It takes a few seconds before I realize the faces staring back are ones I recognize. It’s my team. They’re holding out their fists, waiting for me to pound them, just like we do on our way through the tunnel as we head toward the ice.
I went to practice the day after I talked to my agent and told the team I wasn’t returning. And, now, they’re here to send me off.
My final walk through the tunnel.
The last time I’ll ever be a part of a team.
I whisper the name of each player as I pass him, and when I reach Viktor, he pulls me in for a hug.
“I’ll be down to visit as soon as we hit the off-season,” he says.
“I know.”
“You’d better have a hell of a tan and a wicked golf game by then.”
“I hate golf.”
“Learn to like it because I’m going to challenge the hell out of your handicap.”
I say nothing.
I can’t.
“You’re going to knock her up and take your son to daycare and coach little league. You’re going to be all right.”
I nod, not wanting any of the things he mentioned, still unable to say a word.
He slaps me on the back, we part, and I climb into the car.
Tilly turns toward me and squeezes my leg. “In six hours, I’m going to be in a bikini, walking through the sand and straight into the water. No more winter coats, baby. No more snow.”
And no more fucking hockey.
Tilly was right. Six hours after we drove to Logan International Airport, her fingers are clung around mine, and she’s dragging me through the sand. She splashes her way into the water, kicking at the waves, diving in when she gets deep enough. She acts like it’s been years since she’s been to the beach. It’s only been a few months. I rent us a house in Cape Cod during the off-season, and I take her to the Caribbean several times a year. Hell, we even went to Bora Bora last summer.
She grew up near the ocean, and it’s where she’s the happiest.
But, besides my cock, I’m not sure what else makes my wife happy.
And that’s something I’m supposed to know.
Once I get chest-deep, she wraps her legs around my waist, hugging my neck with her arms. “You’re going to love the house I rented for us.”
I didn’t bother to ask for a picture. Truth is, I don’t give a shit what the place looks like. As long as it’s far from Boston, I’m good with whatever she chose. But knowing that her taste has gotten expensive since marrying me, I figure it’ll be on the beach and nice as hell.
“It has plenty of space and lots of bedrooms.”
“All the guys will be down to visit, I’m sure,” I say, hoping she’s not hinting at anything other than having a lot of guests.
She leans forward and kisses the end of my nose. “That’s what I’m planning for.”
Thank fuck.
Tilly and I have been married for two years. My parents are asking for some grandkids. Hers are, too. Probably even more now that we have moved to her hometown and will see them more often. But what I learned from Tilly’s miscarriage—her pregnancy being the sole reason we’d married—is that I’m not ready to be a dad.
“Plus, with you being home so much now, I thought some extra space wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she says.
I squeeze her ass, the skimpy bottoms she has on barely covering it. “I like your thinking.” I lean into her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. “And I’d like it even more if you turned around and let me fuck your ass.”
She laughs. “You know I’m all about an audience, but there are kids in this water and tons of them on the beach, and none of them need to hear what I sound like when you’re inside my ass.”
“You’re definitely not a quiet one.”
“No, I’m not.” She chews on my bottom lip until I move my fingers away from her asshole. “Don’t worry, baby; you’ll get what you want once we’re back in our hotel room.”
She doesn’t give me that hole often enough. It’s not because she doesn’t enjoy it. My wife likes every place I stick my cock. She just enjoys making me work for it, and that makes me want it even more.
“Maybe while you’re in there,” she moans, “I’ll even turn around and ride you in reverse.” She pulls herself closer to my chest, her eyes telling me how badly she wants me.
“You ready to go? My dick is about to shred through these swim trunks.”
She laughs even harder this time. “In a minute.” She glances toward the horizon where the water meets the sky, and after several seconds, she asks, “I just assumed you were going to take some time off. Is that your plan, or do you have something else in mind?”
There it is again—life without hockey.
When my agent stopped by my place a few days after our call, he said some offers were coming in for coaching and commentating gigs. They would keep me near the league, just not on the ice. I told Jesse I needed time. I’m not ready to think about any of that yet, not when I haven’t accepted that I won’t be playing anymore. Fortunately, I’ve earned enough throughout the years that I don’t have to work again. I’ve invested well, and I’m smart with my money. If I take any of those positions, it’ll be because I want to.
But the only thing I want at this moment is to play hockey.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do,” I tell her. “Nothing feels right yet.”
She wraps around me a little tighter, her lips pressing against mine. “I know something that’s going to feel right.” Tiny groans come through her lips after every exhale.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” She licks the bottom of my ear, flicking it before tugging it into her mouth. “It’s going to be so much fun, too.”
“You’re talking about what I’ll be doing to you when we get back to the hotel room?”
She shakes her head. “It’s something I’ve been planning for us that’ll happen in a few weeks.”
The last time my wife surprised me, she brought a chick back to our place. Seeing the girl go down on Tilly was so goddamn hot.
She likes women. She likes having me watch her fuck them.
And I like the show she gives me.
“It’s going to involve you coming,” she breathes. “A lot.”
PiperThe second the hotel room door closes, Cannon’s kissing my neck. What I thought was ruined suddenly comes to life. I take two steps backward until my back is pressed against the wall. His tongue laps at a little bead of sweat the air-conditioning is trying to chase away. He likes the room freezing cold and says it keeps the humidity from destroying his hair.When I first met Cannon, his hair used to hang just above his eyebrows. When he was working out, the strands would nearly poke him in the eye. Sometime during the last few years, he started keeping the sides shaved and the top long enough to blow-dry into the perfect wave, swept away from his face. I asked him if it was the beginning of an early midlife crisis. He said he finally started giving a shit.Is that what we’re having? An early midlife crisis?“Piper? Did you hear me?” He bends at the waist to look me in the eyes.“What?”“You sure you’re okay? I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”“I’m fine,” I lie.“You’re not,” he
When his muscles relax, I wait for him to pull out and cuddle me against his chest, like he always does. But his phone rings inside the beach bag, and he stands up, running his fingers through his hair, as he looks around for it. I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s going to answer the call. I guess I hoped that, just this once, he’d put us first.I watch him dig into the pocket of the beach bag, pull the phone out, and then glance at the screen. And then he holds up a finger, letting me know he needs a minute. Normally, I’d give him all the time in the world, but it’s Saturday, and the office is closed. Only dire emergencies are handled on the weekends, and considering we’re in another country, Cannon couldn’t be much help.Something inside me snaps, and I get up from the bed and storm across the room. Without thinking, I grab the phone out of his hand and hang up.He glances back and forth between the phone and me and then stares at me in disbelief. “What the hell, Piper? That was a
I stay on the floor, keeping my hands on her legs, with no intention of going anywhere besides inside her pussy again. “You’ve got two minutes.” She tries closing me out, but my fingers keep her thighs pried open. “Three then.”“At least four. And I need a drink. My throat is killing me after all that screaming.”Now that I’ve swallowed her, my mouth is dry as hell, and I can use one, too. So, I go into the kitchen and stand in front of the fridge. “Wine?”“Yesss.”I pour her a glass, grab a beer for myself, and go back to the couch. She turned on a lamp while I was gone, and now, a blanket covers her legs.She reaches for the glass and says, “Remember that plan I mentioned the day we arrived in Florida? When we were in the ocean?”That was the day I tried putting my cock in her ass, which is the only reason I remember the conversation.I set the beer on the coffee table and get on my knees, feeling for her legs over the blanket and shoving them apart. “You can tell me while I lick.”
A couple of weeks ago, one click led to another, and before I knew what was happening, I’d joined a forum online. It’s moderated by a marriage expert who answers any and every question, no matter how off the wall or mundane it is.I would take my time browsing through each of the responses, hoping that one of them would relate to my own marriage, leading me toward some much-needed answers. Some of the posts I came across were helpful; others were completely ridiculous. But, when one particular response hit a little too close to home, I realized there were other couples in the same boat as we were and that this forum was right where I belonged.That one helpful response had me so hopeful that I was devouring every stitch of information I could get my hands on. I was even curious enough to explore the questions that didn’t have anything to do with my situation. The advice was fascinating, and some of the methods were so completely unconventional that I had to dig deeper.Swinging for in
All of that is beside the point. Maybe I should have told Cannon what I was doing, but I wouldn’t have been on this website if Cannon hadn’t changed. I wouldn’t be driving myself crazy, looking at every possibility to explain what had been going on and how to fix it, if things were different, if they were how they used to be.But the truth of the matter is, I’ve snooped on his phone and laptop, making me just as guilty as he is for being on mine. He hasn’t done anything I haven’t. At least I don’t think he has until I sit down in front of the laptop and notice a typed message that is waiting to be sent.“What are you doing?” I yell. “God, Cannon. What were you thinking, trying to message them? You weren’t even going to pretend to me be.”“I read some of the other messages, Piper. Isn’t this what you want? To set something up?”“No,” I tell him as I erase the text from the message and then close out of the program. “We’re not swingers. What I’ve been doing…it isn’t what you’re thinking
She knew so much because I used the same screen name on the forum as I did on the website, not thinking I’d actually use the profile on the swinger site. It was only there, so I could look around—not because I wanted to find a couple to play with, but to help me gather information. But, now, my mistake has caused an even bigger problem.“I sent her a picture of us. She asked. I felt like I had to because I’ve seen them. You saw the comments; she wants you. Maybe you want her, too, now that you’ve seen her.”“Tell me you don’t want him,” he says. “You’ve been all over their profile. Unless you’re suddenly into chicks, it has to be because of him.”I could lie all I wanted, but the proof is in the numbers. There’s no denying the fact that I have been drawn to this couple—the sexy, bearded man next to the beautiful blonde—from day one.“It doesn’t matter, Cannon. Not unless you want to actually swing. Do you?”He runs his fingers through his hair and adjusts his sunglasses. I wish he’d t
WestI’ve started a routine. It’s nothing like the daily shit I had to do during hockey season. Not even close. That’s because there aren’t any trainers telling me how many pounds I have to bench or any coaches yelling at me to pick up my pace on the ice. My agent isn’t nagging me about negotiating an endorsement contract or when I have to be at a photo shoot or what restaurants are paying me to show up and eat or what kind of car I have to be seen driving. This new routine begins when the sun peeks through the windows of our bedroom. I lace up my sneakers, throw on a pair of shorts, and hit the beach for a run.Tilly always talked about the weather in Florida and how much she missed it. Now, I know why. It’s the middle of winter, and it’s so warm, I don’t even need a shirt. I let the morning sun beat down on my New England skin, that has a pretty decent tan already.There typically aren’t many people out on the beach this early. I only pass a few, all of them doing the same thing I a
He shakes his head. “I wanted to speak to you first, seeing as you’d be the one paying for it.”If Tilly married someone who couldn’t afford a cash buyout, I wonder if this conversation would be going a little differently.“I’ll talk to Tilly,” I say. “If she’s interested, we’ll go from there.”“I appreciate it, West. And it’ll be a fair price; don’t you worry.”I’m not worried.Nor am I interested.Tilly quit her job a few months after we started dating and hasn’t worked a day since. At this point, I can’t picture her standing at the tiki hut, renting out Jet Skis for the day. But, if that’s what she wants, she can have it.“I’ll get back to you,” I tell him, taking a few steps away.“We’ll be grilling some steaks Saturday night if you’d both like to join us. Not sure if my wife has mentioned that to Tilly yet or not.”For the last week, Tilly’s been reminding me every day what she wants to have happen on Saturday night. It’s not dinner with her family. It’s when she hopes I’ll be fu