Friendly Affections

THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER I POSTED TODAY! read nine first (:
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“I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE THE SPORT OF ICE HOCKEY!” I screamed in Jack’s face the moment he walked through the bar’s doors. Or as close as I could get to his face, which was his chin when standing on the balls of my feet. So, I yelled at his chin. But he grinned nonetheless in response to my enthusiasm.
“Me too!” He shouted back and picked me up in the sort of hug every girl loves, where her feet leave the ground and she squeals as she’s spun around. When my feet touched the ground once more I kept my arms twined around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
I could hear catcalls and feel him fighting a smile against my lips as he received slaps on the back from his teammates. I pulled away and looked around his shoulder at the other players and winked. They only laughed harder, and toasted me with beer bottles.
Jack had scored the overtime winner against Canada, while I stood on my seat and screamed. I was seated with a few WAGs who had made the journey overseas with their significant other, and though they were anxious with anticipation about who would score the elusive game winner, they were nowhere near as exhilarated as me. They laughed at me, good-naturally, and praised how cute they thought I was when cheering on my boyfriend.
I was quick to correct the prior assumption, but lied and told them we were dating. Saying: oh, we’re just friends who fuck, might make me sound like a dirty whore. Or worse, some sort of gold digging puck-bunny. So, dating sounded like a safe white lie. We went out for dinner and then rolled around in the sheets for a while, which I reasoned was dating. Even though we missed our reservations and technically never made it to dinner.
Two months before when I met Jack at the restaurant and then again at the party Kate dragged me to, I would have never guessed I would be sitting on his lap in a dirty, slightly sketchy, Finnish bar with Team USA, drinking funny tasting beer and laughing as the guys recounted a play by play of the game. But I was there and I was thrilled about it.
Hidden by the table, Jack kept his free hand in dangerous territory. He slid it up and down my leg, from my knee to my hip, in a gentle, rhythmic fashion that almost made me shudder with passion. His breathe on my neck didn’t help either, silken, warm and a constant reminder of what his lips feel like on my skin. Most of the laughs I gave in response to people’s words were strangled, and I hoped no one noticed.
I nearly bit the neck off of my bottle when Jack slipped his hand to rest on the inside of my thigh, inches from where my arousal for him was pooling. I glanced at his face, and he had a slight smile pasted to his lips. Only he could be less than a foot from feeling me up under the table, like some sort of fifteen year old, and keep a smooth expression. I’m sure my flushed face let everyone at the table know what was happening. Then again they were all drunk, and rather unobservant in the moment.
It was on the Finland trip that I found out about the No Sex on Game Days rule. It was also on the Finland trip that Jack and I broke that rule multiply, multiply times. Often on the same day. It was like one taste of his mouth and I was a goner. One press of his lips to the sensitive curve under my breast and my mind short-circuited. One night spent digging my nails and teeth into his skin and I wanted to have him every day, every hour, every moment.
“Are you okay?” His voice was hushed, yet teasing, and I was glad he couldn’t see my face.
“I’m just peachy.” I retorted without turning to him, and ran a hand through my hair. This caused it to fall from where it rest on my shoulder to my back, and exposed a section of my neck. He took that as a sign to deftly press his lips to the spot behind my ear. My toes may of curled as my body flooded with fiery list.
I stood abruptly and announced, “We’re leaving.” to the table of drunkards we were with. They all offered us a final cheer, bottles raised. Jack looked at me in surprise and for a moment I was satisfied with being the one to shock him. But it passed after I drank his appearance of messy hair, flushed cheeks, bright eyes and parted lips. He looked impossibly devastating, and if I hadn’t gotten him somewhere private the Finnish police would’ve arrested two horny, drunk Americans for public indecency. So I grabbed his hand and went towards the door, him willingly trailing along.
It was dark outside, and so chilly our breath was visible. He opened his arms for me so I accepted the invitation and wrapped myself around him inside his jacket. I kissed him again, but it was short and chaste. He rest his forehead on mine, eyes closed and breathing soft.
“Are you having a good time?” He asked, like the answer wasn’t obvious.
I let a suppressed laugh erupt from me. “Yes, of course I am. Finland is a blast.”
“Regretting that decision yet?” He continued on and moved his mouth to pepper little kisses across the span of my cheeks and nose.
I kept my eyes closed, and felt his lips brush my eye lids. “Which decision?”
“Seducing me.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed, opening my eyes and leaning away so I could look at him. “I didn’t seduce you, you seduced me. You pulled me over the center council of your truck and held me so tightly I thought was going to become permanently melded to the steering wheel! You, seduced, me.”
“You kissed me first.” He countered, with a wide grin.
“Because you hadn’t gotten any loving in while, I was just helping a friend out.” I teased him and added a brief kiss.
“You led me up to your apartment and were half undressed by the time I had closed the front door. I’m pretty sure that counts as seduction.” He shot back.
I shook my head playfully. “No, that just showed how time efficient I am. We had a flight the next morning I didn’t want to miss.”
“We had eleven hours!”
“And,” Another kiss. “We used them all very well, didn’t we?”
“Hm, did we?” He step back from me, and waved down a cab that had finally turned the corner. He took my hand as we waited at the curb. “I can’t remember exactly, I've been forgetting a lot of things lately. I think I need a reminder of it.”
“Memory loss, that sounds serious.” I fought to subdue a smile. “I better do everything in my power to help you remember.”
“You better.” He told me seriously.
He held the door to the cab open for me and I ducked in swiftly, followed by him moments later. With blatant disregard for seat belts, I climbed back into his lap and he kissed me so deeply I felt a distinct swooping sensation in my stomach. I didn’t even know that was possible outside of romance novels.
“But, Jo, seriously.” he murmured against my neck a minute later. “Are happy with this? Us? This whole situation and everything?”
I could tell he didn’t want to elaborate on the subject of us sleeping together, so I answered firmly, “Yes.”
What was weird though is that I was happy. I was the happy in the sexually-satisfied sort of way—which how could I not be? Having sex with a pro-athlete isn’t just pleasurable, it’s down right exhausting. It didn’t help he would nearly break me in half and then be ready to go again in ten minutes. There was no doubt I was happy with that aspect of our distorted relationship, but I was, more oddly so, happy with the rest of it—the good old fashioned giddy, butterflies fluttering in my stomach, uncontrollable smiles sort of happy.
Which is also the most dangerous sort of happy a girl can be. That: I want to spend all my time with you, even if we aren’t having sex. The: I like lying in bed and talking to you in the morning as much I like you being inside me. And: I just want to tell everyone about you and let everyone know you’re mine.
Jack and I were spiraling into something precarious and smiling all the way down.