Zack
Page 74
Since then, I feel like I’ve been in a cocoon with Zack. The playoffs started last week and the first best-of-seven game round was against the Atlanta Sting, the number-eight seed in the conference. Zack had practices and team meetings and the first two games of the series were at home because the top seed gets home ice advantage. The Cold Fury won those games handily, as was expected, and Zack was in a very good mood following those two wins.
We almost broke his bed after each of those games.
It’s a long-standing tradition in the league that the players don’t shave during the playoffs. Zack hasn’t taken a razor to his face since the last regular season game and it’s filling in nicely.
It feels fabulous between my legs and I feel wanton and sinful even thinking that as I walk back toward his bedroom and start taking my clothes off. I can’t believe what a hussy I’ve become sometimes, but damn…Zack and his attentions have awakened a part of me that I didn’t know existed. He’s made me feel like a woman.
I wonder what kind of mood he’ll be in when he gets here. While the Cold Fury won the third game on the road in Atlanta, taking a 3-0 lead in the series, they lost tonight’s game badly.
And I mean really badly.
I watched with my heart in my throat from the comfort of Zack’s couch, wincing every time the other team scored and every time we failed to score.
The Cold Fury lost 5-0, and it was an old-fashioned ass-whuppin’ that was handed down by a low-ranked team. So Zack may be in a foul mood. Judging from his text, whatever the mood may be, it’s not diminished his desire for me. By ordering me into bed, it’s clear what he wants to do tonight.
Same thing we’ve done over and over again, repetitively, sometimes without rest or food; the only time we took a long break was when he was on the road the few days he’s been in Atlanta for the last two games. Which was just enough time for the red scrapes on the insides of my thighs from his beard to heal up.
It’s late. The team plane flew back to Raleigh right after the game and it will be close to two A.M. by the time he pulls into the garage. I’m not tired in the slightest.
On the contrary, I feel wired, restless, and needy.
I’m ready for Zack to get home and ease my worries. I need him to show me that what we’ve built up over the last several days with each other is not just my imagination.
Because not only have Zack and I been having wild monkey sex practically everywhere in his house, we’ve also been talking. He’s opened up to me some more about Gina and what happened in the accident. Here in the privacy of his home and within the bounds of our tentative relationship, I think he finds relief in the fact that I don’t judge his guilt, but I don’t condone it either. I’ve also learned more stuff about Zack. He’s told me about growing up in Nova Scotia, how he started playing hockey when he was just four years old, and he even told me about how he and Gina had been high school sweethearts.
I was surprised to learn that they had broken up for a few years when he first entered the league. He told me that was his decision, and that he didn’t want any ties back home. It was sort of his way to sow his oats while embarking on a new and exciting career. He did get back together with Gina a few years later, and they were together ever since.
He doesn’t ever mention why they never got married, and I don’t press the issue. Because when Zack does talk to me about these things, he does so hesitantly and without a lot of detail. The few times I tried to poke and prod for more information, he shut down on me. Thus, I’ve learned to accept what he’s willing to tell me and leave it at that.
So he’s not sharing all of his dark secrets with me, but we have forged a definite bond because of all the personal and intimate time we are spending together while Ben is away. I’m anxious to see if this will hold, or if his walls will be put back up when Ben gets home tomorrow. I’m hopeful, but I suspect he’ll withdraw from me again.
I’m anxious to see Ben. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve grown attached to him over the last several weeks. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Zack that I loved his son. That is a true and hard-core fact. And while I may not have the freedom once the little rug rat gets home to be with Zack the way I have been over the past several days, I’d still much rather have him here than gone.
I quickly take off the remainder of my clothes and pull back the comforter on Zack’s bed. I haven’t slept in here while he was away in Atlanta, thinking it to be a little creepy stalkerlike to do so. Instead I slept in my room while he was gone and merely fantasized about what would happen when he got back.
I crawl into bed and wait for Zack to arrive. Looking around his room with interest, I take in the glaring differences from the room he shared with Gina. The walls in here are a dark brown and accentuated by a taupe-and-cream geometric comforter that he bought a few days ago when he was out running some errands. There’s no art on the walls, and I suspect there never will be. I think Zack became comfortable with this room the minute he got rid of the white lacy spread that had graced his bed in the old house.
Exactly fourteen minutes after I crawled into his bed, Zack walks in. He must have been speeding to get here from the airport. I have the lamp on and it throws a warm glow across the room. He looks tired as he walks in, wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone. His beard is starting to thicken and I can hear the scratch of his fingers against it as he rubs them along his jaw.
We almost broke his bed after each of those games.
It’s a long-standing tradition in the league that the players don’t shave during the playoffs. Zack hasn’t taken a razor to his face since the last regular season game and it’s filling in nicely.
It feels fabulous between my legs and I feel wanton and sinful even thinking that as I walk back toward his bedroom and start taking my clothes off. I can’t believe what a hussy I’ve become sometimes, but damn…Zack and his attentions have awakened a part of me that I didn’t know existed. He’s made me feel like a woman.
I wonder what kind of mood he’ll be in when he gets here. While the Cold Fury won the third game on the road in Atlanta, taking a 3-0 lead in the series, they lost tonight’s game badly.
And I mean really badly.
I watched with my heart in my throat from the comfort of Zack’s couch, wincing every time the other team scored and every time we failed to score.
The Cold Fury lost 5-0, and it was an old-fashioned ass-whuppin’ that was handed down by a low-ranked team. So Zack may be in a foul mood. Judging from his text, whatever the mood may be, it’s not diminished his desire for me. By ordering me into bed, it’s clear what he wants to do tonight.
Same thing we’ve done over and over again, repetitively, sometimes without rest or food; the only time we took a long break was when he was on the road the few days he’s been in Atlanta for the last two games. Which was just enough time for the red scrapes on the insides of my thighs from his beard to heal up.
It’s late. The team plane flew back to Raleigh right after the game and it will be close to two A.M. by the time he pulls into the garage. I’m not tired in the slightest.
On the contrary, I feel wired, restless, and needy.
I’m ready for Zack to get home and ease my worries. I need him to show me that what we’ve built up over the last several days with each other is not just my imagination.
Because not only have Zack and I been having wild monkey sex practically everywhere in his house, we’ve also been talking. He’s opened up to me some more about Gina and what happened in the accident. Here in the privacy of his home and within the bounds of our tentative relationship, I think he finds relief in the fact that I don’t judge his guilt, but I don’t condone it either. I’ve also learned more stuff about Zack. He’s told me about growing up in Nova Scotia, how he started playing hockey when he was just four years old, and he even told me about how he and Gina had been high school sweethearts.
I was surprised to learn that they had broken up for a few years when he first entered the league. He told me that was his decision, and that he didn’t want any ties back home. It was sort of his way to sow his oats while embarking on a new and exciting career. He did get back together with Gina a few years later, and they were together ever since.
He doesn’t ever mention why they never got married, and I don’t press the issue. Because when Zack does talk to me about these things, he does so hesitantly and without a lot of detail. The few times I tried to poke and prod for more information, he shut down on me. Thus, I’ve learned to accept what he’s willing to tell me and leave it at that.
So he’s not sharing all of his dark secrets with me, but we have forged a definite bond because of all the personal and intimate time we are spending together while Ben is away. I’m anxious to see if this will hold, or if his walls will be put back up when Ben gets home tomorrow. I’m hopeful, but I suspect he’ll withdraw from me again.
I’m anxious to see Ben. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve grown attached to him over the last several weeks. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Zack that I loved his son. That is a true and hard-core fact. And while I may not have the freedom once the little rug rat gets home to be with Zack the way I have been over the past several days, I’d still much rather have him here than gone.
I quickly take off the remainder of my clothes and pull back the comforter on Zack’s bed. I haven’t slept in here while he was away in Atlanta, thinking it to be a little creepy stalkerlike to do so. Instead I slept in my room while he was gone and merely fantasized about what would happen when he got back.
I crawl into bed and wait for Zack to arrive. Looking around his room with interest, I take in the glaring differences from the room he shared with Gina. The walls in here are a dark brown and accentuated by a taupe-and-cream geometric comforter that he bought a few days ago when he was out running some errands. There’s no art on the walls, and I suspect there never will be. I think Zack became comfortable with this room the minute he got rid of the white lacy spread that had graced his bed in the old house.
Exactly fourteen minutes after I crawled into his bed, Zack walks in. He must have been speeding to get here from the airport. I have the lamp on and it throws a warm glow across the room. He looks tired as he walks in, wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone. His beard is starting to thicken and I can hear the scratch of his fingers against it as he rubs them along his jaw.
