Delayed Penalty Part 15

I grew to understand Evan didn't like his boys teasing him in front of me. It wasn't out of fear for his ego either. Any time they cussed around me, he looked like he wanted to knock their teeth out, as if it was disrespectful or something.

I think he knew better, though, because it was rare that Evan didn't slip f.u.c.k into every sentence he spoke. His boys were no different.

Dave and Evan spoke about the game, a penalty they were still upset about being over turned. Callie came back, but when she noticed Dave was still there, she immediately turned and walked away.

I wanted to ask her if she didn't like him, but wasn't sure if I should. Her reaction puzzled me. Dave seemed like a nice guy, not one I would ever want to date, or even hang out with, but at least he wasn't anti-social. There were a couple of Evan's teammates that didn't even say h.e.l.lo, let alone look our direction. Maybe it was because I was sitting there with him, or maybe they didn't get along. It was apparent they had a group that was tight-knit.

Dave left after that; a girl had caught his attention. "See what I mean?" Evan gestured to the girl on his arm. "He might not leave with that one either, but it won't stop him from taking her into the bathroom."

Sure enough, they disappeared down the hall. I didn't pay much attention to that. I had a feeling Evan might have been like that before he met me, but I also didn't want to think about it too much.

Evan's hands were never far from me, which I enjoyed. When I would respond, or curl into him, his eyebrow would quirk, and his mouth would turn up into that signature crooked smile. I eventually grew bolder and actually touched his back or his stomach. G.o.d, that stomach was amazing. The only acknowledgment he would give would be a wink. Other than that, we brought no attention to the flirting.

Leo caught on quickly, as did Callie, who finally came back to the table, when she whispered, "Now I know you were thinking about the way his hips moved."

I tried to play it off with a laugh, but I couldn't deny it. Yes, I had that thought about them a time or two. I most just thought about it. Given what happened to me, and the fact that I was a virgin that night, I would be far from ready for any type of physical relations.h.i.+p with anyone for a while. Well, that may have been true if I wasn't living with Evan Masen. And that may have been true if Evan Masen hadn't rescued me. And that may have been true if I wasn't falling for Evan Masen.

And as much as I tried to pay attention that night, Evan Masen was in my head. Thoughts of us naked, feelings of l.u.s.t and desire, erotic thoughts bombarded me and frustrated me. s.e.xual tension was something I'd never experienced before.

Evan's condo in the Trump Towers was far more extravagant than his parents' home in Pittsburgh. You could tell their home was where a good family lived and well-rounded children were raised. Evan's condo looked somewhat like a playboy mansion, only on a smaller scale. It wasn't huge, but it had some nice amenities. A quick walk through and you easily understood it was a guy's pad. When you walked inside, straight-ahead was the living room. The smell was the first thing you noticed when you walked in. It smelled like Evan, and I wanted to bury myself in the wood floors and become part of its grain. I wasn't sure how, but he always spelled like some kind of pampered laundry sheet. Rich cotton, leather, boy, and the smell I remembered from that night. The smell of Evan was comforting.

His parents' home had a faint resemblance to the smell, but it was nothing like being here. When you walked inside there was a laundry room to the right, with a fancy stainless steel front loading washer and dryer. I was sure he never used either of them, but the pile of laundry told me otherwise.

Walking into the living room, with its floor to ceiling windows overlooking Northern Chicago, the view almost looked like some kind of skyline painting. The kitchen and dining room area were to the right; dark wood matched the cupboards and was met with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.

His furniture was a sage green, a couch and few chairs placed strategically around his large flat screen television that hung neatly on the wall. No wires or speakers in sight, but you knew they were there somewhere.

When I first set foot in there, judging by the arrangement and decorations, he was either gay or had someone do it for him. Turned out his sister wanted to be an interior designer and designed the layout for him. I was glad because it would be a shame to be so attracted to Evan and have him be gay.

Down the hall to the left were a few bathrooms, a spare bedroom, and then Evan's master suite.

The bedroom was s.p.a.cious with a black sleigh bed and matching dresser. The walls were splashed with a light gray tone, and a few pictures of the beach hung above the bed. Large windows bathed the room in an airy winter frost that I loved and offered a beautiful view of downtown Chicago.

The bathroom had dark slate floors with a long counter that matched. In the corner was a shower that I was sure his whole team could fit into and a large tub that allowed you to look over the city, too. It was an unnecessary indulgence I couldn't wait to try out.

His closet was off the bathroom and was nearly the same size as his bedroom. A few jerseys that appeared to be from his early hockey days were framed on the walls.

After leaving the bar, we came back to his place where I was now officially staying. We were on the couch. He was watching SportsCenter, catching highlights from games he missed. Though he played, he was a huge fan of the sport and kept a close eye on the Pittsburgh Penguins.

"Evan, can you do something for me?" I whispered as I raised my head from his chest. He didn't answer but brushed my short hair behind my ears. This time it stayed in place, having grown a little longer, and he waited for me to continue. I opened my mouth to speak and forgot what I was even going to ask when I met his eyes. So instead, I leaned in and kissed him.

His hand curled around to cup my neck, urging my lips a little harder in to his, giving a groan when our mouths met.

I moaned when I felt the blend of warm and wet soft lips on mine. My hand fisted in the fabric of his dress s.h.i.+rt as his tightened around me. I needed a little more tonight; I wanted a little more and wasn't sure how much he was willing to give. To see just how far I could go with it, I moved to straddle him.

Evan moaned deeply at the change in our position and greedily moved his hands lower over my a.s.s. A spike of nervousness and excitement p.r.i.c.ked my skin and settled in my belly.

His fingers clenched into tight fists around the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. That was when I felt the hard length of him pressing against me, his hips straining a little closer to feel the friction I could provide. But then he stilled any movement I made.

"Ami," he groaned, his eyes squeezing closed. Hearing my name on his lips made my heart stumble. I wasn't ready to stop, but I knew the look on his face. He was about to pull away.

Lowering my lips to his neck, I kissed up the length of it, feeling the muscles straining. My hips fought against his hold to move.

"Jesus, Ami," he growled softly, possessively, against my lips. "Please stop. You have to stop," he a.s.serted, pus.h.i.+ng me off him.

"What's wrong?"

He rubbed his hands furiously over his face and groaned. "I want to f.u.c.k you so bad...and that's a really s.h.i.+t thing for me to want from you right now."

"Why?" I asked, completely confused and trying to fight that sting of rejection.

"Because, Ami, you're not ready for that," he paused, his eyes on my body and then my face again, "someone took something very sacred from you, and if I did what I so desperately want to do right now, how does that make me any different?"

"Uh, because this is willing..." I gestured between us trying to point out the obvious. "I want this...with you."

"I know it sounds like I'm trying to be some kind of saint here, and take things slow, but I'm not. It's a constant battle not to just give in and see just how far you'll let me take things when you kiss me. And believe me, I wanna see just how far I could push it. But s.e.x..." He shook his head and a huffed breath came out, "...after what happened, it's important for us to slow down. I don't want it to be something that just happens one night and it's no big deal. With you it's a big deal. You're too important," he whispered, trailing his index finger down the length of my throat, trying to comfort me, and then drifting it across my collarbone. "I'm afraid that if we don't slow down, I'll push you before you're ready, and I'm afraid that you won't stop me, even if you're not ready."

Well Christ, he had me pegged, didn't he?

"What are you? Some kind of mind reader?" I fell back against his couch, huffing and a little angry that I was so frustrated and consumed by this stupid knight in s.h.i.+ning armor hockey player that took my heart and wouldn't let go of it.

I wanted to knock him in the head with a puck.

"No, not a mind reader," he said in a low, thoughtful tone as he placed a hand on my thigh, turning me a little until I was facing him. "Just a guy looking out for a girl."

I scrunched my nose and pretended to glare. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. What seemed playful and flirty with teasing wasn't; the kiss was intimate when his warm hands, that were gently resting on my thighs, moved to cup my face. He pressed a little harder, making the kiss a little deeper, like he wanted to leave the mark on my forehead.

And then he got up and took a shower.

A little while later we were lying together, watching the rain sliding like a waterfall over the windows in his living room, the condo completely dark.

He had taken off his s.h.i.+rt, and though it wasn't the first time I had seen him without his s.h.i.+rt on, I paid more attention, wanting to burn the image in my head. The muscles of his torso were lean and sculpted, evidence of his lifestyle as a hockey player. He wasn't completely ripped like some of the guys on his team seemed to be, but he was big and solid. He looked like an athlete, one that spent a lot time in the gym and used his body as his tool. There was a small dusting of hair scattered over chest and lower on his stomach leading to where his lounge pants started. The hair on his stomach was what tempted me to follow its path. d.a.m.n it if I didn't want to slip my hand inside there to where it disappeared into the thin strip of black cotton that stuck out from his pants.

But none of that happened. Just like every other time in his arms, against his bare chest, my mind emptied, and I was able to forget and drift off to sleep.

Light the lamp To score a goal. A light above the net turns on when a goal is scored.

This girl was going to be the f.u.c.king death of me and my frequent need for cold showers. Never in my life had I one, enjoyed a cold shower, or two, had to take care of my own needs as much as I had to once she moved in with me.

I was dying. It was pretty much official.

Sat.u.r.day morning I left Ami sleeping in my bed to go get some breakfast. I got her donuts, which she said she loved, and coffee.

When I walked into my condo, thinking she would still be asleep, a few things caught my attention.

My cat had moved and was on my couch, a place I had specifically told him he wasn't allowed to be, the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The second, Led Zeppelin's "D'yer Mak'er" was blasting, and Ami was dancing around in my old junior hockey jersey and a pair of my sweatpants rolled up just to fit. The combination suited me just fine.

When she saw me, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Dance with me, Evan!"

There was no telling her no, not with my jersey on.

Being that close was a problem for me. A big problem.

Ami was carefree and happy to be alive right now. The energy radiated from her, and I loved that about her. It was what made me so comfortable around her.

When the song ended and I needed another shower, she smiled.

"You're wearing my jersey. It's hot."

"You can't tell me you've never had a puck bunny wear your jersey."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n that Leo. Stop talking to him. Give me that phone," I teased, reaching for her phone. "I'm deleting his number."

We wrestled around on the couch for a minute, and then I looked over at the cat glaring at me. "Get off my couch, you little jerk."

"If you hate cats, why do you have one?" Ami laughed, removing herself from the couch and reaching for the coffee.

"I don't know. He showed up here, and I couldn't get him to leave." I tried to reach down to pet him, testing the waters, but his hiss proved my theory. "The thing is, he hates me, too, but he won't leave."

I later found out the cat didn't just show up. I'll give you one hint as to who's to blame for that. His name starts with an L and he's one nasty motherf.u.c.ker sometimes. Yep. Leo.

His reasoning was, get this, every man needs a loyal p.u.s.s.y. Like I said, nasty motherf.u.c.ker.

It wasn't long before we found ourselves kissing again. I didn't want this to be moving so fast, but it was clear we had an attraction to each other, both mentally and physically. Her age bothered me. I was exactly three years older than her, and in my head that was a big gap. Maybe if she was twenty-one and I was twenty-four that wouldn't have been such a big deal.

Ami giggled, and the breathy moan that followed was enough to send me over the edge and change my direction.

I was pressed against her and between her legs, torturing myself. All this kissing led me to believe that maybe, if I gave her something, not s.e.x, but something, maybe we could slow down a little.

"What do you like?" I whispered in a low, husky tone.

"I don't know," she whispered back hesitantly, almost questioningly. Her eyes closed as her breathing hitched. I pressed my lips to her skin, just below her ear and then lower, trailing down her neck until I reached the opening of her s.h.i.+rt.

"You don't know?" I asked, sliding my hands down her back until they came to rest at the hem of her s.h.i.+rt, sliding just beneath the fabric where my fingers found her skin, the tips of my fingers dipping lower. "Why not?"

I didn't think she could speak. Her heart was pounding so hard I could feel it against my chest as if it was trying to beat for mine. My lips returned to her skin. "You can tell me what you like."

"Just kiss me," she demanded, letting out a moan.

My lips found hers and her hands drifted over my chest, stroking down my sides until they reached the bottom of my s.h.i.+rt. Following my lead, they boldly slid under my s.h.i.+rt.

I moaned, a low, throaty sound, deepening the kiss. She must have caught onto my intentions at some point, probably about the time I switched our positions on my couch, and I was hovering over her, my arms tangled around her.

She sighed, parting her legs and curling one over my calf to urge me forward. When she felt my erection against her, she wiggled against me, instant pleasure vibrating through my stomach as she rocked once until she s.h.i.+fted again.

I pulled my lips from hers, panting for a moment, before my kisses got a little rough.

And then Leo knocked on my door.

f.u.c.king jerk.

"Go away!" I yelled, resuming what Ami had started, and I intended on finis.h.i.+ng.

Her body transferred a familiar warmth when I pressed against her, not wanting to ever leave this position. My eyes focused on hers, moving my hips against hers. She felt me there, her fingers tightening in my hair as she wrapped her legs around me. I wanted to do it again, feel the friction once again, but Leo was still knocking.

Unfortunately, Leo was there for a reason, we had to get to practice.

With a heavy sigh and a necessary adjustment, we untangled ourselves, and I stood up, reaching for her hand. Her fingers linked with mine, her heavy eyes told me she wanted nothing more than to pull me back down on her. I wanted that, too.

I ended up leaving for the rink, but I did have the idea that maybe I could take this in a different direction tonight. A direction both satisfying and safe.

The blue line The line separating the attacking/defending zones from the neutral zone.

We ate Chinese food while sitting on the couch before Evan left for game 69 in Anaheim. I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. He was heading out on a three game road trip, and since the incident with my family, I wasn't going to hold anything back from him.

"Is there something bothering you?" I asked seriously, around a mouth full of noodles.

"No, why?"

"I just feel like maybe you're holding back." A little part of me knew what it was. Evan wasn't hard to read.

"Nope," he said, taking a bite of chicken, his fork prodding at the container looking for another piece as he chewed slowly.

"I just thought with uh...well, we've been getting more serious, and you seem...scared maybe."

"No...I'm not scared." He shrugged it off, stuffing his mouth with another piece of chicken.

Frowning at his response, and wanting to smack his forehead for not looking at me, I set my own container of noodles down on the coffee table. "You can talk to me about it. You know that, right?"

"I do talk to you. We're talking right now."

"You're right. We do talk...a lot. We tease each other a lot, too," I conceded. "What I mean is you seem to hold back with me like you think I can't take what you'll say or how I'll react because of the s.h.i.+t I've been through. I'm not a china doll, and I don't know how many times I have to tell you that. If you're scared or don't want me here, I need to know."

He blew out a breath, setting his box beside mine before turning himself toward me. "You're really young, Ami. You're eighteen. I'm twenty-one. I'm scared," he admitted. "I'm frustrated and mostly p.i.s.sed at myself over this whole thing. I can't get it out of my head. Every guy I see, I think it's him, and then I want to run to you and make sure you're safe. I can't do that. Not only can I not because of my career, but I can't because that's not fair to you either. I can't do that because you didn't ask for this overly aggressive hockey player to fall for you. You didn't ask for any of this s.h.i.+t that's happened to you. So yeah, I get frustrated and confused because so much s.h.i.+t is happening right now, and I can't get my head straight. Playoffs are right around the corner. I need my head straight."

"Guess this is something we need to work on then." I smiled, leaning in to brush my lips against his. He turned his face a little to the side and leaned further into me to rub his jaw against my neck, the hairs tickling me. I giggled, shoving him away playfully. "Get your head straight, Mase."

I wasn't sure how I could help him get his head straight. I had a few ideas, but then again, would that make it worse?

Game 77 New Jersey Devils.

Friday, April 2, 2010.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Callie coyly inquired as she looked over at me. I continued to mull over how I wanted to ask the question when she offered me her flask. We were sitting in Evan's condo, watching the game, but my mind was hardly on the game. Once again, I declined the flask and settled on water.

"What?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Are you doing all right?" Callie questioned.