Jeremy
IHATE HIM.
It's official.
Sweat is dripping down my face, down my back. Every
muscle in my body is tired and sore, yet he looks like he's
taken a leisurely stroll. I swear he's smirking at me.
"Scrimmage!" Coach yells and the team groans.
We've been running drills for an hour.
"Let's go boys!" Coach blows the whistle and we break
into our normal scrimmage teams, third line versus the
second line, so now I have to fight Carmichael to get to the
goal.
Brendon, Paul, and I make up the third line forwards. Paul
was on the second line when we got here, but after summer
camp, Coachmoved him to the third line with me and
Brendon since we gelled well. Carmichael, however, is on
the second line, because of course he is. Show off.
Everyone gets set and I face offagainst my teammate for
the puck. I'm quicker, so I fling it to Brendon, my right
winger, and we set offdown the ice. With a burst of speed,
I'm down the ice and looking to find the puck in Johnson's
possession. My left winger sees me and shoots it toward me.
The puck has barely made contact with my stick when a
brick wall rams into my side, knocking me into the boards,
and the puck goes flying back down the ice."What the fuck!" I turn on Carmichael but hurryto get
back in the game.
"Gotta watchthat blind spot, Albrooke," he yells at my
back.
I'm fuming. Anger heats my blood more than the physical
exertion. One of our D men slam the puck away from the
goal and I snag it, quickly turning and racing back up the
ice.
"Sloppy footwork, Albrooke," Carmichael calls with a
shake of his head as he zeros in on me, reading my next
move as soon as I've thought of it. I shoot for the net and he
blocks it, sending it back over the center line with an insane
amount of power.
"My dead grandma is faster than you."
Coach is yelling directions at us from the sidelines, but I
don't hear it. The only thing in my head is Preston fucking
Carmichael. I'm making stupid mistakes because I'm
frustrated and tired. Mistakes he has no problem calling out
as soon as I do them.
I'm going to hit him.
I'm not the only one he's doing it to, everyone on the
team is getting the same treatment, but I appear to be
getting the brunt force ofit. He's not even upset. No, it's all
very casual. I think that's worse.
The coach blows his whistle and we leave the ice. We're
trudging down the chute to the locker room, exhausted and limping, most of us sporting new bruises from being
slammed by Carmichael.
"Your new roommate is a dick," Brendon says as weget to
the locker room and push the doors open.
"No shit. I may suffocate him in his sleep. Fucker was up
at four am."
He was passed out cold by the time I was done pissing
and since he didn't have any bed shit, I tossed a blanket
over him, trying to be a nice guy, but after today, he can
fuck off. I hope he freezes.
"With the season starting soon, practices will be more
intense. You all need to work on your endurance. Perfecting
little things like footwork and being aware of your
surroundings. Longer practices and more workouts in the
gym. Carmichael is the only one here that looks ready to
play."
I look around the room but don't see mister perfect.
"Hit the showers, increased gym hours start tomorrow
morning. Make sure you're asleep on time. And keep your
damn grades up!" Coach leaves the locker roomand we
finish stripping out of our gear and underlayers.
"This year is going to kill me." Brendon groans as he steps
under the shower.
I quickly scan the showers, but Preston isn't in here. What
the hell?
Fuck it, I don't care. I'm starving and exhausted.
"Who's up for pizza?" Paul Johnson, my left winger, asks."Sounds goodto me," I chime in. "But I can't be out late, I
gotta finish my homework."
"Yeah, I'll meet you there," Brendon adds in. A fewof the
other guys agree to head down to the pizza shop as we
finish up in the showers and start getting dressed.
"Hey, meet me in my room and walk down together?" I
ask Brendon. I need to get offand we were interrupted last
time.
"I uh, got something I gotta do first. I'll see you there." He
slaps me on the shoulder and leaves before I've got my
shoes on. Fuck.
I want to change into jeans anyway, so I head back to the
dorms and am surprised when Preston isn't there already.
Where the fuck did he go?
Grabbing a pair of jeans out of the dresser, I kick my
shoes offand slide my sweats off. Laying back on the bed, I
push my boxer briefs down and wrap a hand around my
dick. With just a few pumps of my hand, I'm hard. My
stomach muscles tighten and despite being tired and sore,
the only thing I can focus on is how much I want to cum.
And Preston Carmichael.
The dark gray eyes that pierce me when he looksat me.
The carefully cut and styled black hair and muscled build I
know is under his clothes.
I hate that he's hot. That I want to feel him against me.
My dick leaks precum at the image of him holding me
down, losing some of that control he holds so tight to while he fucks me.
My cock throbs and my balls draw up tight against me as
my hand pumps furiously.
The image inmy head morphs to his hands on myskin. Is
he as aggressive in bed as he is on the ice? Would he leave
marks on my skin with his teeth?
My orgasm races through me, spilling onto my stomach,
and leaving me gasping for breath. Damn it. I should have
taken my shirt off.
I lay back on my bed, spent and trying to catch my breath.
Footsteps outside the door have me pulling my underwear
back up. As I slide out ofmy cum stained t-shirt, the door
opens. Awesome.
I freeze for a second, notsure what Preston's reaction to
finding me cleaning up will be. It's obvious what I just did
and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It definitely
smells like jizz in here and I'm sure my cheeks are flushed.
He doesn't know you were thinking about him, dumbass.
Relax.
I get the shirt balled up as Preston stands in the doorway,
holding it open while staring at me. He's freshly showered in
clean clothes, the look on his face blank, like he's not really
in there.
"Uh, some of the guys are going out for pizza. You can join
if you want." I sit up and pull my jeans on, slip myfeet into
my shoes, and stand to grab a clean shirt. Preston closes
the door and eyes me as he walks past to his bed.
"I don't eat that shit. It makes you fat and slow." He looks
me over like what he'ssaying is written on my body.
"Clearly." Hejust drops the words like facts, as casual as if
he was talking about the weather.
"Wow. Okay then." I shove my head through the shirt and
leave the room. Slamming the door behind me harder than I
needed to. What the actual fuck is that dude's problem?
I ignore the looks from the girls that get into the elevator
a floor below mine. They whisper back and forth, one of
them glancing back at me as I lean against the wall. They're
cute, but I'm not interested. Girls don't do it for me.
"You're Jeremy Albrooke, right?" The blonde turns to me.
"Yup." I lean my head back against the wall, trying to tell
her I don't want to talk without having to be rude.
"Is it true Charles Preston Carmichael is playing hockey
here this year?"
Don't roll your eyes. Don't roll your eyes. Don't roll your
eyes.
"Yup."
He's also an asshole that appears to get some kindof sick
joy from picking on others. Real stand-up dude.
The brunette with her swoons and it's all I can do not to
tell them not to bother, I doubt he'll give them the time of
day.
"He's so hot," the girl says, hands waving at her face.
The elevator digs and opens on the bottom floor and I'm
grateful for the escape."Do you know what room he's in?" the blonde asks, and
over my shoulder I say "no," since I'm not giving them my
dorm number. Absolutely not.
By thetime I make it to the pizza place offcampus, the
guys have ordered and are taking up half the booths. I slide
in next to Brendon and Paul and grab a slice of pepperoni,
shoving it in my face.
"Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?" Paul looksat me
over his cup of soda.
"What?" I snap at him. Okay, take a deep breath and chill
out.
I close my eyes and force my shoulders and jaw to relax. I
didn't realize how tense I was.
"Who pissed you off?" Brendon asks this time.
"Did you know that pizza makes you fat and slow?
Carmichael was nice enough to point it out and tell me if I
ate better, maybe I would play better. Pompous fuck." I dip
a piece of crust into some ranch before shovingit in my
mouth and chewing. Take that, fuck head.
"Damn, dudeis seriously a hard ass. That practice was
brutal." Paulshakes his head and grabs another slice of
pizza.
"Pretty sure my spleen is bruised from being slammed into
the boards," Brendon adds, rubbing at his back.
The guys around us grumble about him too, complaining
about bumps and bruises."He's going to make us better," Carpenter pipes up,
talking to everyone. The captain taking some control over
the situation. "He could have gone anywhere, buthe came
here. We need to learn everything we can fromhim and
work hard to keep up." He looks around the group. "We
have the best D man in junior league history on our team,
we need to take advantage of that and be a team he can be
proud of. Take what he says and learn. He's obviously not
afraid to bruise egos, or bodies for that matter. If he says
you've got sloppy footwork, concentrate on your damn
footwork." Carpenter looks from me to Paul. "If he says
you're slow, start doing more speed drills." He takes a deep
breath. "None of us are above improvement."