block their symphony of honking out. Each heavy honk interrupted the calm and reminded him of the nerves in the depths of his chest as he waited for Emmy.

The beads of condensation could only calm the sweat of his palms as they dripped down the cold glass of his beer as it was handed to him. Sneaking one in before dinner wouldn’t hurt, not if it eased the worry in his mind. Dating as a hockey player in New York had been easy. He was a bottom 6 plug who barely broke the lineup back then. Girls weren’t intimidated by him, and they were different. Morgan had always had a type, that was for sure. He liked them brunette and outdoorsy, straying away from his type only a handful of times when it served him well. Emmy fit a lot of things in a woman he usually looked for. That alone should have put him at ease, but two things nagged him into the depths of his mind. Being a hockey player in the small city of Winnipeg meant you were a local celebrity. Some women didn’t like the attention that came with being around him. Then there was the biggest worry of all, something he had never worried about until her: what if she didn’t share his attractions?

Texting was one thing. Something you could do with anyone, regardless of interest or attraction. Something you could do aimlessly when you were bored or trying to kill time. It was how you conversed in person that really mattered. That was where you showed your interest and how you really got to know them. Sitting at a table with someone you aren’t interested in would be harder - and all he could do as he polished off the golden ale of his beer was hope that it wouldn’t be the case.

A steady hand lowered the empty glass down to rest on a coaster before his hand dropped to his phone that rested face down on the table. Morgan had tried not to watch the time, but the traffic was starting to calm and Emmy had yet to make an appearance. Almost thirty minutes had passed since he had arrived, and ten minutes since the agreed upon meeting time. He shifted in his seat as he placed the phone down again. Ten minutes wasn’t enough to be worried, but the waitress circled like a shark with blood in the water.

“You have a chance to look over the menu,” the waitress, Jenn, spoke sweetly as she approached him. Her hand was quick to come to rest on the back of the chair behind him, and she smiled down at him, waiting for her response.

“I’m still waiting on my date,” his head cocked, trying not to sound rude as he gestured to the seat across from him, “she shouldn’t be much longer, but maybe some water for the table?”

“And another beer?”

He paused for a moment, contemplating. Then, Morgan shook his head and let out a soft, “No, I’ll be okay for now. Thank you.”

His hands dropped to the table, his thumbs drumming on the wooden surface rhythmically. It was a hollow distraction from what was the haunting possibility that he had gotten stood up. The movement and the sound were the only thing keeping Morgan from dropping his palm into his hand, his disappointment only consuming him on the inside. It bubbled there and almost became enough for him to leave enough cash on the table to cover the beer and a generous tip. And he almost did it, but when his thumbs stilled, he heard her.

“Oh, yes, I see him. Thank you.”

Sitting up straight in his seat as he looked out over the restaurant that was beginning to grow consumed by the dinner rush. Walking down the narrow aisle between the bar and the seats along the large front windows, he found Emmy. She walked towards the table carrying two bags on one arm and her puffy white winter coat tossed over the other. Her coat is so large he can’t make out what she was wearing until she was draping it over the back of her chair: a pair of tight pleather pants hugged at her hips, a white blouse tucked in at the waist and she wore white sneakers that looked so clean he was sure they had never been worn outside. His eyes traced the curves of her body as he admired her, down one side and up the other until they fixated on her face-framing curls that hung loosely from the hold of her claw clip. Between each tendril was the smile he remembered so fondly.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” her apology was quick and punctuated with a small huff that left her shoulder rising and falling with her breath. And her eyes didn’t quite meet his as she draped her coat over the back of her chair.

She looked a little embarrassed, frustrated, maybe, but Morgan wanted to do his best to put her at ease.

“Don’t worry about it.” Morgan stood up quickly, his hand reaching out to take hold of the back of her chair in a simple act of courtesy. He drew it back slowly, towering over her as he offered her a friendly smile. “Long day?”

“Very.” There was a tiredness in her voice, and it had Morgan’s smile on the verge of wavering.

They could have postponed, he wouldn’t have minded. Yet, there she was looking a little defeated, a little tired with faint purple bags under her eyes that she tried to hide with concealer, but just as beautiful as the night she had walked into the collector's shop to meet him.

She smiled across the table at him; he smiled back, and before he could say anything else, the waitress Jenn had returned to serve them.

They started their date with a glass of wine, something to take the edge off. It calmed his nerves, and he watched the tension melt away from her shoulders with each sip of her glass. Then came dinner that was paired with soft laughs and conversation, before they finished with coffee and desserts. Hours passed, the sunset and the restaurant cleared until it felt like they were the only two left in the place. And he would stay there with you until the lights went down, and they tried to kick you both out if he could. He liked Emmy’s company, and he was sure she did too by the way she laughed and how the conversation never seemed to die. Even the silence as he sipped what was left of his coffee felt right in her company.

Morgan’s lips parted in a satisfied hum as he leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretching out just far enough to brush against hers beneath the table. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t even flinch. He wonders if she even noticed his touch, his warmth as his leg rested so casually against what he was sure was her knee. It was the subtlest of touches, and it only left him wanting more. Morgan wanted to reach out over the table and hold her hand. To feel the smooth skin of her fingers and toy with the ring she wore on her right little finger. He wanted to press his hand to her lower back, to let it so subtly find her curves as they walked together. But there was nothing more he wanted than to take her home. To take her to her bed or his and explore every inch of the body he had been left to dream about since the day he met her.

He wanted their night to continue after dinner. To keep making her laugh, but also make her moan.

But he couldn’t have her and be a gentleman both-

“Is there anything else I can get you two?” Jenn’s quick question pulled Barron from his thoughts, his head snapping in her direction as he was reminded that he and Emmy were not, in fact, alone in the restaurant.

“Just the bill, please,” he smiled before looking across the table at Emmy, who smiled back at him in return. Jenn left them, and with a quick glance over the near empty, he half laughed, “I think we overstayed our welcome.”

“I’m not complaining,” she assured him. “It’s a shame they aren’t open later. I could have probably sat here all night.”

Morgan had to bite his tongue. He was sure that was his chance to make this more than just dinner, but maybe she was just being polite. Complimenting his company. Besides, he had already decided he was going to be a gentleman.

When Jenn returned with the bill, she didn’t linger. She placed the thin leather receipt book down, directly between them and half hanging off the table’s edge. The white edge of the receipt peaking out for the top. Morgan offered a soft, thankful smile as he reached out for it, his hand wrapping around it effortlessly as he drew it back to his side of the table while the other slipped into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Here, let me cover my half,” Emmy insisted, her hand reaching out to catch the very edge of the book, her fingers so close to his Morgan’s breath hitched, wishing she had reached out for his hand.

Morgan didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe her insistence was her trying to be kind. A show of equality, the strength of her femininity. But he couldn’t let her pay. It didn’t feel right. Not while he made millions a year. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“But then-” she began to counter, but cut herself off with the bite of her own teeth on her lower lip.

Morgan’s shoulder slumped, his head hanging there as his eyes shut and a heavy sigh shook him. He didn’t need her to finish to know what she was going to say.

But then this would be a date. A real date. Not just two people spending the entire evening together with wine, a meal, and what he thought was great company. Had he been wrong? Had she not enjoyed their evening together?

The thought hurt him to even wonder, but he hit the ache in his chest behind a crooked smile and continued to go through his wallet with the intention of paying the bill in full. “I insist,” he continued to assure, his words gentle, “it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t. This doesn’t have to be anything more than dinner.”

She was silent for a moment, her glossy eyes fixated on the receipt as her hands slid from the tabletop to rest on her lap. Emmy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a heavy breath rocking her shoulders as she conceded, “yeah, okay, but only if you insist.”

There was a heaviness between them as he paid the bill, making sure to leave a tip for Jenn who was forward but friendly with her service. He offered his thank you's, and helped Emmy gather her things before they moved to the front doors together. It was only as they entered the building’s lobby that she spoke again.

“I’m sorry, I should have-” she cut herself off with a sigh, “It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with anyone I-” Emmy rambled, as she rounded one of the chairs in the lobby and seated herself down. She draped her coat over her lap, and placed her bags at her feet, her attention on them instead of Morgan, who lingered standing tall at her side.

And he almost frowns. It’s like she can’t find the words she really wants to say to him.

“It’s okay,” he assured, his hands dipping into the pockets of his jeans as he slouched his shoulders. He couldn't help but be responsible for what now felt like a miscommunication. “I could have been-”

“No, no, it wasn’t you,” she sighed, her hand falling to her hands, “you’ve been great. Really. A perfect gentleman-” Morgan wanted to beam, but he kept his composure as he moved to sit across from her, “It’s just, this has all been harder for me to adjust to than I thought.”

This? Dating.

Morgan sighed as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was hard not to be selfish. To not be upset with the fact that she was struggling to get back into the dating game when he was sitting right in front of her. But it wasn’t easy, not if her boyfriend was someone she had hoped to spend the rest of her life with while he was just supposed to be a hockey player on her television screen.

He did his best not to be upset, defeated by the fact that maybe she wasn’t all that interested in him or ready to move on, but Morgan showed her compassion regardless. “How long were you two together?”

“Five years… give or take a few months.”

“And how long has it been since…”

“Three months…”

Morgan let out a long, heavy sigh. The break up was still very, very fresh for her. And after being in a relationship for so long, it could take her months, maybe even years, to recover. It was something he couldn’t rush, even if he wanted to be selfish and have her all for himself.

“If it’s any consolation, I had a very nice night with you, Emmy. And I’d like to see you again, even if it’s just as friends.”

A soft smile splayed over her features as her arms hugged her coat to her chest. “I’d like that.” Her warm eyes met him for a moment. So soft and warm, they alone were almost enough to draw him in, but Morgan kept himself at bay, smiling along with her soft words, “I mean, how am I supposed to pay you back if I don’t see you again?”

“Em,” Morgan started to protest, and her smile only grew.

“At least let me buy you a beer sometime, as a thank you,” she insisted.

And how could he say no if it meant securing plans to see her again?

“Okay, fine,” his words were laced with a hint of laughter, “one beer.”

Emmy smiled at the compromise, her warm gaze falling from his features and to her bed. Morgan watched as she rummaged through it, curious to know what she was searching for, only for his brows to knit when she pulled out a pair of winter boots.

“You don't plan on walking home, do you?” He asked her quickly. It was late, and sure the buses would be running and taking a taxi was always an option, but Morgan wanted to assure she was getting home safe.

“I always walk home, it's not far,” she assured.

“I've kept you out pretty late it’s-”

“Not safe?” she cut in, smiling. She's had this talk many times before. “I've lived in downtown Winnipeg longer than you've been pro.”

Morgan raised his hands up, but this wasn't a defeat. “Alright, tough guy, the people of Winnipeg better watch out for you. But please, let me give you a ride, at the very least, to give me some peace of mind.”

Emmy cocked her head to the side, her warm brown eyes looking across at him as she continued to smile. For a moment, Morgan Thought she might have the gull to refuse him, to insist on walking home alone regardless of his offer. But then she tucked her boots back into her bag and stood up to pull on her coat.

“Alright, fine. You can drive me home, but only because it's late,” she accepted his offer with a smile, and then took his arm as it was offered to her.

They walked together, with her arm linked around his, through the city's skywalk system to keep away from the winter's chill. They made small talk, sharing casual conversation about plans for the coming days as they walked back to where he left his truck parked closer to the rink in their secured parking. And she didn't let her touch slip away from him until he had opened the passenger side door of his truck and helped her inside.

The drive to her apartment was quick, no longer than 5 minutes, and was only delayed by the series of one-way streets he had been forced to wind through and his need to ask Emmy for directions. Her apartment, a mere five story building surrounded by towering sky rises, was calm out front. Light glowed from a number of the windows, but the street itself was calm and felt worlds away from the arena that was no more than four city blocks away. It didn't feel like the city there, so close to the heart of Winnipeg but also so close to the river, and the nature Manitoba was known for.

Morgan smiled up at the quaint little apartment before he looked across the front seat and to Emmy, whose hand had dropped to unbuckle her seatbelt. “No wonder you go to so many games-”

He bit his tongue. All night, they had done their best not to talk about work. His or hers. The only way he would have known she went to as many games as she seemed was from looking at her social media. Which he had, too many times, before their date that night.

“Are you creeping on me?” Her words were more of a tease than a question.

Morgan smiled wider.

“I might have, once or twice.”

Blush flooded her cheeks, her head turning to try to hide it from him, but it still lingered when she looked back with a small smile she was trying to contain as she spoke. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the company.”

“I had a good time.”

There it was. The awkward pleasantries that lead up to the goodbye. The ones that were sandwiched between the feeling of wanting to spend more time with one another and the finality of needing to leave. Worst of all, he wanted to go with her. Morgan would have parked his car on the street and went up to her apartment with her if she had extended the invitation, and would ruin his every effort to remain a gentleman. But they sat in silence, sharing soft smiles as the car sat in the middle of the road, obstructing the traffic that didn't exist at that time of night.

Yet, neither of them could manage to say what needed to be said. Goodbye.

Even as she grabbed her bags, it couldn’t slip off his tongue. Not even as he saw her hand hesitate as she reached for the door could Morgan find a single word. Not a goodbye, not the wait that sat lodged in the back of his throat, no matter how desperately he wanted to scream it. And for a moment he thought he might have, because Emmy froze and she placed her bags back down on the floor of the truck. Then she shimmied into the center seat, her arms reaching around him so carefully in a cautious embrace.

“Thanks for dinner,” she whispered out, her hot words felt against his neck.

Morgan’s jaw set, a single arm wrapping around her and drawing her in just a little closer. The strength of his arm coiled around her, his fingers gripping at the curve of her waist as his face found its place in the crook of her neck. He breathed her in, felt her warmth, yet he didn't feel close enough. Morgan wanted nothing more than to pull her closer - but if she were any closer, Emmy would be in his lap.

He held her until he felt her slip away from him. But she didn't go far. She lingered in the space that was once left void between them, breathing his air and not quite out of his reach. Morgan could feel her every heated breath on his cheeks, and watched at her brown doe eyes as they traced the angles of his features. But it was only as she stared fixated on his lips that Morgan felt he knew what she wanted.

A single hand raised up, his touch meeting the skin of her cheek. Feeling her was so smooth in contract, his hockey callous hands against perfectly imperfect flesh. Fingertips grazed over her cheek carefully, traveling up to her hairline and drew her in.

His kiss was quick and chaste. That was until Morgan felt her kiss him back. The soft gentle drag of her full lips that almost seemed to gasp at the fiction. He drew her in a little closer, the soft sound sending his heart racing as his tongue swept out between his teeth and tasted the very entrance of her mouth before Morgan found his restraint.

Morgan's hands fell from her face, his gaze dropping to look down at his truck seat, ashamed.

He shouldn't have done that.

“I’m sorry,” his words caught in the back of his throat and his tongue parted his lips and ran over them just to taste what remained of her on his lips.

“Don’t be,” Emmy breathed out, the heat of her words felt on his face as she had yet to really pull away from him. She was so close he thought she might lean back in, that she might let him kiss her again if he reached up and took her cheeks in both of his hands. And he considered doing it, even as his hands reached up to grip the steering wheel in restraint. The long moment of opportunity passed and all of her warmth was gone in one simple motion as she opened the truck door. The gust of Winnipeg winter wind left him shivering as she grabbed her things.

“Good night, Morgan,” she told him softly as she moved to slip out the passenger door, where she froze one last time. “Can I call you in the morning?”

Morgan took in a sigh of relief. “Please do.”

The edge of the cold, hard, white plastic of the key card tapped against the rounded edge of his steering wheel as Morgan drove towards the airport. There was a flurry in the sky. Fluffy snowflakes that left the road slick and congested with traffic, but not even that could frustrate him. Not with the key card pinched between his two fingers.

He didn’t know what it was for, but he knew who it belonged to. It must have fallen from Emmy’s purse, or her pocket when he had given her a ride home. Whether it was intentional or not, he didn’t know. But it gave him an excuse to message her as he rolled to a stop in the parking lot outside the Winnipeg Richardson International Airport.

The text message may have sounded like an innuendo if it hadn’t been for the picture of her keycard in his hand as he held it out in front of him.

And as he broke the news, Emmy was quick to respond.

At two in the morning, when the city was calm and the only thing that was open was the occasional gas station or convenience store, the drive from the airport to downtown Winnipeg was quick. Morgan’s truck was the only vehicle on the road safe for the occasional taxi driving club goers home, or an emergency vehicle wailing through the street on their way to the next call. But the air was quiet when Morgan pulled into the victory parking space behind Emmy’s building. A small caution greeted him, any cars parked there after two in the morning would be towed. He looked to the left, parked car, he looked to the right, another car. This one was covered in snow, and looked like it had been there a number of days. And he shrugged. There was nothing he had to worry about.

Leaning across the center console, Morgan reached into the glove-box where he stored Emmy’s key card for the short time he had been in Chicago. He tapped it between his fingers, grinning. It was such a simple thing. A plain white card, misplaced, allowed him to see her again so much sooner than he could have anticipated. What was surely a headache for her was a gift to him.

Morgan smiled the entire way to the building’s front door, where with quick fingers he quickly pressed the cold buttons that would alert her that he had arrived. A cold wind chilled him as he stood, waiting as the ring of the apartment directory box rang. Shoulders raised and his neck shrunk down into his coat as his hands drove into his pockets. Morgan listened to each droning ring, his heart racing at the prospect that it was too late, that Emmy had most likely fallen asleep before the plane had even landed.

But then he heard her, her voice sounding distorted and robotic as it came through the speaker, “take the elevator up!”

Then all was quiet and there was nothing more to be heard until the lock on the door clicked.

Drawing his hands from his pocket, the sticky cold of the handle greeted his palms. It melted beneath his quick touch and the warmth of the lobby embraced him. The contrast of hot and cold left his body shivering as he took quick strides up the quick steps of the lobby, and quickly found the elevator. It roared to life with the press of a button, leaving whatever floor it had stopped on to meet him on the main level. The door parted in front of him, revealing a small, empty elevator that he would take up to the 5th floor. When the doors parted again, he exited out into the hallway and looked left, then right, trying to gauge the layout of the floor only to find a familiar face.

Emmy.

“I thought it would be easier to meet you,” Emmy greeted him with a soft smile.

His smile grew as his eyes dragged up and down her figure. Not only had she managed to stay awake for him, she hadn’t dressed down in her pajamas. Wherever she had been earlier in the evening had her dressed in a navy blue dress that hugged her body and stopped mid calf. His gaze lingered on the hem before following the angles of her legs down to her feet where she stood without shoes, but was not barefoot. She was wearing a pale hosiery that was barely there noticeable and it left his mind spiraling back to the very first night he had met her when the miniskirt she had been wearing wasn’t enough to hide the run in her tights.

He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.

“Saves me from getting lost in the hallway,” Morgan tried to keep his words playful, his dry throat sticking to his words as he spoke. Then, while smiling, he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out her key card. “Here, I-” he licked his lips, “I'm sorry I kept you up so late waiting on me.”

Emmy smiled. Then, she reached out and took it from his hand as it was offered to her. Her delicate touch fluttered over his hand for a moment before she pulled it into her chest.

“Late? Hardly,” her tone was chipper, reassuring, “I was actually-” she looked down the hallway to what he was sure was her door. Emmy chewed at her bottom lip, sighing as she brought her free hand up to push through her long, brunette curls, “did you want to come inside?”

Her question had been blurted out when her mind had failed to find words smoother or more coy during her brief moment of hesitation.

And Morgan should have said no. He knew he should have. But with the memory of her tiny skirt and long legs weighing heavily on his mind, he couldn't refuse.

Smiling, Morgan gestured up the hall silently and let her lead the way into her apartment at the end of the hallway. It was a good size for one person with the kitchen and main living space visible from the door. The lights were dim, their glow lighting up a wall of bookshelves and her sofa. Across from in, a single television and photographs hung above. It's quaint, comfortable, but he can tell there used to be more. There were large spaces of openness. Like half of the furniture was missing - a void of what was once more left behind. And tucked into the corner, just below the large windows that looked out over the parking lot, and the Assiniboine River, was a pile of boxes.

Maybe she was moving, or maybe she was just hiding from the memories.

He didn’t pry.

“Nice place you got here,” He complimented as he kicked off his shoes and pushed them to the side where a pair of her boots sat on a plastic mat to keep the melted snow from becoming a puddle on the floor, “is there somewhere I can put my coat?”

Morgan hated himself for asking. He shouldn't have been settling in.

“Here, I can take it,” she was quick to offer, her hands finding his coat as it slipped from his arms. Her touch left his shoulder tense, and his heart racing as he watched her move halfway up the hallway to hang up his coat in the closet. “Did you want a drink or something?”

“No, no, I'm fine, really,” Morgan assured, still standing in the doorway.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Emmy smiled, moving past him to curl up on the sofa.

She sat right in the middle of the sectional, the chaise empty to her left and to her right her laptop with a book resting on top. And across her face came the glow of the television, the highlights from the game playing on repeat. The Jets had won 3-2 in overtime, but it wasn't a game he was proud of. He had less than 10 minutes of ice time, his play was lacking and his mind distracted as he knew that when he landed back in Winnipeg, he had to come back and see her. He knew she watched the game, but she wished she hadn't. At Least then maybe he could pretend he had played better.

“You watched the game?” He gestured to the television as he approached the couch slowly and took the vacant space next to her on the chaise.

“Yeah,” she said, “had my family over to watch after grabbing dinner. Hence the dress, I didn't just-”

“Put it on for me?” The suggestion slipped from Morgan's lips before he could stop himself, and it left his tongue feeling like it was swelling in his mouth. The feeling left his mouth gaping, his eyes shutting as he hid his own embarrassment behind his hand.

“Lounge around in business casual,” she offered him the rest of her words, her smile coy as she brought her legs up to curl off to the side.

As he peeked through his fingers, he was hyperaware of every one of her movements and how the fabric of her dress raised up higher on her legs as she got comfortable. The dark fabric bunched around her knees, exposing the narrow ripple of the runs as they began and traveled up to where he couldn't see.

“I'm sorry,” Morgan laughed, his hand falling back to his lap as he turned to face her straight on. He should have asked her about her day then. It would have been a nice distraction from the fool he had made of himself, but he had already shoved his foot in his mouth already. “I'm just a little distracted… You just look so pretty over there.”

Over there. He wanted to hit his palm against his forehead. She was mere inches from him, her body within his reach and even closer as she turned to prop her elbow on the back of the sofa and her head in her hand. She gazed at him, her eyes soft, like he was a daydream, and her smile grew with the red flush of her cheeks.

“I can't tell if you're nervous, or trying to be coy,” Emmy hummed playfully.

And he couldn't tell her it was neither. Morgan wasn't nervous or coy. He was just a man who wanted nothing more than to take her by the legs, hoist up the skirt of her dress and rip a hole in her tights.

“Which one gets me a kiss?”

Her entire face lit up at the question, and she knew it. Emmy tried to hide it from him as she looked away at the television, but her composure was weaning, as was his own. “Bringing me my badge gets you a kiss.”

Emmy leaned in, her eyes shutting and her face softening, and found his lips in a soft kiss that was not much more than a fluttering graze that left his hand flexing with restraint. He wanted nothing more than to draw her back in, to kiss her firmly, deeply, and then he saw her smile and how the corner of her lips curled up and the brightness of her eyes flickered like candle light. She hadn't kissed him like that to be gentle or sweet. Emmy was teasing him - testing him - and he failed. There was no hiding that he wanted more from her. He could feel it written all over his own face as his jaw slacked and eyes narrowed as she leaned in again and placed another slow kiss to his mouth.

It was an agonizing kiss. Her full lips brushed against his, meeting his kiss with all of her calm sweetness gone. Emmy was as eager as he was. Their kiss hastened, her lips parting and her tongue gliding over his lips before he could reach both hands up to cup each side of her face. It drew her in deeper, his tongue tasting hers and coaxing a soft sound up her throat. It was a mix of a sigh and a moan, her lips melting into his as she pushed up onto her knees, but didn't let her lips stray from their kiss.

She wanted to be closer to him, and Morgan welcomed it. His hands left her face, dropping down to hook behind her knees where the fabric of her dress bunched. He gripped her there, and used that leverage to pull her in closer, over the rough gray fabric of the sofa. It was the only encouragement she needed to come in closer, her own hands reaching down to pull up the fabric of her dress just enough to climb into his lap.

His own heartbeat pounded in his ears at the feeling of her knees on either side of his thighs, and the warmth of her body as it bridged over him. Morgan could finally, for the very first time, after months of what ifs, maybes, and dreams that left him reeling in a cold sweat, feel her body against him. He could finally feel the curves of her waist and hips beneath his palms. He stoked over them as he kissed her, rubbing up and down and up again before they reached the hem of her dress that had raised up higher and higher until it came to rest at her mid thigh. So much of her was left exposed to him, yet there was so much more for him to uncover if Emmy left him.

Morgan's hand dipped down, abandoning the skirt of Emmy's dress and grazing over the thin nylon hosiery. He stroked over it discreetly, until he found it, a single run that stretched from knee to inner thigh. Fingertips traced it lazily as he pulled back from the kiss of her lips and began to kiss along the soft angle of her jaw until he was speaking his heated words just below her right ear, “I can’t stop thinking about these.”

Two fingers found the largest point in the run and circled it slowly. Morgan could feel it stretch and grow beneath the friction. He smiled against the skin of her neck.

“I noticed them the day I met you…” Morgan’s fingers toyed with the nylon, stretching it just a little wider so he could feel the soft flesh of her inner thigh before tracing the run back down to her knee. “You were wearing that little skirt. It was so short, how could I not look? Your curves, I noticed those first. If you don't count that smile.”

He paused again, just long enough to draw back and take in the sight of Emmy as she sat there straddling his lap. Her eyes shut, her body completely still as if she was holding her breath, hanging on his every word as he offered her a mere fraction of the desire in his mind.

“Your ass, your thighs. Too thick for the cheap tights…” he followed the run up high, almost to the very apex of her thigh, “so they stretch and they run.”

Emmy shuttered, whether it be from his touch of his words he didn't know, but he felt it. Morgan felt it across his lap first, her hips moving from side to side in an involuntary wiggle as the shiver had run its course down her body, and then he felt it in his thighs as her knees seemed to subtly squeeze around him before relaxing once more. It was paired with an unsteady breath, then another as his fingers stroked in small circles around the exposed skin at the very center of the run.

He was so close to letting a single finger slip between the nylon and trying to rip it away from her skin. But he hesitated, waiting for her rejection or some sort of permission to keep going. Either way, the damage was done. Morgan had made his advance when he should have done nothing more than talk to her about her day and go home tired with nothing more than a thank you kiss. And as he waited with nothing but the sound of her eager breath to put him at ease, Morgan was sure he was going to be sent home at the cost of any kind of relationship with her going forward.

But then she spoke, and he heard the smile in her tone, “so that's why you were looking at me like that.”

“Like what? Where?” he breathed out, his nose nuzzling into her neck before he placed a gentle kiss there.

“At the signing,” her words were soft, jovial, “you were looking at me like I was the only person in that room.” Emmy’s head turned into his as she chuckled, her cheek grazing with his as she spoke softly, “and I was too nervous to even notice. I don't even know if I even looked at you the whole time…”

“You didn't,” he confirmed gently, “but I wished you would.”

She drew back slowly, and he could no longer feel the heat of her breath against his skin but her doe-brown eyes looking down at him. “I didn't even believe it after looking at the photos. It was my friend who pointed it out…”

“And what did she say?”

She looked away, and Morgan raised his free hand up to guide her gaze back to his. “Nothing appropriate.”

“You and your friend, you're close?”

She nodded slowly.

“You tell her about me?”

“Yes,” her head cocked to the side, “should I not have?”

“No, no,” Morgan shook his head, his hair falling down into his eyes, “I don't care about that. What did she say after our date?”

Emmy’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink and her shoulders slouched forward as she tried to avoid his gaze again. Whatever her friend, Emmy didn't want to repeat it, and that excited him.

Leaning in, Morgan kissed her neck slowly. A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that left a heated trail as he kissed his way down to the angles of her collarbone. He felt her breast heave against his chin as he spoke against her flesh. “What did she say, Emmy?”

Morgan punctuated his question with the graze of his teeth over her collarbone, coaxing a shutter to run its course through her body once more.

“She,” Emmy gasped, “asked if you fuck as good as you play hockey.”

Morgan's lips caught on her flesh, dragging over it as he drew back just enough to look over the softened embarrassment on her features. Her friend's words were a bold, brash thing to say. Girl's talk, gossip even, and it had brought them to what felt like the turning point of their night.

“What did you tell her?” Morgan asked.

“That you were a perfect gentleman.” Her breath was sweet against his face as she spoke, his own lips so close to kissing her again.

“That's too kind,” Morgan told her. His hand stroked over one of her cheeks before his fingers knitted into her brunette curls. He wanted nothing more than to anchor himself there. To use it to draw her in and to kiss her again. But that would make him far from the gentleman he was trying to be.

Emmy needed time to heal, Mogan knew that. Her wounds of her breakup were still fresh. He could see it even as she sat there in his lap in the middle of her living room. The boxes piled and the emptiness that remained. That alone should have been enough to say goodnight. He should have done nothing more than place a simple kiss on her forehead and left, but there was no ignoring the tensions between them. The tension he had been trying to ignore since the very night he had met her.

He was only a gentleman in practice. His thoughts, however, were the very opposite.

“Morgan,” Emmy whispered out as she raised up both hands. They took hold of him on each side of his face, the delicate touch of her fingers tickling over his scar and up into his hair. He groaned at the tug on his scalp as her fingers tangled in his post game shower curls. Her touch was all he needed to close the breath of space between them.

Their lips met unlike they had before. There was nothing chaste or cautious about the kiss. Emmy kissed him with such haste it was as if she thought he might disappear without notice. And his one large hand slid through her soft strands to the nape of her neck, drawing her in and kissed her with such depth Morgan swore he could taste something sweet on her tongue. Feeling it glide along the inside of his mouth coaxed a moan from the depths of his throat. Morgan had hoped the Kiss would have been enough to muffle it. That Emmy wouldn't hear the pathetic sound as it rumbled through his chest, but then he felt her smile against his lips.

The soft, confident curl of each corner drew a smile of his own, their teeth smacking as they were caught somewhere between a kiss and laughter. There was a level of comfort there on her coach, with her in his lap, that Morgan couldn't have anticipated. It made his every decision easy and made without any hesitation. Morgan barely had to think, only act, and it only slipped out of control and onto instinct when he felt Emmy's hips roll against his own.

There was no stopping himself from doing what he did next. His hands dropped to her hips instantly, gasping for a fistful of her dress and hosiery clad flesh. Morgan gripped her tight, his hands guiding her body so petite yet to curvy over the stiffening of his cock in his slacks. But it’s not enough. It only took two agonizing rotations before Morgan was slipping her to lie back on the chaise of her couch. Limbs hung over the side lazily as he hovered over her, his mouth capturing hers in a sloppy kiss as he rolled his hips down into hers. Fully clothed, her dress shifting up with the help of the tug of his hands, he felt like a desperate teenager. With Emmy’s hips raising to meet every roll of his own, he wanted nothing more to reach down and flick the button of his pants free. To ease the tension of his slacks over his cock that now raged against the fabric. The friction of her body alone would be enough to make him cum if that was as far as they decided to take things - but then he felt her hands. They fumbled in the space between them, down his chest and to the skirt of her dress. Emmy pulled it up, her body arching and contorting against his to work the navy fabric free.

Morgan salivated, his hands finding the rough gray fabric of the couch to push off until he was kneeling on the hard, laminate floor in front of her just to get a good look at her. The chaise was too small for her to lie on comfortably. Her leg hung off over the end of the couch at the knee, while the other leg was bent, her heel pressed into the plush cushion. The rest of her body sprawled, her beige hosiery near invisible until the waist wrapped around her stomach and so flattering to her figure Morgan was left biting his lip. Then, there was the contrast of her black panties beneath, and the mismatch of her sunflower yellow bra to catch his eyes as they wandered over each swell and valley of her body. And she watched him in return as she lay there, her chest heaving and her hands coming to rest on the couch’s surface. He was too far out of her reach to touch, but her dark eyes that contrasted his so perfectly told him exactly what she wanted.

A single hand reached back and gripped the light fabric of his t-shirt in his first. Morgan pulled it off in one fluid motion before it joined her dress on the floor. Then, his hand dropped to his best that sat too snug on his waist. He worked it free with one hand and pulled it free of each loop before dropping it to the floor with a clamor that even startled himself in what had become silence. He then leaned in, his pants hanging off his hips but not discarded, and let his touch return to the inside of her thighs. His calloused fingers traced over each run in her tights slowly, and his eyes followed each tear like roadways on a map while searching for the right direction. It was when he found the widest part of the run; he dipped one finger into it and began to work it larger. Then another. Emmy was shuddering by the time he was spreading his fingers, working the tear large enough to grip it with both hands. The fabric ripped with ease, the sound so satisfying, Morgan’s cock twitched. And he didn’t stop until the hole was ripped big enough for his fingers to tease the dark fabric of her panties.

There was no seeing her arousal in the fabric that dark, but he could feel it with his knuckles as he let them brush over her crotch in their first teasing graze. He stroked her up and down, the friction against her cunt earning a strangled whimper from her lips. Morgan cocked his head. He wanted her to be louder. He didn’t know if she was holding back by practice or by embarrassment, but he could see it in how her eyes shut tight and her lips parted in a ghost of a moan that there was a sweet sound for him to hear. ‘

A single hand remained between her legs, turning so that his palm could stroke over her clit slowly as he climbed up onto the couch. With one knee between her legs, helping his hand in keeping her already trembling legs apart, Morgan’s lips returned to her mouth in a sloppy kiss. It was as he kissed her, and her hips raised to grind against his palm, that he heard her. A soft, delicate moan that had her tilting her head back into the cushions.

He could make her louder than that, he was sure of it.

Without drawing back, Morgan’s hand fumbled between her legs with the soaked fabric of her panties. He hooked them with one finger, then a second when he couldn’t get the grip just right. Tugging them to one side, his fingers felt just how wet she had become. The slick left his fingers gliding over her folds and earning a cuss from his own lips. His jaw slacked in awe at the feeling. The effortlessness of how his fingers moved over her core, up to circle her clit and back down again before sliding them into the warmth of her cunt. Her arousal was practically dripping down his fingers, and not only could he feel the effect he had on her, he could hear it, too.

The first plunge of his fingers earned the moan that he could practically feel in his own throat. It was hot against his cheek; her face burying in her hair as he began the steady rhythm of his finger thrusts. In and out, then deeper. Emmy’s core clenched around his fingers, her wetness dripping down over his knuckles and onto the sofa below. Her body wound around his, her breath a desperate pant as he brought her closer and closer to her release with nothing more than his finder. And he would have finished her off that way, too. With just a single hand, that was until she gave an order that sounded more like a question. “Take your pants off?”

Easing up, Barron’s fingers left her core and went straight to his pants. His own movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he pushed his slacks down to the floor, his boxers slipping down with them. Then there was a bit of a scramble between them as he knelt back down on the couch. Hair fell into his eyes, his hands moved one place and then the next on her body as her smaller and his larger tried to fit together just right. His lips found her lips. His hands stroked the soft angles of her body, traveling down where one hand took hold of his own cock. He stroked it slowly with one hand before guiding it down into the space between her legs where his fingers once were. There his hand remained, dragging the tip of his cock up and down her entrance before his hips eased forward in the gentle pressure. Emmy gasped against his lips, Morgan fighting one of his own back down into the depths of his throat as the warmth of her core welcomed him from the tip, inch by inch with each slow and deliberate rotation, until he was buried to the hilt.

The couch shifted with each thrust, banging into the wall with a hollow sound. Pillows and couch cushions fell or were pushed to the ground as Emmy reached out to brace herself on the surface, only to find no support. Her hands were then quick to find the strength of his back, her long nails digging in and then deeper as the couch fell from one of its legs, leaving the surface uneven and their bodies sliding.

He felt her startled yelp in the back of his throat, one arm wrapping around her middle while the other braced their bodies against the arm of the couch. He caught them so effortlessly, his cock still buried deep in her cunt, but they couldn’t stay there.

“Hold on to me,” he muttered to her breathlessly, and he felt Emmy’s legs coil tight around his middle.

When he was sure she was secure, her arms grasping tight around the strength of his shoulders, Morgan stood up. He lifted up with little effort, all without his cock slipping from her core. The quick, wide-eyed glance of Emmy’s eyes betrayed her, the shock of what seemed like such a smile movement all over her features. He carried her, a smile pressed to her cheek, as he listened to her gasp and moan as she bobbed along the stiffness of his cock until he had her pinned against the bare living room wall. And he fucked her against it.

The sturdiness of the wall was the only leverage he needed, his arms moving to hook around the underside of her thighs, as he guided her along his cock. Morgan watched her with a cocky confidence as her face softened, her head leaning back against the blank, white surface as her lips parted. He waited for the words to spill, but her feeble moans were all the met his ears as he fucked her there, feeling the first pulsing wave of her pleasure that sent her arousal dripping down the thick vein of his cock straight down to his balls.

It left her panting, desperate for more as her hand left his shoulder to push off the wall, “bed, the bed.”

Emmy’s bedroom was down the narrow hallway, just off the bathroom. He couldn’t see it well, wasting no time to turn the lights on, but all he could see was the silhouette of her unmade bed. The duvet wrinkled and tangled with the bodies as he lay her down, his hands finding her hips to brace himself as his hips found their steady roll once more.

He could feel the exertion overtaking his body. The sweat beading down his muscles as if he had just finished a practice on the ice, and Emmy’s body was against his. Hyper aware of every one of her movements, Barron’s head was spinning as he tossed his head back to toss the sweaty curls from his face. He was starry eyes as he felt her legs drag down the strength of his own, and gritting his teeth with each smack of his hips against hers. Then her limbs were coiling around him. Drawing him in close so she could bury her face into his neck as she moaned out the loudest she had been all night. Her lips grazed over his neck just below his ear as her core gripped around him, tight then tighter as she came undone - but Morgan couldn’t hold back himself any longer.

One final plunge, the pressure that left his body tense, had met its peak, and he was left in a daze of pleasure that consumed him so fully it almost numbed him. Morgan’s head leaned back on his shoulders, his jaw slacked as he panted out for a desperate breath. He remained deep in her until his cock stilled, his own body quivering at the feeling of her being filled so fully by him that he could feel a mixture of them dripping down his balls. It left him a mess as he fell away from her like a flimsy ribbon, her body tired not only tired from the sex, but the entire game of hockey he had played mere hours ago.

The exhaustion consumed him as he sprawled out on his side in the comfort of her bed. It’s soft embrace left him feel like he was melting away - completely dissociated from Emmy whose warmth he could no longer feel. He reached an arm out, searching for her blindly. And when he found her, she was crawling back into the bed after discarding her hosiery bra and panties in the garbage and on the floor.

Her body fit into his with ease, her warmth spread over his chest and his legs and she became the little spoon to his big. His limbs consumed her, drawing her in to share the one large pillow on the bed. Morgan buried his face in her hair, his lips peppering kisses there as she tugged the duvet around their form. There he breathed in the scent of her, his heart yet to calm in the depth of his chest - his own thoughts too loud for him to find peace.

He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Worst of all, there was a piece of him so loud in the back of his mind that screamed that he had just screwed up everything. When he started talking to Emmy, that first message he sent was of pure interest. Morgan wanted to get to know her, not hook up with her. And that all felt at risk now that he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

It left a lump in the back of his throat as he tried to hide from his thought by placing sweet kisses on the back of her neck. The physical kept him distracted from the mental - but then Emmy spoke and put it all at ease, “Do you have practice in the morning?”

“No,” he shook his head slowly, his hair becoming a mess against the pillow - and he almost jumped as the foot of the bed suddenly shifted. Then came the gentle steps of Emmy’s cat, who was only now bold enough to venture out of her hiding spot now that things had calmed. The cat made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

“Grab breakfast with me, then? My treat.” Emmy offered, and Morgan couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that was lost in her hair.

Morgan’s arms coiled around her a little tighter, playfully drawing her in closer to his frame as he placed a playful nip and kiss on her bare shoulder. “I’m not letting you pay for my breakfast.”

“Fine,” she huffed so loud he could practically hear her pout in the darkness. His brow raised up, she had been quick to concede, but she he felt the wiggle of her ass against his cock teasing him. If he hadn’t taken her already, and if he had the energy, he would have fucked her again. But Morgan settled for sleep, her body perfectly pressed into his, and a smile on his lips as he heard her gentle, dreamy compromise. “It’s a date then.”