Save of the Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

point? Maybe.
    Every so often the man would tip tattoo guy’s face up, and he’d say, “Look at me,” and Riley liked that part so much, he watched it three times. He was breathing hard, flushed all over, and the hand on his cock was moving faster as the guy rubbed his thumb over the tattoo guy’s mouth—like he wanted to feel it stretched around his cock. Holy fuck. Was that Riley who just made that noise…?
    Gradually angry-tattoo guy’s eyes slid closed as he gave it up and stopped fighting. The other man murmured, “That’s it, take it for me.” And fuck, Riley was so close he couldn’t stop. There was a soft groan, and the man hauled “not so angry now” tattoo guy closer with his hand around the back of his neck, choking him with his cock and coming in his mouth.
    Tattoo guy was breathing hard, resting his head on the other guy’s stomach. Riley heard the guy murmur, “Do you feel better now?” And the guy on his knees nodded and that was it, Riley came so hard he saw stars and moaned loudly through the whole thing.
    Because, in his head, the guy on his knees was Ethan, and Riley was the one asking him if he was all right, the one who was calming him down by fucking his mouth so hard he choked.
    Riley wasn’t sure exactly how many points in the column that got him, but it was probably a lot.

Chapter Three
     
     
    ETHAN WAS feeling good, a little drunk and a lot cheerful, his arm around some girl named Sarah or Susan or Suzette? Something with an S, anyway. And she was cute and soft and had thick, blonde hair that smelled like cotton or springtime or whatever the hell girls smelled like.
    That was the one thing he missed about living with girls. They sure smelled better than a locker room full of sweaty hockey players.
    It was a warm night, the ocean a dark blur, and the bonfire totally unnecessary but awesome—like Ethan was in a teen movie and soon everyone would jump up and start a choreographed dance routine. Except he hoped not, because hockey was hard enough. He was not coordinated enough for dancing. Unless it was a drunk Irish jig.
    “So you’re from New York?” Suz-an-ette-arah asked, smiling up at him. She was hot. And she was pressed up against his side, her hand resting lightly on his thigh, giving him all kinds of “you could get laid if you don’t end up being a weirdo” signals.
    “Yeah,” Ethan answered, watching as Ryan put Zoe on his back, piggyback-style, and went racing off toward the water with her screaming her head off and laughing.
    Being in love must be nice. Ethan wondered why the fuck he’d thought that at all.
    “I’ve never been there. I’m from Tampa.”
    Ethan grinned down at her and pulled her closer. “I’ve been there once. The airport. Hung out on a bench.”
    “That’s where Kennedy hangs out a lot,” Ethan’s teammate, Zachary Lawrence, quipped.
    “I already made that joke, Lawry. But thanks,” Ethan said. He turned his attention back to Suz-arah, who told him she was a major in computer-software engineering at the University of North Florida.
    Ethan’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck. Really? Smart and hot? If you want to dumb down your standards for me, I’m so okay with you doing that.” He knew exactly what she wanted, which was a few hours of fun and nothing more. Which was fine with him. It’d been a while, and he was getting a little tired of his left hand.
    “I have a car,” she said when he was trying to work out the details of how to take her somewhere and fuck her like they both wanted. “If you have a place with a bed, we’re good.”
    “Yeah. Of course. I’m not that bad of a hockey player.” Ethan followed her to her car, wondering if it was all right if he brought her home and what her name actually was. He didn’t know how to ask that without ruining the evening.
    Her car was a cherry-red, brand-new Mustang convertible. “I won it on a game show,” she told him and then sighed. “Yes. Really. Also, no. I’m not lying.