Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

3. Shiver Spot

Chapter 3

Shiver Spot

Casey

I t’s not that I didn’t think Jack would make a good dad, because of course I thought he would, raised with the values his dads instilled in him, but I didn’t expect him to be so domestic. He’s always got baby Stanley in that sling across his chest, his fuzzy head of hockey lettuce poking out. He’s always standing proud, too, his smile the biggest I’ve ever seen it.

And it’s not just the Stanley factor, it’s the Merc and Stanley factor. Jack’s doing dishes at the sink. Merc wraps his long arms around them, kissing Jack’s shiver spot—y’know that sensitive patch of skin on a neck between jawline and collarbone? Shiver spot.

Sutter likes to suck me there.

I shiver.

Fuck.

I check my phone. No message. Good. I hope he never texts me again. I shouldn’t answer even if he does text. But I have major issues. He messages, I go running like he’s Pavlov and I’m his dog. It’s been weeks since he got back into town. We’ve fucked a lot. About every second night. I keep telling myself it’s gonna wear off soon, but I can’t stop thinking about him. My brain invents wild ideas, ways he could fuck me, things he could say.

At least I get to talk about all this crazy shit with Jack. He’s my bestie and he gets me in ways even my brother Stacey doesn’t. Plus, he’s going through his own shit. With every day that creeps closer to the hockey season, his inner brat’s panicking. He’ll have to leave his new little family, and he loves it here.

But he also loves hockey.

“They’re kinda gross but cute, huh?” Rachel says. She’s picking at her breakfast beside me in full teen mode. Was I ever that moody as a teenager? Mom would say so, I guess. I like Rachel, though. She doesn’t take any shit, and she’s fucking hilarious.

“So gross and so cute,” I agree. I hold my fist up, we bump knuckles. I shovel the rest of my cereal into my mouth and pour another bowl.

“I’ll tell you what’s gross,” Jack says, making his way over to the breakfast table with coffee.

“Don’t say Sutter.”

“Sutter.”

“I told you not to say it.”

“Has he, uh, planned a visit for today?” Jack says, trying not to say “booty call” in front of Rachel.

“I know what sex is, Jack,” Rachel says. “Can’t you play hard to get? You running to him is so cringe. Tell him you’re busy next time he texts you.”

That wouldn’t sting so badly if I didn’t agree.

“How do you know what sex is, young lady?” Merc says in full dad mode, taking a seat beside Jack.

She laughs. “First of all, I’m fifteen and don’t live in a hole. Second, Dad sat me and Dawson down, told us all about the birds and bees. Even if he hadn’t, the internet’s full of?—”

“Alright. Alright. Wish I hadn’t asked. You and Dawson need a lot more supervision,” Merc says. “And no, Dad doesn’t count as supervision.”

“There are apps for that, Merc,” Jack says. “At least for the internet.”

Rachel’s jaw drops. “You fucking traitor. He didn’t know about those.”

Mercy is technologically inept, which is funny because he’s not the age he should be for his level of ineptness.

Jack shrugs. “I’d be a traitor if I didn’t tell my man. My loyalty lies with him. Always him.”

He smiles into Merc’s cornflower blue eyes. Merc smiles back.

“I changed my mind. You guys are just gross,” Rachel says.

My thoughts exactly.

Logan’s next to join us, hair wet from the shower. Jack gets up just so he can serve him his specially cooked egg whites, with avocado, tomatoes, and fruits low on the glycemic index. Coffee, black. It’s his weird-ass ice skater diet. I don’t get it. I couldn’t last five minutes on what he eats.

But, huh. If Merc is Logan’s brother-dad, Jack’s kinda his step-brother-dad. Jack funds a lot of bills around here, especially for Logan.

Logan smirks when he sees my face at the table. “Rough night?”

“I haven’t seen Sutter in over twenty-four hours, I’ll have you know.” I’m proud of my restraint. At least I don’t call him, he calls me.

My phone lights up, buzzing on the table, and I know without looking it’s the fucking universe calling to prove me a liar.

“Aren’t yah gonna check that, bud?” Jack says.

“Don’t do it, Alderchuck,” Rachel says. “Have some fucking self-respect.”

I don’t know why, but I look to Mercy. Maybe because he was my coach for an entire season, and I look up to him. Or maybe because, deep down, I know he’s the only real adult in the room. Yeah, it’s option two for sure.

“You two pull each other’s pigtails all game long. I think you’re secretly in love,” is his sage pearl of wisdom for me. I think. Can it be counted as advice if it was clearly laced with judgment?

I can’t argue the first part of that. Sutter and I have a long history of wanting to beat the shit out of each other, and Mercy had to put up with us every game we played against Boston last season in the AHL.

But it’s not the advice I was looking for. I like Sutter’s dick and that’s fucking it. The man’s obsessed with boat knots, knives, and door locks. Soooo not my type outside of the bedroom.

Man, do we ever fucking click in bed, though.

“And I think that Sutter thinks Casey is a chew toy,” Jack adds, unhelpfully.

“Jack,” Mercy scolds, his eyes flicking to Rachel.

“I can see the marks, Merc,” she says. “Clearly made by human teeth.”

Yeah, I might be Sutter’s chew toy, but I kinda dig the marks.

“You didn’t ask me, but I think you’re not-so-secretly in lust.” Logan nudges me with his arm.

“So what if I am?”

“Not judging you I just … I get it.” Because of Rhett. He’s got some kinda thing going with Rhett Elkington that I do not, for the life of me, understand. Although, I might be the hypocrite pot calling out the kettle at this point. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with lust-driven sex, but the problem is hormones.”

“Please, tell me more, oh virgin oracle.” Everyone knows Logan’s a virgin. Jack let it slip. His intent was pure—Jack wanting to help him—but now it’s common knowledge.

Logan glares but as a thought grips him, he softens. “Hormones make you feel other things.”

He leaves it at that, returning to his breakfast.

But I laugh. “No chance of that for me, Lo. The only thing I feel for Sutter besides lust is the need to grind him to dust on the ice.”

B ruising fingers grip my bare hipbones, slamming my ass against him, using the same brutish power he does on the ice. My prostate takes a beating—the best fucking beating—as my dick bobs, heavy and forgotten between my thighs, sometimes knocking against the cupboard.

Yeah, I returned his text. Sue me. Anybody would. Anybody saying they wouldn’t for sex this good’s a fucking liar.

He stumbled in the door like a bear fresh from hibernation, yanked my jeans off, and bent me over the kitchen counter.

I kinda wish his dick wasn’t covered in latex, but y’know, gotta be safe. With how many places Sutter’s dick’s been, who knows what it’s carrying? Probably new diseases that haven’t been discovered yet.

“Yeah, that what you needed, kitten? My fuckin’ dick railing you?”

I did. I really did. “Yeah,” is what comes out. It’s all the breath I have for speaking.

Sutter finally gives my dick the attention it deserves. Both our orgasms are epic, somehow even more epic than the last epic time, and my knees buckle, almost gashing my face onto the lip of the countertop.

He catches me, spinning my face to his. “Easy there, Alderchuck. We need you in top form for the season, so I can kick your ass fair and square.”

“Asshole,” I murmur against his lips. He’s pretending to kiss me when what he’s actually doing is tasting me. “As if you don’t succumb to dirty cheap shots every chance you get.”

“Mhm. So do you, brat. C’mon, let’s get food in you so we can go again.”

At least he’s learned that I need to be fed. I don’t know when feeding me became okay, just that I was suddenly being led to a giant pizza box that seemed to magically appear in his kitchen one time after sex. I do not have the willpower to turn down delicious cheesy pizza when my stomach’s growling like a car engine.

“Nope. No time. I have a shift in an hour, and you need to go before people come home.” He’s not a secret exactly. Jack and the Meyer crew were the only ones who knew initially but everyone knows by now, having found out in various and explicit ways. Thing is, having him hanging around gives the wrong idea, and I don’t want people to get used to seeing us together. He’s a shameful not-secret I’d rather stick to the shadows with.

“What are you still working at that place for? You don’t need the money.”

“Some of us know what loyalty is, Sutter,” I say, prying him from my body so I can look for my clothes. Damn, we made a mess of the place. Knocked a few things over. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall beside the fridge. “Is that a fucking bite mark, Sutter? God damn it.”

He laughs, not the least bit sorry. “You love my bite marks. You even said it yourself.”

“Not when I have to go to work. Look at this. Everyone’s gonna make fun of me.” But yeah. I kinda love the marking shit. It’s forming a nice bruise, too. I wish I could ink his hickeys into my skin. He spins and it’s my turn to laugh. His back’s now sporting long claw marks, slowly turning into embossed welts thanks to my nails.

Sutter’s laugh’s cut short. “What the fuck?”

His face, though. It’s priceless. I whip out my phone, something else possessing me, and click an image of his face, risking life and limb to do so. Fuck him, though. He gets to take pictures of me, I’m taking pictures of him.

“You tore my back apart, Alderchuck.”

“Hope you’re not expecting an apology.”

I leave him to his horror, grabbing up my clothes, dressing like a madman. My hair’s fucked. I look as fucked as I am. By the time my focus returns to Sutter, his dick and that fucking sumptuous body of his is tucked away. Post-sex awkwardness sets in like a third wheel. This is the part where neither of us knows what the fuck to say.

Does that mean he’s as inexperienced as I am with this kind of thing? Or is he just an ass? Probably the latter for him. For me, I hook up all the time, but never with the same person. This is turning into some kind of fucked up situationship.

“Y’know, Sutter. We’ve been doing this a lot,” I say.

“So?”

“It’s not weird for you?”

“It’s weird as hell for me.” He yanks me to him by the waistband of my pants. His fingers ghost over the new markings he left. He’s staring at me funny, like I’m a wonder of the world. “I can’t figure out why, but the sex is so fucking good with you. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. I say we keep doing as much as we can, live out all our sexually depraved fantasies until the curse wears off.”

“Like, we’ve been given some kind of magical sex juice and we capitalize on it?” I say.

“Something like that. Because it will wear out, Alderchuck. Then we’ll wish we’d got our fill while we could.”

“Kinda like leaving the last bites of pizza—every time I leave them, they haunt me.”

“Are all your analogies food-related?”

“Yep.”

“You’re the most unusual person I’ve ever fucked.”

I shrug. “Right back at’cha. I’ve never learned so much about the dawn of the apocalypse.” On top of being the nation’s best Boy Scout, Sutter’s a paranoid maniac. We’re talking full-on prepper levels. Turns out, paranoia is a full-time job for him. Bet he stuffs dry chicken noodle soup mix in the crevices of his condo. “Next you’ll be telling me about your secret bunker somewhere in Northern BC.”

“Nothing wrong with having a bug-out location. When the zombie apocalypse hits, you’re gonna come knockin’ and will I let you in? No way.”

“Zombies? You’ve lost the plot, Sutter. But even if that happened, I know how to finagle my way into your hideout.”

“How?” His lips find their way to my shiver spot. And lemme tell you, there are shivers. Shivers down to my fucking dick.

Heavy breaths heave from my lungs. I arch my neck to give him better access. “I know the best ways to suck your dick. You’ll need s-someone to s-suck your dick through the apocalypse. And remember, everyone else is zombies.”

His calloused hand slides up my black t-shirt. “My very own apocalypse whore. Don’t have one of those up there, yet.”

I’m starting to think his fictitious bug-out location isn’t so fictitious. That’s a talking point for later. “Pass me my phone,” I breathe.

He snags it off the counter, and I shoot off a quick text. He quirks a brow. “Just sent a text to Dashie to tell his dad I’ll be late to work.”

“Late…?” But then he smiles, understanding.

“It’s the end of the world, Sutter. We’re the last two humans in existence and we have to repopulate the Earth.”

“If that’s the case, humanity is screwed. You can’t get pregnant.” He sucks on my neck some more. My body trembles.

“Won’t know unless we try.”

“Good point,” he says, mauling my mouth. “Bend your ass back over the counter. I’m gonna breed you for the good of humanity, Alderchuck.”