Unrivaled, page 30
The back of Grady’s neck went red hot. “I’m out,” he said.
Mitch took one look at his face and burst into laughter. Farouk whistled. “Get it, Grades.”
Dawg hunched his shoulders, but he perked up again when Farouk brought up his beautiful center-ice empty-netter, and right now that was the best Grady could hope for.
Max—still naked except for the shorts—met him the second he set foot in the door. “Hi,” he said. Then his mouth was on Grady’s in a filthy kiss that made Grady’s lips tingle and his hands itch to feel Max’s skin.
He was light-headed already when Max grabbed his hand and moved it to his crotch. He broke the kiss with a last wet lick over Grady’s tongue and put his other hand on Grady’s shoulder. “You gonna let me disrespect you in the hallway?”
Right now Grady would let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. He went to his knees when Max pushed, and moved his hands to cup the backs of Max’s thick thighs.
Max made a wordless noise of approval and pushed the waistband of his sweats down far enough to get his dick out.
Then he guided it into Grady’s mouth and Grady’s mind went static. He’d never seen Max like this. Normally he preferred to goad Grady into doing what he wanted, but tonight he was apparently not only too turned on to wait for Grady to come home but desperate enough to take charge physically. Grady’s mouth watered as Max fucked it, and Grady took him down the best he could, deliciously aware of his own cock leaking in his pants.
But Max hardly let Grady get into it. He’d barely had time to work his throat open when Max swore and backed away. “Fuck, you’re too fucking good at that. Come on, get up.”
Before Grady could process, Max was pulling at his shoulders, urging him to stand. Then he shoved Grady around to face the wall and unbuckled his suit pants from behind.
Grady opened his mouth to remind Max about their agreement and snapped it closed again a second later when Max knelt behind him and spread his asscheeks. A pathetic gurgle slipped past his lips when Max flicked his tongue over his hole, but Max probably couldn’t hear him over his own moans, so his dignity was intact.
Or not, as it turned out when Max pushed his tongue past the ring of muscle and Grady’s knees tried to buckle. He braced his hands against the wall, bit his lip, and tried not to fall over while Max ate him out.
He was working up to asking Max what his plan was when that wet hot tongue pulled away and something harder slid into its place. Then Max slapped his asscheek, bit the side of his hip, and said, “Pull your pants up.”
What?
But Grady’s hands were already obeying even though his brain had no idea what was happening. Had Max put a plug in his ass and then told him to put his pants back on? Why?
His tongue felt slow, too thick for his mouth. The hard silicone in his ass hit the right spot to make him brainless. His erection tented the front of his pants, and the inside of his underwear was wet with precome.
The next thing Grady knew, Max was pushing him down on the couch and climbing into his lap. Somewhere overhead, music started playing. Grady couldn’t identify it. Now the plug was grinding against his prostate and Max was grinding against his dick.
Grady raised his hands to Max’s hips, but Max slapped them away. “You know the rules,” he chided. “No touching during a lap dance.”
How was Grady supposed to keep his hands to himself when Max’s pierced nipples were right in front of his face?
“Hands on the back of the couch,” Max instructed.
When he rolled his hips, Grady had no choice but to obey. He needed to hold on to something or he’d fly apart.
Max put his hands on Grady’s shoulders. With his thighs trapping Grady’s hips, he had Grady pinned exactly where they both wanted him. He looked incredible, with his eyes dark and his hair wild and his mouth swollen and shiny with spit. The pleasure mounted as Max rubbed his ass over Grady’s erection, back arched like he knew how bad Grady wanted to bite his nipples, and wanted to drive him crazy.
Then Max fumbled in the couch cushions and said, “Fuck—where’s the—there it is—” and the plug started to vibrate.
Grady’s head fell back and his mouth dropped open. Max’s full, round ass rubbed just right against his erection, and Grady’s body wanted to turn inside-out to get closer to him.
“God,” Max groaned. “Fuck, Grades, you see what you do to me? You see what you—” He cut himself off and shoved his shorts down far enough to get one hand on his cock.
Grady watched slack-jawed, too wrecked to do more than breathe and try to buck up, to fuck into the perfect grip of Max’s asscheeks.
Max shoved the fingers of his left hand into Grady’s mouth and Grady hurtled into orgasm, chest heaving as he clamped down around the plug. His underwear flooded with come. Max swore again and fisted the head of his dick until he shot all down the front of Grady’s shirt and jacket.
For a few long seconds Grady thought he was shuddering with the aftershocks of an intense orgasm. Then he realized the plug was still vibrating and flailed vaguely on the couch, looking for the remote.
“Shit, sorry,” Max said. He found it first, but he must’ve hit the button to turn it up, because Grady jolted with the sudden increase in frequency. “Sorry!” Finally it stopped.
Then Max collapsed against his chest, sweaty and panting.
Jesus.
Grady curled his fingers in Max’s hair and tugged his face up for a kiss.
“Do you feel disrespected?” Max mumbled into his neck a moment later.
Grady found his voice. “Well my suit definitely does.”
Max shook with silent laughter.
“You’re doing the dry-cleaning run this week,” Grady told him.
“Worth it.”
WHEN THE phone rang in the middle of the night, Max woke up out of a dead sleep.
Blinking in the darkness, he tried to remember where he was. His house in Newark? No. Grady’s house in California? He blinked and tried to remember.
Then he caught the orange glow of the Las Vegas strip creeping in around the blackout curtains. Right. He was in Vegas, because they had a playoff game against the Heatwave tomorrow.
Why hadn’t he put his phone on Do Not Disturb?
Grumbling, he reached for the nightstand in the dark. The call display read HEDGIE.
Oh shit. Max scrambled to answer and belatedly realized it was a video call. “Hello? Is it happening?”
A few seconds later the video came through and he saw Hedgie in a brightly lit hospital room. Was it already morning on the East Coast? Max’s eyes hadn’t woken up enough to focus on the time in the corner of his phone screen.
“She’s here!” Hedgie looked like he’d gone three rounds with the baddest defenseman in the league. His eyes were bloodshot and had bags under them, which made sense because Max already felt like that and he only had to play hockey, not stay up with a partner who was delivering their child. He was grinning like a maniac. “Why’s it so dark where you are?”
“Because it’s, like, six in the morning,” El said from somewhere behind him.
Oh good, at least one of them could do math. “Looks like the baby takes after El, if she was actually on time.” El’s due date was today. Or yesterday. Max’s brain wasn’t awake enough to determine which.
Hedgie made a face. “You’re the third one who’s said that. Be nice to me or I won’t let you see her.”
“Yeah, right,” Max said immediately. “You can’t wait to brag about this kid. Show me the baby, Hedgie.”
The phone jiggled for a moment, and then the camera flipped around and Max was looking at El sitting in a hospital bed, hair up in a knot, with a little pink-wrapped bundle in her arms.
“Looking good, Mama,” Max said. Truthfully she looked better than Hedgie. “And who’s this with you?”
Hedgie brought the phone closer and Max got his first glimpse of a squish-faced infant with Hedgie’s nose. He immediately fell in love. “This is Amelia Kate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Amelia,” Max said. His throat suddenly felt tight. “Good job, guys. She’s perfect.”
“We’re pretty pleased with her,” El agreed. “We’ll let you—and me, to be honest—get back to sleep now, but we wanted to say hi and everyone’s doing fine.”
“Congratulations, all of you.”
When the call ended, Max blinked a few times in the darkness of the room. He’d wanted to be there for El and Hedgie’s milestone, but the pang of missing out stayed brief. He’d meet Amelia this summer. Maybe he wouldn’t get to watch her grow up the same way he would have if he’d been in Newark, but he had other people here. He had a good team who let him play a role he liked much better.
He had Grady, whose team had won their third straight game of the series that night.
And he had a playoff game to win today. So he should really put his phone down and go back to sleep.
THE MOMENT Grady’s blades touched the ice for warm-ups in Vancouver, he could feel the energy of the building reverberating through his feet. The Orcas were on the brink of elimination, and half the city had turned up to support their efforts to turn the series around.
Grady was going to give everything he had to ensure those fans went home disappointed. It wasn’t personal, but he wanted this victory more than those six hundred thousand Canadians combined.
The team stayed loose during warm-ups, and Mitch heckled them all during the shootout drill. He was easily the most laid-back goalie Grady’d ever met.
He expected the other end of the ice to be tense. If Vancouver lost tonight, their season was over. But at least to Grady, they seemed to be fine. Focused, but not grim. As Grady rounded the back of his own net, laughter rang out—Kirschbaum, it looked like. Weird. Grady had always thought he was kind of dour.
Warm-ups ended, and they filed back to the locker room for one of Dawg’s pep talks—one they didn’t need but responded to with cheers anyway. With the Condors, Grady had cut his Instagram meditation down to just a minute or two, and he didn’t feel the need to leave the locker room. This team had a totally different energy for him, one he didn’t find toxic.
Maybe he’d been part of that toxicity before, but he had a blank slate here. He was making the most of it.
In any case, he smiled when he checked Instagram and saw Max had uploaded a badly photoshopped picture of Gru peeing on the Orcas’ mascot.
Totally impartial, read the caption.
Grady hit the Heart button.
The game started off with tight defense on both sides. Grady made a few forays into the offensive zone, but the Orcas had learned from their mistakes and quickly shut down any plays the Condors made.
Things opened up a little bit in the second. Kirschbaum put the puck between Mitch’s legs five minutes in, and then a bad turnover from Dawg resulted in the Orcas getting a really good look at a 2–0 lead. Fortunately Mitch had that one covered.
Grady couldn’t let momentum start swinging the Orcas’ way. He chewed his mouthguard in annoyance. Next to him on the bench, Farouk nudged his knee into Grady’s. “We got this.”
Right. They did.
Three shifts later, one of the Condors dished Grady the puck at the center line, and it was like time slowed down. He could see where the Orcas were going to be and exactly how to get around them. He carried the puck all the way to the crease, then passed to Farouk at the last second.
The goalie never had a chance. Tie game.
“Holy shit!” Farouk screamed at him behind the net. “That was insane!”
Laughing, Grady crashed their helmets together. “Fucking nice finish!”
Ten minutes into the third, Grady was sure the game would go to overtime.
He had done everything he could to tip the balance in their favor. He won 70 percent of his faceoffs. He made nine shots on goal. The Condors needed a game-breaker.
And Grady thought he saw the opening for it, just like he had in the second period. Except this time, he didn’t get two strides into the offensive zone before the breath got crushed from his lungs.
The first time he managed to inhale again he was on his back on the ice, the ringing of the whistle loud in his ears. He registered the sounds of a fight, then several more whistles as the linesmen tried to break it up.
The thing was, it didn’t hurt. He hadn’t hit his head. He just had to get up and he’d be fine.
He rolled to his left side and tried to push himself up with his arm, and it gave out under him. That he felt. That hurt. There was no strength in his arm.
He’d just have to play one-handed.
Farouk helped him up, but when Grady skated toward the bench, their coach shook his head. “Get it checked out. You can afford to miss a few minutes of one game.”
Grady glanced back toward the ice. He needed to be here for his team.
But Dawg said, “C’mon, Grades. You got so little faith in us? Go.”
The idea of going down the tunnel with the trainers made Grady’s stomach hurt, but he could barely hold on to his stick. “I’ll be back,” he said finally. “Feel free to win without me.”
Strength or not, he could still move his arm. Maybe not a full range of motion, and maybe not without gritting his teeth in pain, but it still moved. His hand opened and closed, even if his grip was limp. How bad could it be? He’d played injured before. He wouldn’t leave his team in the lurch during playoffs.
He couldn’t let this team down.
PIRANHAS OUTLAST HEATWAVE, WIN SERIES 4–1
By Craig MacLeod
The first series of the NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs has been decided as the Anaheim Piranhas defeated the Las Vegas Heatwave 3–1 last night to take the series four games to one. The home team had the possession advantage most of the game and held Vegas to 23 shots on goal, compared to the Piranhas’ 37.
Emory St. Clair and Deniz Kaplan each scored their fourth goal of the series, and Max Lockhart added his first of the playoffs in the victory.
With the return of power forward Dante Baltierra anticipated for the second round, the Fish will prove a difficult opponent. They will play the winner of the Condors-Orcas series. Vancouver hosts game 6 tonight. The Condors lead the series 3–2.
IF HE played for any other team, Max would have attended game 7 to cheer on his man.
But Max played for the Condors’ biggest rival, and he’d have to play the winner of this series. He didn’t want to come across as a sore winner, or whatever; the Condors had let a 3–0 series lead slip away, and anything Max said about it would be salt in the wound. To make matters worse, he knew Grady was injured. Hell, everyone knew Grady was injured. Shooters shoot was a cliché for a reason, and right now, Grady wasn’t.
He wasn’t doing much around the house either. He kept his left arm close to his side and didn’t take off his shirt, which probably sucked almost as much for him as it did for Max. He ate with his right hand only. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
So Max watched game 7 from the couch, Gru curled up next to him, and tried to keep breathing. He wanted Grady to be happy, but he didn’t want to have to play against his boyfriend in the second round.
The game had him on the edge of his seat. Every breakaway made his stomach clench. Every glove save was a sigh of relief. The third period ended with the game tied 1–1.
Grady had only played eleven minutes. He should’ve played seventeen.
Max got up to get a drink and use the bathroom while the players got a short break before overtime, but even after doing the dishes, he still had fifteen minutes to kill.
And he couldn’t sit around and wait. Restless energy filled him. He’d never had a problem watching high-stakes hockey before. But right now he wasn’t a hockey player. He was an overly invested boyfriend.
He looked at Gru. “Walk around the neighborhood?”
Gru blinked at him, then flopped off the couch and padded to the door.
Max clipped the leash to his collar, jammed on his slides, and stepped out into the California night.
The neighborhood was mostly quiet, everyone tucked into their houses, many of the lights off. The breeze carried a hint of salt and diesel fumes. Max walked Gru aimlessly in the hopes that he could forget about the game, but no dice. So he kept walking until his phone vibrated.
Max released a long breath and unlocked the screen.
FINAL: Vancouver Orcas 2, Los Angeles Condors 1.
Shit. “Come on,” Max told Gru. “Let’s go home, buddy.” He opened a new message to Grady and debated what to write. After another block, he decided on want me to clear out tonight?
It was almost an hour later when he got a response. No. That was it.
Max didn’t know what he expected, but some of his anxiety eased. There was still time for everything to go to shit, but at least Grady wasn’t in such a bad mood he didn’t want to see Max at all.
Max waited another half hour before he heard the garage door, and suddenly he was second-guessing himself. Should he have watched the end of the game? Should he have gone to bed? Just because Grady didn’t want him gone didn’t mean he wanted to face him.
Gru, however, had no doubt of his welcome. The door jolted him out of a deep sleep, and he barked joyously and ran to the entryway with his tail stump wagging, ready to welcome Grady home.
Gru was an excellent buffer. Even Grady couldn’t take his disappointment out on the dog.
“Hi, buddy. I’m back. Okay, calm down, you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”
When he hadn’t made a move to come farther inside and the nails clicking on tile told Max Gru was changing petting positions, he heaved himself off the couch and went to face the music.
Bent down in the entryway to fluff Gru’s ears, Grady looked exhausted. He had dark circles under bloodshot eyes, and he’d come home in athletic gear instead of his suit, which hung on the outside of the entryway closet. His face was lined with pain as he stroked Gru one-handed, because his left arm was in a sling.
