Hayes (A Carolina Cyclones Story)

15.

Hayes

When I had first mentioned the idea of a post game party at my house I had been a little hesitant. I didn't want my idea of a low key team bonding celebration to get turned into a free for all thanks to some of my teammates' lack of discretion (looking at you Jax and Rush.)

Thankfully though, my teammates seem to understand that this is out of my realm and have decided to appear tonight on their best behavior. They even brought dates that look surprisingly respectable. Color me impressed–and thankful, since these people now all know where I live.

My house is quaint by Charleston standards. It's technically in Mt. Pleasant, a bridge ride across from the lavish houses that boast their "South of Broad" elitist status. I easily could've afforded something in that prestigious section, the NHL and the endorsements that come with it pay pretty damn well after all, but there's an uppity vibe I didn't mesh with when I looked at places there. Instead, I settled across the river in a four bedroom three bathroom home on a little over two acres of land. The size of the lot and the dock that extends out to the marsh were a huge selling point for me and I spend most of my limited free time out by the water just enjoying the peaceful life I've found here. Before I came to play for the Cyclones I played in New York and Montreal and this kind of laid back lifestyle wasn't possible there. Here everything is so much more relaxed, less media, less fuss, and I think that was a big part of me being able to rejuvenate and relax into my playing career in a way that has seen me post my best ever stats in the years spent with Carolina.

Two glasses of red wine in hand I exit my kitchen, teammates and their dates scattered around the island and spilling into the open concept living room but I bypass them with only a few friendly greetings and great game remarks before I make it to the sliding glass door that leads out to the porch and to the woman who leans against the wrought iron railing, waiting for me.

"Not sure I pegged you as the red wine type." Maggie smiles, accepting her glass and turning to lean against the railing, her eyes looking out over the back yard, the marsh barely visible in the distance by the light of the full moon glowing above us.

"I'm just full of surprises." I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. It's not my favorite but it'll do. I'd only bought the bottle in the hopes of sharing it with her after she had mentioned her love for a nightly glass to me in one of our text message conversations while I'd been out on the road.

"I'm starting to get that." She turns to look at me and I find myself growing a little hot under her stare.

'What?" I ask after a contemplative moment when she doesn't speak.

She looks around, the porch is dimly lit by a few strands of Edison bulb lights I hung last summer and the noises of the marsh drift in over the sound of the few other couples that linger around the porch perimeter.

"Tonight on the ice," she starts and I find myself surprised and wondering where she might be headed with this. "You just, you seem so different when you're out there. It's like you know exactly who you are, what your purpose is. Then I see you off the ice and–God, Hayes, please don't take this the wrong way– but sometimes you seem a little lost. Like you're trapped in your head and like you lack the confidence to just let yourself be. Sometimes I see glimpses of what I think is the real you. When you make your quick remarks and joke with me but then that guy recedes back and I don't see him again for a while."

Her hands fidget as I down the remaining wine in my glass all in one go, obviously she's scared that she's offended me with her observations and I admit I'm a bit hot under the collar and uncomfortable by just how astute those observations are. Those feelings pale in comparison however to how enamored I am by her and the fact that she cared enough to notice those things about me.

For once in my life my brain is silent, no screaming thoughts as I do something I've wanted to for weeks. Maybe it's the wine I just chugged or maybe it's the fact that it truly has been ages since I've seen any action. Maybe it's just the way Maggie looks in the moonlight, on my back porch with wine stained lips and a soft, curious stare. Whatever it is, it's alluring and on instinct I take a step forward, her body turns so that her back is pressed against the railing and our faces are practically touching.

I can feel her breath, warm and teasing against my chest as she stares up at me. She looks gorgeous. Wide eyed and completely in the moment with me not an inkling of hesitation to be found. I lean down, my mouth brushing across hers and when I feel them part, her body leaning into me I take that as my cue and press my lips gently against hers.

My left hand cups her cheek, my right taking hold of her waist as we work together. It's a kiss like none I've ever had at that everything is done together, her lips part to allow my tongue in for exploration, her soft mewling sounds spurring me on, further and further into my spiral of desire and suddenly I find myself cursing that my home is currently filled to the brim with my celebrating teammates.

I pull away just enough to rest my forehead against hers, pleased to find a small, bashful smile playing on her lips as her arms loop around my neck. "We have a small problem, Miss Evans." I whisper, loving the way my breath against the shell of her ear makes her whole body shiver, sending all of my blood rushing south as my mind begins to wander to all the other ways I'd like to make her shake.

Fuck. Focus Hansen.

"What's that?" She asks and fuck her voice comes out all hot and needy and breathless and this is doing absolutely nothing to help the raging hard on in my pants.

"People." I say simply, allowing my eyes to slowly drift to my left where across the porch two couples I don't bother to identify are lost in their own conversations and so-far, unbothered by us. 

"Don't you have a bedroom?" She asks, her bottom lip pulled back and somehow managing to look simultaneously sexy and innocent and fuck that's really doing it for me.

My dick's so hard it hurts.

"Yes, but the team.." I trail off, trying to keep a level head even though it's getting harder by the second. Bad joke, I know. "I'm the captain and if they hear us–" "I can be quiet."

She rushes the words out and I feel my eyes flash. I know she didn't mean it as a challenge but my body seems determined to take it as one. I lean even closer, my lips so close that they are touching her ear. "Well, but see now I want nothing more than to take you upstairs and fuck you until you're screaming my name so loud that the whole team has no doubts about what we're doing."