Sexy Hocey Player Hoo Up

© Zoe Geller. All rights reserved.

Sexy Hockey Player Hookup Part 2

Chapter 4 Olivia

I wake up with a dry tongue and find Jackson and I lay entwined together. I grimace at the bright light streaming in through his bedroom window. The view of the sun with an alcohol headache is never a desired outcome. I don't know if I should move or pretend to sleep and let him get up first.

Jackson stirs. I have no idea how I look after a late night of drinking. I'm running exit strategies in my head. Making a run for it would have been my number one pick a minute ago. I frown, the walk of shame is imminent. His roommates are probably all home. I'm hoping they are too fucked up to get out of bed. I have to figure a way out of here without being detected.

"Morning," a manly voice greets my ears. The same night I heard whispering sweet things in my ear before culminating in his intense orgasm.

"Hi," I find my cheeks growing hot from my wanton sexual demands last night. He must think I'm a sex fiend. I have to admit he was fucking incredible. He could rock that body and his cock. He exceeded my expectations on the dance floor, in bed, and he even liked the waffles and fried chicken. And, he is the hockey star who has made local and national headlines. He would also be leaving town soon; I reminded myself. And there it is, the reality that it's over. I didn't regret it. I smiled inwardly, knowing Mira is going to lose her shit when I tell her the details.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, slinging his long legs to the floor. I sneak a peek at his chiseled buttocks I would like to bounce a quarter off of it just to see if it was possible. I decide a hard slap on it would be deliciously fun. I subconsciously lick my lips. There was so much more I'd like to do to him and with him.

"Mostly thirsty," I sit up, licking lips.

He pulls on a pair of the tight boxer, briefs, "I'll be right back," he speaks. His deep sexy voice is not judging but soft and unnervingly sincere.

I watch him make his way to the door and take in his muscular torso and ripped biceps that still have scratches on them from last night. I wonder how fast he could send a puck.

He entered the room, his hair tousled, and a few wavy locks fell over his forehead, making him look hotter than a Calvin Cline underwear ad.

He hands me a sports drink. "This will hydrate you. You didn't drink that much last night," he commented.

"I'm such a lightweight; it's not even funny. I can get drunk off one martini, and I had two. I'm glad we ate. If I drink too much, it numbs me down there."

"There wasn't anything wrong with you 'down there' or anywhere last night," he compliments me. My cheeks have to be flushed. I'm embarrassed that he drew attention to my sexual anatomy. I know I shouldn't be, but he made it sound so intimate.

"I can't open the drink," I stated as I strain to open the lid that won't budge.

"Here," he takes the drink breaks the seal before handing it back to me.

"Thanks," I start chugging the orange-flavored drink.

"You might want to drink it slower," he suggests. "If you are dehydrated, it might not sit well at first," he offers his expertise.

"Thanks," I murmur and begin to sip slower. Orange is my favorite flavor. "I'm sure you're busy, so I'll leave in a few minutes."

"No problem. I'm not a monster, I won't bite," he teases me. I take one last look at his star-studded abs before he pulls a white T-shirt over his head.

I sigh. It's time to go. I crawl out of bed and begin scouring the floor for my clothes.

Underwear- check, bra- check.

"I found your boots and dress," he hands them to me with a sweet smile on his face.

I take the articles from him and give him a small smile. I put my bra on, and in a minute

I'm ready to go. Crap, I remember my car isn't here.

"Um, my car is still at the waffle place, can you give me a lift?"

"No, problem." He pulled a designer track outfit out of a drawer and slides on sneakers that were already tied.

We made our way through the kitchen, and he swiped his car keys off the countertop.

Just then, a man appeared at the other end of the kitchen.

Shit.

"Hey, Jackson," the blond greeted him.

"Hey, Wheels. I couldn't find you at the club last night."

"I had prettier things to look at than you," he razzed him.

"I hear ya, So did I," Jackson boasts.

If my face could turn red, it would have. I hoped Tyler, aka, Wheeler, didn't hear me screaming last night. I am freakishly loud when I orgasm. But I have olive-colored skin, and you'd be hard-pressed to see me flushed. Heatstroke would be the only reason my face would turn red.

I didn't take offense to the guys comparing the hotness of their one night stands. I knew guys always one-upping each other. Everything was a competition with them.

Tyler is checking me out, but not in that I want to jump you kind of way. I'm dreading how this is going to play out. I don't want him to think I'm a slut. I'm human, and I have needs.

"This is Olivia. Olivia, meet Tyler."

"Hi," I meet his chocolate eyes and nervously give him an open hand half-wave acknowledgment.

"Nice to meet you. Don't mind me, I'm just grabbing some waters," he opens the fridge, and as he turns to go, he throws, "Later, dude," over his shoulder and disappears.

"That wasn't too bad," Jackson's comments.

"Wheels? What is that, a nickname? And how many more guys live here?"

"Wheels is because he doesn't have a car, and we drive him everywhere. Wheels, because its ironic-he doesn't have any. It's a hockey thing. Usually, we just add a "y" to our last name. But some go by their first name or a nickname that just sticks.

My other roommate is Alan, our goalie."

"Does he have a nickname, too?"

"Shorty, he's too short to be a professional goalie because you need to be tall. I mean, he could make into the big leagues, it's just more of a stretch for him to touch both the posts with his legs out when compared to a 6'2' guy."

"So, let me get this straight. You make nicknames out of a player's weaknesses?" I wrinkle my eyebrows, trying to figure this out.

"That's half the fun of it. Usually, we just add a Y to the last name. A kid I played with in high school was good for one game, and then he'd get sick, puke, or otherwise be unable to finish more than one game in a tournament. We called him One Game

Fame. Once he got drunk, maybe the flu, sometimes he'd just leave or sleep through the game," he explained.

"Undependable is what you mean," I comment.

"It just depends. It can be a shorter version of your last name."

"Now, I'm intrigued. What's your name?"

"My last name is Ferrara, Italian. But, I'm called Speedy because of the way I drive and because

I'm fast with the puck, and I've always had sports cars, I guess."

"Speedy. Cute," and my pert little lips curve up to show my perfect smile. I'd have to find a way to use that on him.

We make it out of the house, and he opens the car door for me. Touched by his thoughtfulness, I thank him.

I sat in his sports car and clicked my seatbelt.

"You never said if you were hungry." Jackson is starring over at me. His sky blue eyes catch me off guard. His look is so intent I catch my breath. I'm getting excited, and I can't put my finger on what it is about him that has my panties in an uproar. Is it weird that I find myself turned on? How can I be so horny again after a night like that? I felt lucky to be able to walk without my girlie parts hurting. He wasn't what I called an average size guy. He was pretty big, and I was petite.

"I don't want to hold you up. I'm sure you have better things to do today." I know my responses are lame. I just didn't know where I stood with him. He was sending me conflicting signals. We agree to hookup. I wasn't sure what breakfast afterward meant.

"I don't have practice until later. I'm hungry. Maybe we can do the waffles and chicken thing again."

I can tell he's not ready to let me leave. "I guess I have time for some food. I might eat an omelet instead. I could use a good cup of coffee right now. I rummage my hand in my little black purse from last night, "And maybe aspirin might be a good idea." I needed to do a preemptive strike on this headache.

"Damn, I really can't drink worth a shit," I murmur.

"If you don't have any aspirin on you, we can always stop at a convenience store and pick some up," he suggested.

"I think I have some in here," as I pull a small bottle out of my purse.

"I found it," I say with relief. The last thing I wanted was to have a raging of a headache during breakfast with the new hunk.

"The key to drinking is conditioning. It's just like anything else. And I should know."

"I never hung out with any hockey players, so I don't know what your life is like, I don't know you. I have a feeling you guys have plenty of girls hanging out around you all the time."

"Yeah, we do get a lot of that. I used to be into that scene but its' grown kind of stale. I'm tired of flighty girls who can't carry on a conversation and text their millennial friends all the time. That's what I like about you; you're different, more mature."

"Well, I should hope so. What's so different about me? I think I'm pretty normal." I popped two of the tiny white pills in my mouth and swallowed them with my spit.

"I like that, you have a personality, and you can swallow pills without any liquid," he quips, taking me by surprise.

"Well, buckle up for the ride, if that's all it takes to impress you," my banter is playful.

"I know that you worked hard putting yourself through school. I respect that. I'm the trust fund kid, I've had it easy. One good thing about being on the team and going away to college is that I have a better appreciation for how life is outside of my bubble."

"Yeah, I bet you can fully appreciate my 12-year-old Toyota,"

I scoff.

"Not that I ever had an old car, but if it were the only car I had to get around in, it would mean a lot to me. I know I'm going to face my share of challenges in the NHL, so I hope I've prepared myself to not be the most immature player on the team."

"You are such a jock," I tease, but he's bordering on me wanting to kiss him as he tries to play his life off like it's nothing special. I didn't know if he was showboating or being himself now.

"What do you think a jock is like?" he spits it out, taking me by surprise.

Maybe we had both pre-judged each other.

"I think jocks are usually superficial, and pretty much fuck anything that is acceptable by your high standards, or lack of them. Oh, let's add drinking profusely to that list."

"I can't deny that a lot of us are like that. I used to be like that until I met you."

I can't breathe; the air, trapped inside my chest. Did Jackson just say that?

"Are you shocked?" he casts a look my way, and I try to hide my surprise. He's just full of them this morning. We round another bend on the way to the waffle place, and I wish he'd look at the road more than he's looking at me.

"I have to be honest; it's the only way I can be. And because I'm honest, I'm okay with this being a one-night thing. What I can't do is let me lead me on and then leave town in a few months. I've had too many broken hearts to trust anyone, especially a jock. I'm okay with this being a one-night thing. So, right now, you are freaking me out."

We pull into the parking lot and get out. Jackson had given me a designer jacket to wear over my light one to keep me warm walking into the café. I could smell the leather and his cologne on it. I wondered how many of the girls he had let borrow it.

He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him, wondering if he's playing with me because holding hands implies more. He squeezes it as we stroll into the restaurant,

Its' Deja Vu in the daylight. We were returning to the beginning of last night's hookup.

This situation is surreal to me. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Start picking out china patterns? Christ, I just wanted hot sex, no strings. Now he's making it a thing. Where is Mira when I need her?

The waitress seated us at a four-top table by the window. We both order coffee, and she returns with piping hot coffee. I'm anxious to get caffeine into my body and lift a cup to my lips. My goal was to squash my headache. It was a mistake. The coffee, burning my lips, made me put the cup down on the table, slowly creating a

thunk

.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, it's nothing a new pair of lips can't cure. This coffee is too hot."

"Well, slow down. We're not in a rush," he carefully adds sugar to his coffee and lets it cool. The waitress comes back, and we order. We make some small talk. I can see the morning sun is burning off the predawn fog. It's still February, and the nights get chilly, but the days can get up into the 80s.

"So, what all do you have planned today?" Jackson asked, finally sipping his coffee.

"I have some final graduation projects I've been procrastinating on. I need to work on them this week. The business classes give you so much busywork. I have to put together a presentation with the team. I hate teamwork. Teamwork, when you're in class, means that there a few who do the work for everybody, and you all get the same grade. I know that sounds jaded," I reply in a low pitched voice.

"Again, we have similar majors, so I understand where you're coming from, hell I was someone you wouldn't have wanted around a few years ago. I was probably one of those slackers on the team."

"You're being honest." I rest my chin on my hand, elbow on the table. "Are you having a practice today or a game?" I change the subject. It's just how my brain is wired. I'm what one calls a broad bander. I jump from one topic to another, and I don't even realize I've skipped over the part where I should have given my friends a Segway to catch up or cliff notes.

"We have an afternoon practice today and game tomorrow. It's a home game, do you want to come? I'll have tickets for you at the will-call window, maybe Mira would want to come with you?"

"That would be cool. I'll have to see if she's working."

Our food arrives, and I find that I'm starving. My Country Omelet is fantastic, and I clear my plate. Jackson has no problem downing all the food on his plate as well as my whole-grain toast.

"So where do you live?"

"I live on the other side of town," and I enunciate the word other, which translates to the fact that I'm on the other side of the tracks.

"Is it okay if we exchange phone numbers and addresses?"

"I think we can do that," I reply confidently imagining that I'm a rock star in the business world and not a local girl looking at him as a dreamy one-way ticket out of town. I decided to just take him at face value. Nothing ventured nothing gained. Last night's adventure was terrific. But I couldn't get too excited thinking there would be more. He may just be making polite conversation. Maybe, he had a hard time letting a woman do the walk of shame by themselves in the morning. I had no way of knowing what was going through his head.

We exchanged phones and put our information into them, and switched back. We walked

Outside. He promptly gave me a long hot kiss to remember him by before I got in my car and drove off.

I let myself into the one-story townhouse, I share with Mira. Bowser greets me with his slobbering jowls. I rub my head into his neck as he licks me all over. Jackson bounces through the house with the energy of Tigger the Tiger. I pour his food in a bowl, and he sits in anticipation, producing a puddle of drool on the tiled kitchen floor. I feed him, and he's done eating in a minute.

I threw on yoga pants and my running shoes. Bowser, a tri-colored Labrador, and Mastiff mix weighed 125 pounds. I had worked with him in high school to train him; otherwise, I would never be able to control such a large breed. He wasn't just a companion, he was a fantastic cuddle buddy every night. Grabbing his leash, I click it to his collar, and we're out the door for our morning run. I'm pressed for time today, so we don't run long.

When I return Mira comes out of her room, "How was your night?"

"I had my brains fucked out, and it was fantastic," I can't help but smile. "I needed it, too." I look at her eating the mint chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream out of the container. "How about you?"

"Same, but I bet you had more fun than me. Zach is in one of my classes. I didn't know if he would make it last night." She makes a coffee in the French press coffee maker her parents gave her and sits at the kitchen table. "So, details," she smiles mischievously.

"He's nice. I didn't expect that. We ate at our diner last night, and this morning," my smile is growing the more I think about it.

"No, way. So what happened?"

"Awesome sex, Oh my god, his body is the kind of stuff you're lucky to get once in a lifetime.

He was a good lover. I was surprised but, wow..."

"So are you guys seeing each other again?"

"It was supposed to be a hookup, but we exchanged information, and he's leaving tickets for us to tomorrow night's game. I don't know if you have it off."

"We both do. That would be great. I looked the team up online. Do you know Jackson is the captain of the team?"

"Really? I had no idea."

"And you thought you were the go-to hockey person," she snickers.

"I can't know everything," I try to defend my reputation.

"Sure. The season is almost over. So it's good to get in our last games before graduation.

Is he excited about the draft?"d

"Yes, but I think it weighs on him. I imagine it must be stressful, but he knows he's getting a great paycheck when he signs. I don't know where I'll be or if I'll be able to live off of it. Colorado has a high cost of living."

"Yeah, it has to do with all the ski areas they are building up now. Brings in the tourist and expensive sports, so everything goes up."

"So are you seeing Zach again?"

"I'm waiting to see if he calls."

"Same for me. I'm going to shower. I'm sure Bowser needs some TLC after being alone last night. I'm surprised the place is in one piece."

"Me, too. I got home before you. I'm glad you got a text in even if you were peeing while you sent it."

"Yeah, yeah," I leave the room to start my day. I had a senior project to do and it required me to build a website. Not my area of expertise. I wasn't looking forward to it, but my headache went away so I would be able to concentrate.

Jackson Chapter 5

I knew she knew she had something on me, knowing my name was Speedy. I also knew she'd find a way to use it. I didn't know how much of a prankster she was, but I knew I would find out. I suspected she was savvy at practical jokes.

I liked Olivia. I had the feeling she thought I would blow her off and be a jerk. Jocks did that, but so did lots of guys and girls did it too. Turnabout is fair play, and we're not in the 50s anymore.

I know we had an awesome one-night hookup. She had the moves of a gymnast, and she surprised me by her knowledge about male anatomy if you get my drift. How was I to know that she would be different? I had no way of knowing this hookup would be fucking fantastic. And that I wanted more. She was a cute girl with a good head on her shoulders. I couldn't wait to see her again.

I'm glad she agreed to come to my hockey game. She seemed to be a person of her word. I had no reason to think she would stand me up. I sent her a text message. First of all, I needed to know that her number was legit. God knows I've had my share of giving out a fake phone numbers to chicks I wanted to blow off. It would be pretty ironic if she did that to me when I was the one interest.