The Hot Hockey Player

Chapter 31 - Madeline 🌸

We stay like this for a moment, his warmth against my palm and his gratitude filling the space between us.

With that being settled, the moment slow down naturally and we both return to what we were doing. We're still lying on his bed, him still on his laptop working on the essay and me, also trying to focus on my own work for a bit. The room is quiet, showing how we both are really putting in the work.

Speaking of work. I really do want to work. I've got a few exams coming up soon and it's not going to learn itself. But my concentration keeps drifting away. I can't focus.

To Jude.

I can't keep my eyes away. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration. I shake my head and hide a sigh — or a silent slap on my face. I need to focus. But he's wearing his grey sweatpants, sitting low on his hips, with his bare torso relaxed as he works and it's enough to lose me.

I've noticed something about his collection lately. He has a lot of grey sweatpants — more than he used to — and I suspect he's been looking into my books, and simply noticed my not so secret anymore fascination about men in sweatpants. Because he didn't have that much before. He only started buying them recently : grey, black and white — every shade that makes my heart go crazy.

So yeah... he practically lives in them now. We have classes and his athlete status means he has to trade them for some fancy pants now and then. And trust me, my eyes are still happily content with all those looks. The grey ones are the basic ones and they made him look like he just stepped straight out a romance book.

The black ones though ? A whole other story. Impossible to ignore. The way they hug his frame ? Visual trap and every time, I fall for it.

But the white ones ? Oh the white ones are even something else. A freaking masterpiece. They sculpt his lower body which is shaped in a way only an artist could dream to capture. Every curve, every detail. I think deep down, it was designed to distract me and I think — actually, I'm pretty sure — he knows well about it.

I continue to take in the expanse of his bare chest, his huge and perfect chest. Only strength radiates from him right now. His torso is perfectly designed, with those eight neatly defined abs that I love tracing with my fingertips. And his shoulders, broad and powerful just make anything gorgeous.

This man is a walking temptation. So, excuse me if my concentration is nowhere to be seen. Everything about this man screams perfection. From his hair to his toes. I already heard that hockey players were huge : big thighs, big hands, big ego... Whatever.

I sneak another glance, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, trying to pull my attention back to my work but he's right here, doing simple work and looking like he's out of a magazine. Just looking at him makes me happy because I realize he's here with me and none of us would like to be elsewhere. I also realize that this is something I've always wanted : someone to be by my side, enjoying those precious moments, living honestly.

As my gaze finally linger a bit longer, I hear him clear his throat and say, "Maybe you'd like a picture, it'll last longer."

I don't see him close his computer. I'm so absorbed in my contemplation that I don't even hear it. And he's literally at my side. Still I laugh, like it's nothing. I'm still a bit shy around him, but a good shy. "Fuck you."

"(...) - THIS SCENE WILL BE REWRITTEN

He smiles gently at me, no sign of mockery or any judgement. He leans in, kisses me again and mutters against my lips, "I'll guide you through it Maddy. I'm here."

And that's the only reassurance I need.