My Masturbation Recording Was Listened To 146 Times By The Ice Hockey Hunk Chapter 02
Half an hour later, a moderatevolume knock echoed against the apartment door.
Bareankled, I padded across the cold wooden floor in soft fabric slippers toward the entryway.
Zach stood outside. Tall and broadshouldered, he wore the icehockey team’s grey practice tee. The fabric clung tight, outlining his powerful shoulders and back, with sharp, welldefined collarbones. In one hand he held the paper takeout bag with my lunch.
He looked terrible, heavy dark bruises shadowing his eyes — it was obvious he had not slept all night.
“You look like you’ve pulled three straight allnighters,” I observed, halfteasing. “Did the hockey team make you practice after midnight?”
I reached for the paper bag, but his body tensed abruptly and he would not let go.
His Adam’s apple bobbed hard as his gaze swept quickly over me. I wore nothing but a charcoalgrey thinstrap slip dress, loosely layered beneath an unbuttoned cream knit cardigan.
As I walked forward, one side of the cardigan slid slowly down my arm, baring a large expanse of smooth shoulder and neck skin.
He wrenched his eyes away in an instant.
“You answered the door dressed like that?”
“This is how I always dress at home, isn’t it?”
Zach said nothing and shoved the lunch firmly into my arms.
I mumbled under my breath. “Are you out of your mind? Then you might as well stay out in the hallway.”
He hung his head and stepped inside. He set the food down on the livingroom coffee table.
I flopped onto the sofa and ordered him casually:
“Grab me a cold Coke. There’s Greek yogurt in the fridge — bring that too.”
Zach lifted his eyes to mine. “Serena, did you break both your hands?”
I opened my laptop, planning to watch recorded lecture replays while I ate.
“Pretend I did. What else are you for?”
Zach froze for a few seconds, then walked silently to the fridge. He returned and set the Coke can together with a big tub of thick yogurt on the coffee table.
He reached for the Coke can while I snatched up the yogurt and tore off its foil lid. The container slipped in my grasp. Rich thick yogurt spilled over the rim and ran all down my fingers.
“Ah —” Cold, sticky liquid coated my skin, and I let out a short, involuntary gasp.
I stared ruefully at the tub, most of its contents wasted. I lifted my hands and licked the yogurt dripping off my fingertips, one finger at a time.
“Damn it,” I said as I licked. “What a waste.”
Complete silence descended over the living room. I looked up a beat too late.
Zach stood opposite me, his hand crushing the aluminum Coke can so hard that deep dents appeared in the metal. His face was turned partly away, his neck flushed bright red. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving violently.
Several long seconds passed before he set the crumpled can softly on the table. His voice came out rough and dry.
“Go wash your hands.”
I blinked, thoroughly confused. “Huh?”
His jaw was set into a rigid, unyielding line, and he refused to meet my eyes.
“I said wash your hands, Serena.”
Repressed emotion simmered deep inside him, teetering on the verge of bursting forth.
“Fine, fine, I’m going. What’s your problem?”
I could not make sense of him at all. He gave no reply and turned to head straight for the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“Something’s come up.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He pulled open the door and left without glancing back. It clicked shut behind him.
I sat on the sofa, staring at leftover yogurt smudged on my hands, utterly baffled. What on earth had gotten into this guy today.