Page 118 of Twisted Needs
“I just…” He exhales softly. “I liked pretending it was only us for a little while.”
God. Something inside me folds in on itself. I cup the side of his face carefully. “It is us,” I tell him. “That phone call doesn’t change anything.”
His eyes flicker. “You say that now.”
“I’m saying it because I mean it, sweetheart.”
There’s a long pause, but then Anders looks down at his coffee before smiling faintly. “We’re kinda insane,” he murmurs.
My gaze drifts over his face. The sleepy blush on his cheeks. The bruises I left on his neck after sucking on it for maybe an hour straight. The fact that he’s standing in my kitchen wearing my clothes like he’s always belonged in them. My chest tightens almost painfully.
“This didn’t start last week,” I say quietly. “You know that.”
His eyes lift back to mine. Anders goes very still when I say it, like he’s waited years to hear me admit it out loud. “No,” he agrees softly. “It didn’t.”
I brush my thumb across his cheek. The vulnerability in his expression is almost unbearable now that I’m actually allowed to touch it. Allowed to keep it. Allowed to call him mine.
“You’re still mad at me,” I murmur.
“A little.”
“You should be. I don’t deserve you yet.”
His mouth slowly pulls into a smirk, his arms tightening around me. “This is a hostage situation.”
I chuckle softly. “Nuh-uh.”
“Believe it.” Anders completely ambushes me by genuinely climbing me like a tree. He wraps his arms around my neck and kicks his legs around my waist.
“You suck at holding people hostage,” I laugh, slapping his ass and digging my nails into his flesh.
“You’re never getting rid of me,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my jaw. And somehow, those are the best words that have ever come out of his mouth.
“I’ve been stuck with you for twenty years,” I whisper, kissing him on his temple. “I could never imagine getting rid of you. You’re my sticky little leaf.”
CHAPTER 31
STUPID FUCKING SLEEPOVER
PARKER
This is quite possibly the worst game to win, sweeping by with a seven-point lead. If Vandy scores one more goal, it’ll be his second hat trick of the night.
As much as I’d love to just say no to this stupid fucking sleepover so I can spend the night alone in my own hotel room on the phone with the only person I am actually in the mood to talk to, it would be shitty of me to deny the guys something they’ve been riding my dick for all season.
I haven’t kept the bench warm this much since my first two or three seasons playing. Now more than ever, I feel like I’m being given ample amounts of signs that retiring at the end of the season will be the best decision moving forward. Especially with Anders finishing up school right around the same time.
It feels like things are finally looking a little brighter.
“Can you stop with the attitude?” Malloy scoffs next to me with a disturbed look on his face. “It’s like you’re this…” he makes a swirling motion with his fingers, scrunching his nose. “You’re just bad vibes tonight, man. Like this is the last place you wanna be.”
“It is,” I mutter dryly, picking at the tape on my stick that’s started to unravel. “And I’m too old to be sleeping with four grown men in a hotel room after a back-to-back, so don’t count on that slumber party tonight.”
I can’t even sit and enjoy watching my teammates out there. They all glide across the ice with ease, weaving in and out of our opponents like threading a needle. Their genuine excitement can be felt from one end of the rink to another—not as contagious as I wish it could be.
That used to be me out there. Living for the game and loving every second of it. Hockey was the only thing that mattered back then, but I can’t imagine my future out there in skates and gear anymore. The lively buzzing of the crowd isn’t as musical as it used to be; it’s just noise now. Loud, obnoxious noise that makes my head hurt if I don’t actively try and tune it out.
“You may be old and cranky, but that doesn’t mean it’s fine to be stinking up the bench with that negative aura,” Malloy mutters, giving me a nasty side-eye.
