Shut Out (16 page)

“Yes. God yes.”

“Mmm. I'll kiss it better. But gotta get this sexy hula skirt off you.”

I rise up on my knees to untie and get rid of it, then pull off the stretchy little shorts and her thong panties. Now we're both wearing nothing but flowers. I grin.

“Wish I had a picture of this.”

“No way.”

“I know, I know.” I shake my head ruefully. “Maybe one day you'll trust me enough to take some sexy pics.”

She bites her lip and our eyes meet and for a few seconds we're probably both thinking that's never gonna happen. Again, I push that thought aside and focus on the heaven in front of me, all pink and plump and smooth.

“Wanna make you feel good.” I position myself between her thighs. She pushes up onto her elbows to watch with hazy eyes, hair all over the place. I kiss the inside of one leg where the skin is thin and tender, closing my eyes and drawing in a breath through my nose. She smells fantastic, her usual apple and vanilla and flowers mingled with her unique female perfume. It makes me nuts, makes my dick harden all over again and my balls ache.

She's watching me still, biting her lower lip, a flush staining her chest and climbing into her cheeks, that sweet and sexy blush. I nibble her inner thigh, giving a nip with my lips and then so gently with my teeth. I press a kiss to the crease where her leg meets her hip, then I lick and suck her other thigh.

She's panting now, quick little breaths that I love. “Jacob…please.”

“What, baby?” I'm teasing her, kissing her legs, knowing where she needs to be touched. But it's fun and I know the hotter I get her, the better her orgasm will be.

I start playing with my fingers, stroking over her. She seems so tiny and soft. I like watching this too, my big hand on her pussy. “Are you wet, hmm?”

“Why don't you check?”

“Cute.” I slant her a smile and see the gleam in her eyes. “All right, then.” I dip my fingers into her folds. “Oh yeah. So wet. All for me.”

“Yeah. For you.”

I fucking love that. I slick up her girl lube and rub over her skin, all around her clit, and she makes a hissing noise. A smile tugs at my mouth.

I push my middle finger inside her. She's tight and hot and I ease in deeper, deeper, until I can stroke inside her and her body twitches hard. She falls flat on her back and grips the bedcovers.

“There?” I whisper. “How's that?”

“Oh God yes. That's amazing.”

Now I can let myself taste her. I lick up and down, around where my finger penetrates her, tasting her sweetness, teasing around her clit.

“Please,” she begs again. “I need to come.” Her hand rises and rubs over the top of my head, and her hips roll against my mouth in a needy rhythm.

I play a little longer, with slow strokes of my tongue and soft suckling kisses. I reach up and squeeze one tit, holding it as I open my mouth on her pussy, then pinching her nipple. Her hips lift again and again. Finally, I lick over her clit. She jerks against my mouth and her inner muscles squeeze my finger. “Ready, baby?”

“I'm beyond ready, oh my God, Jacob…keep doing that…right there…”

I work my finger in and out faster, fucking her with it, tonguing her clit, and she comes apart against my mouth in a long, shuddering orgasm, hoarse cries falling from her lips. It's epic.

I close my lips over her swelling clit and suck as she writhes. She grabs my head and gently pushes. “Stop. Oh God.”

I lift my head and smile with satisfaction.

“Oh wow. Wow. You did good, Jacob.”

I kiss her lower belly. “I'm glad.”

I get Skylar under the covers and then slide in against her. “Wish you had a bigger bed.”

She cuddles into me, all warm and soft. “Me too.”

I eye the space. “A king bed probably wouldn't even fit in here.”

“Probably not.”

“Sometimes we could get it on in my bed.”

I feel her smile against my chest. “I guess.”

I caress her hair, still stoked about what she did earlier. “Next weekend is my birthday.”

“Right.”

“My parents are coming.”

“Mmm. I remember you said that.”

“I, uh, told them I was seeing someone.”

She tenses a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought it would make them feel more comfortable about how I'm doing here if I had a girlfriend.”

“Oh no…you don't…”

“Yeah. They want to take us out for dinner on Saturday night.”

“Oh, Jacob. That's not fair to them. To make them think—”

I kiss her forehead. “It'll be fine. It'll set their minds at ease. They might not even be back this year, and…well, we'll figure it out.”

“I don't know…”

“Seriously. They're nice people. It'll be fine.”

She sighs against me. “Okay.”

I'm at Jacob's home game Friday night. His parents are here somewhere, but since they just arrived late this afternoon, I haven't met them. I didn't want to meet them at all (well, that's not entirely true; I'm actually pretty curious about them), but when Jacob said he thinks they'll feel better about how things are going for him here, knowing he has a girlfriend, I kind of got sucked into that. I do feel a little guilty about the pretense. But it'll probably be the only time I'll ever meet them. And the truth is, Jacob and I
are
friends now.

I watch Jacob on the ice, as usual turned on by his athleticism, intensity, and fierce aggression. I love how he's such a leader out there, yelling at his teammates, setting up plays.

I know he wants to play well tonight since his parents are here.

The action is down in the Bears' end, and Jacob has the puck behind the net. He's playing with it, not moving, looking up the ice. “Go!” I yell, along with others in the crowd. Then I see players changing and realize that's why he's delaying there. A big Knights defenseman circles around in front of the net, keeping an eye on Jacob. As Jacob starts out from behind the net, the Knight swings his stick at John Alfredson, the Bears' goalie, hitting him right in the head. John drops to the ice.

My eyes widen in horror, but I don't think a lot of people saw it because everyone's watching Jacob. Did Jacob see it?

He passes the puck up the ice to Buck but stops, spins around, and rushes at the Knight who just hit John, dropping his gloves.

Screaming Jesus, he's going to fight that hulk.

I close my eyes as my heart climbs into my throat. But I have to watch. They're yelling at each other, although I can't hear exactly what they're saying. I'm sure it's laced with profanities and insults. I know hitting the goalie like that is absolutely dirty. And Jacob is standing up for his teammate.

They raise their fists and circle around each other until finally Jacob lashes out with a fist and the other guy grabs him. They're wrestling, punching, yanking jerseys, and the Knight's helmet goes flying off. Jacob lands a few good punches and then throws the guy to the ice, landing on top of him. The crowd roars with approval.

I cover my mouth with my hands. Holy duck fuck, this is so dangerous. They're on sharp blades, on ice, punching each other. Luckily that Knight player's head doesn't hit the ice without his helmet on. That could be so bad. My stomach tightens painfully, watching this brutality. Damn, I hate this part of the game.

The other players are cheering their guys on, but once they're down, the linesmen step in and pull Jacob off his opponent. He doesn't really resist. He's made his point.

One linesman pushes Jacob toward the penalty box and the other player gets up, apparently not hurt. He's got a hand to his face though, and as he makes his way to the other penalty box he's shouting at Jacob, who turns and yells back, this time clear as anything, “No, you're the fucking asshole for hitting the fucking goalie,
moron
!”

The guy's name on his jersey is “Morin” and fans snicker about this.

Everyone starts clapping and cheering for Jacob, who clearly won the fight. I watch him stomp into the penalty box and throw himself down on the bench, breathing hard. He takes his helmet off, and a trainer hands over a towel that Jacob uses to wipe his face and then his visor. I can see the set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes, his face flushed—he's pissed.

And gorgeous.

And I'm a mess. A terrified, relieved, angry, proud mess.

He sits for five minutes for fighting, clearly anxious to get back out there. I'd rather watch him than the game. But the fight seems to have energized the Bears, who score two unanswered goals and win the game four-two.

Ella and I are heading home after the game, although she tried to convince me to go to Curly's, and Jacob is going to visit with his parents. Tomorrow night we're having dinner with them to celebrate his birthday, which is Sunday. That is freaking me the hell out. Having to make conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Flass while pretending to be Jacob's girlfriend—gah! Why is he making me do this?

Okay, okay, he's not making me. He just has this charming ability to always get his own way. It's mildly annoying.

Saturday evening I'm stressed about what to wear. We're going to Rudy's Public House, which is a fun kind of place with steaks and burgers, nothing fancy. Again, I'm not sure why I care this much about what they think of me. I could wear my shortest skirt and highest heels and a top cut down to my navel and it wouldn't matter.

I drag Ella into my room to help and this is no act.

She studies my closet, pulls out a black dress, then puts it back. Finally she says, “Jeans. With boots and…this top.” She pulls out a plain black long-sleeved T. “And my big black-and-gray scarf. Hang on.”

Hmm. Okay, with the scarf it won't look so plain. I do love that scarf. I strip off my yoga pants and hoodie and pull on my skinny jeans. Ella returns with the scarf and I finish dressing, then wrap it around my neck in a big cowl, the corners hanging loose.

She adjusts the ends. “There. Casual but put together. With your black boots, it's perfect.”

“Thank you. I don't know why I was so flustered about it.”

“Hey. It's Jacob's parents. I get it.”

I swallow my sigh.

Jacob arrives then to pick me up. I sit on the couch to zip up my boots and then I grab my black pea coat, which luckily the scarf also goes with. “I think I'm wearing too much black. I look like I'm going to a funeral.”

Jacob laughs and kisses my forehead. “You look gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“They're going to think I'm emo.”

“I don't think they know what emo is.”

His parents are staying at a hotel, so they're meeting us at the restaurant.

“Did they enjoy the game last night?”

He makes a disgusted noise. “They said they did, but fuck, I can't believe I got in a fight.”

“You were defending your goalie. Plus, you motivated the team. Look how it turned out.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “You're becoming quite the hockey fan.”

“Hmm. Except I hated seeing you fight.”

“Yeah? Worried about me?”

“Maybe a little.” I chew on my bottom lip. Then I change the subject. “So. Yesterday I went to talk to my faculty advisor about changing my major.”

Jacob's head snaps around. “Really?”

“Yes. You made me think about it. She was really supportive and helpful.”

“So are you doing it?”

“I haven't for sure decided, but…I'm leaning that way. I feel like I need to talk to my parents first, though. I can do that at Thanksgiving when I'm home.”

He frowns out the windshield. “What if they try to talk you out of it?”

I nibble my bottom lip. “That could happen. Or they'll guilt me into keeping my major.”

“You're an adult, Sky. I think you should make your own decisions. And yeah, I get that they're helping you financially. But it's not like you're changing your major to basket weaving or something. And you got good advice from someone who knows. That's the mature, responsible thing to do. Plus, you're the one who has to live with your decision.”

As usual, he's pretty smart for a jock.

Mr. and Mrs. Flass are already there, seated on one side of the booth; they both slide out and stand to greet us. My stomach has a herd of butterflies flapping around inside it, but I smile and shake hands with them, while the words
this is crazy, this is crazy
spin around in my head.

“It's lovely to meet you, Skylar.” Mrs. Flass smiles warmly at me, her eyes sparkling behind stylish, dark-framed glasses.

Jacob has her eyes, but the rest of him comes from his dad, a handsome man with the same chiseled cheekbones and dimple in his square chin. He's tall and fit, with only a bit of gray in his brown hair. Mrs. Flass has shiny, shoulder-length chestnut hair. She's small and curvy and very pretty.

Jacob takes my jacket and hangs it on a hook near our table. I slip into the dark red leather booth first, putting me directly across from Mr. Flass. Jacob sits next to me and sets a warm hand on my thigh.

I think he means this to be reassuring. Which then makes me wonder if I look that nervous. Oh my God. I take in a long, slow breath and let it out, surveying the dark wood paneling and floors, and the mellow, low-hanging lights above each table.

Mr. and Mrs. Flass make conversation by asking me what courses I'm taking and what my major is. I tell them I'm working on a science degree, but then I stop before saying I want to get into med school. “Actually, I'm rethinking my major.”

Jacob's hand squeezes my thigh, but I don't look at him.

“There's lots of time to figure it all out,” Mrs. Flass says. “You're young.”

I know she's right, but I feel like at nearly twenty, I should have it all figured out and it bugs me that I don't. But I smile and nod.

They ask Jacob questions about his own classes, although clearly they keep in touch and also got caught up on a lot last night after the game. They talk about hockey and his roommates, who they met earlier today when they went to see his place.

“They seem like good guys,” Mr. Flass says.

Jacob grins. “Looks can be deceiving.”

We exchange a smile.

“Seriously, they're decent.” He doesn't tell his parents how he thought they hated him and I know it's because he doesn't want them to worry. He wants them to think everything is great here at Bayard, including his new girlfriend.

So I give him that. We discuss my volunteer work at SAPAP, which I'm always happy to talk about. Jacob tells his parents about the training and compliments me again, which makes my cheeks heat to what is probably tomato red.

“Is that how you two met?” Mrs. Flass asks, looking between us.

We share another look, and as if we've read each other's thoughts, we both say, “Yes.”

In the end, it turns out to be a fun evening. My burger is delicious. Mr. and Mrs. Flass are both funny, and, of course, Jacob is too, and we laugh a lot as they tell him stories about what his younger sister has been up to back home in Kamloops.

Outside the restaurant, Jacob's parents give me hugs, which is nice. I really like them.

“I hope we'll see you again soon, Skylar,” Mrs. Flass says. “It's been so nice to meet you.”

“I hope so too.” Whether this is likely is another matter, but I actually mean it.

Jacob and I climb into his truck and he drives toward our neighborhood. “Well,” he says, “that was great. They like you.”

“I like them too. Hopefully they don't get too invested in our relationship, though.”

My insides tighten. Saying that makes me feel weirdly sad. Hopefully
I'm
not getting too invested in our relationship.

After a short pause, Jacob says, “Yeah. True.”

I watch him drive. Even the way he drives is sexy, the easy way he holds the steering wheel and checks for traffic as he changes lanes. He drives fast but I always feel safe because he seems so in control of the vehicle.

This reminds me of watching him play hockey and how in control and skilled he is, and it reminds me that last night after the game was the first time I've watched him play when we didn't go back to either my place or his and bang our brains out.

“Um…”

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

“I'm kind of…turned on.”

His head whips around, then turns back to the windshield.
“From meeting my parents?”

I choke. “No! God no.” I wheeze. “From watching you drive.”

He shoots me an amused look. “Babe. Seriously?”

Heat floods into my face, which is still not as hot as between my legs. “Seriously.”

“Want me to pull over?”

I lick my bottom lip. “Um…”

“Jesus.”

“No, that would be crazy.” I pause. “I've never had sex in a car.”

He hammers on the brakes, lurching me forward against my seatbelt. With a quick flick of the lever, he signals a turn and pulls off Center Drive. Then he steps on the gas.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

He makes another turn and enters a park. It's dark and quiet, and he drives to the end of the parking lot, away from the only streetlamp that illuminates it. Beneath a tree spreading its bare black branches across the deep blue sky, he parks the truck.

My belly does a flip as he turns to look at me. His smile is wicked and panty melting. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah.” He leans across and kisses me, hard and long. His tongue licks over my bottom lip as he draws back. “Come over here.”

“There's not much room.”

“This is as far back as the seat goes. I have long legs.” He shifts in the seat.

I undo my seatbelt, and since it's now nice and warm in the truck, I pull my arms out of my jacket and leave it there as I crawl over. Straddling his lap, I'm not sure how this is going to work, since we're both wearing a lot of clothes, but I place my palms on his stubbled cheeks and lean down to kiss him. He grips my hips and kisses me back, taking control of it, his tongue sliding into my mouth and playing with mine.

One hand tangles in my hair and tugs my head back. His lips glide over my throat and suck gently. I make a noise that might be a protest, but I really don't care if he leaves a mark. He licks me there.

“This is in the way.” He gives my big scarf a tug and unwraps it. Then he kisses me again on the neck, laying a string of soft openmouthed kisses down to the neckline of my shirt. He tugs it aside to continue his exploration.

He cups my breasts in both hands, gently molding them to his palms. “Love these beauties.”

“That feels so good.” My back arches to press into his hands and I bash into the steering wheel. “Ouch.”