The sight of her smooth, creamy thighs and red satin panties gave me a full hard-on. I wanted her so fucking bad. I didn’t have words to reassure her, but I could do it with my body. Though I was still pissed she hadn’t told me she was pregnant, there were a lot of other things I wanted her to know that I couldn’t say out loud.
If I could look in her eyes and make love to her right now, she’d know. That I loved her so fucking much my chest ached. That I was in agony over having to leave her in two days for a road trip. That seeing her joy turn to disappointment was like a knife to my heart.
When I sat her up to pull off her shirt and bra and slip the t-shirt over her head, she leaned against me limply.
“Have you been eating?” I asked, easing her down until her head sank into the pillow.
“Mmm.”
I got up and pulled the covers up to her neck. It was past midnight and I had an early practice in the morning, so I’d be up and gone before she was even awake. I didn’t want to leave things like they were between us, but she needed rest, so we’d have to talk later.
After a beer and a couple hours of video games at Luke’s, I’d mellowed. Just being in his shithole apartment made me want to go home to Kate. Empty beer bottles and dirty laundry in the living room and dishes all over the kitchen. He said he was trying to bang his cleaning lady and he wanted to make sure she’d still be at his place when he finished practice tomorrow.
I took of my jeans and t-shirt and left them in the closet. When I climbed into bed next to Kate, I had a surge of gratitude that I was done banging cleaning ladies and puck sluts. She was the only one I wanted to share that part of myself with.
But the downside to having a one and only was that she got to me like no one else. When she was unhappy, I was, too. I wasn’t mad at her, but I was frustrated as hell. The only ways I could work out frustration were on the ice or in bed with Kate. And even though we were in bed right now, it wasn’t going to be a night that left me sated and relaxed.
***
Anton Petrov sneered when his dark eyes met mine.
“Pretty as ever, Ryker,” he said in his thick Russian accent.
“I’ve always known you had a thing for me,” I said, looking at the ref’s hand, which was suspended in mid-air. Would he just drop the fucking puck already? He was waiting for the signal, and my hand muscles twitched eagerly.
“You want some?” Petrov raised his brows hopefully. “You fucking want some, Ryker?”
“When are you gonna learn English? I didn’t get a fucking word of that,” I said, shaking my head with disgust. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Petrov’s accent was the way to get to him, and I forced a note of laughter at his outraged expression.
The ref leaned his head to the side and I flexed and un-flexed my hand muscles, preparing to fight for the puck. It was always a battle with Petrov. He was monstrous – the biggest center in the league. And he was damn fast for 6’7” and 250 pounds.
“I hear your track record for happy wives continues,” he said in a low, menacing tone. “You get every fucking word that time?”
My veins filled with liquid fire. I shook my head and edged closer to him. “Yeah, I vant some, Petrov. I’m gonna break your fucking arms.”
The puck clicked against the ice, and we lunged forward at the same time. Our sticks crashed together and I shoved his chest. He pushed back, and I saw my split-second opening to edge the puck to Luke. I fought the adrenaline telling me to throw down my stick and teach Petrov a lesson about even thinking of my wife, let alone speaking of her.
He swore in Russian when Luke glided away, the puck tucked against his stick. I surged down the ice, my legs propelling me so fast snow flew up from my skate blades.
My head was in the game: passing, receiving, watching and executing. But I was also keeping Petrov in my sights – waiting for my opening.
It came when we were fighting over the puck again. I drove my shoulder into his chest, knowing from his loud grunt that it was on. Helmets and gloves tumbled away. Our sticks hit the ice and I crushed a blow to his cheekbone that gave me a charge of satisfaction. I didn’t have to hold back or protect anyone here. Instead I could let it all fly, and I fucking did.
I didn’t think, I just fought. It was engrained in me after all these years. But usually it wore me down after a while. This time, I couldn’t get enough. With every hit I landed, my sense of helplessness faded. I could finally get out the rage from seeing Kate heartbroken and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.
Petrov’s spit hit my cheek and he growled like a striking bear. He grabbed my jersey in his dinner plate-sized hands and spun me, slamming me into the wall. A white-hot jolt of pain knocked the wind out of me. I threw a punch at his face, but my shoulder gave out halfway there.