Moral Devotions

3| Declan

"Is this good?"

I nod as Britt drags her tongue up the length of my cock, humming in approval.

My phone starts ringing on the bedside table and I roll my eyes, knowing exactly who it is.

I slip my fingers through Britt's hair and shove her mouth farther down my cock.

My phone starts ringing again and I silently curse, reaching out to pull it off the charger.

"Now really isn't a good time, Vic."

"Just hear me out, Declan." My sister's voice comes through the other end.

"Are you seriously on the phone right now?" Britt asks and I fight the urge to glare at her. It's not her fault my sister is impatient as shit.

"Victoria, I've heard you out a hundred times. I'm not giving you shit."

"But Dec, we're family." She pleads.

"I don't support sisters who work on a fucking pole."

"Seriously?" Britt stands up and I realize what I said.

"No, Britt, I don't mean you."

"If you talk to your sister like that, how do I know you'll treat me much better?" She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together.

"It's just different." I run my fingers through my hair as frustration sets in my blood.

"Sure it is." She slips her dress back on and runs her fingers through her hair. "Call me when you decide working on a fucking pole deserves some support." And she walks away, her hips swinging with every step.

Victoria snorts on the other end and I grit my teeth. "How'd that work out for you, brother?"

"I'm so done with your shit, Victoria. Quit calling me because you can't make it on your own. You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days, you know that? Druggies don't like when debts aren't paid, Vicky."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me for drug money. Goodbye." I press the red button with more force than intended and slam my phone down beside me. I rub my hands over my face and through my hair and let out a heavy sigh.

Great, I'm pissed, half-hard, and unfinished. This is going to be a long fucking night.

After finally getting off in the shower, I get dressed to meet Coach at the arena. Apparently, he wants to talk.

I know what this is about. It's about how I've been spending more time in the Sin Bin than on the damn ice.

After driving through traffic, and parking in the back of the arena, I make my way inside and down toward the locker room. Coach's office is just down the hall and I don't even knock before he tells me to come inside.

"How'd you know I was there?"

"Heard your footsteps. I could only assume." He's perched at his desk, his hands folded, elbows resting on the armrests of the leather office chair. "You're early."

"Always am."

"You seem to be good with time everywhere except on the ice." He sits up as I sit down. "You're not getting paid millions of dollars to sit in a box the whole damn game, James."

"I know, sir."

"No. You don't. Which is why..." Here it comes. "You're the new headlining player for the high school program."

"But that's Rhett's thing." I point out.

"He's agreed to take elementary for the time being. Every Friday afternoon you'll be at Sterling Heights, sitting in that gymnasium, ready to play whatever game they're playing and picking two damn names from a hat."