3: I like a guy who plays rough

ZEKE

The windshield wipers on my truck sliced through the heavy downpour with a rhythmic, irritating shuck-shuck, shuck-shuck.

It was the only sound keeping me anchored to reality, but it wasn’t doing a very good job. My hands were gripped so tightly around the leather steering wheel that my knuckles were stark white, aching almost as badly as the bruised ribs I’d taken during the third period.

But right now, I couldn’t feel my ribs. I could barely feel the accelerator under my boot. My mind was stuck in that dark, damp alleyway behind the arena. Stuck on the unhinged lunacy of what had just happened ten minutes ago.

There's no way I'm sane after this. I stared blankly ahead at the red taillights of the car in front of me. I need to commit myself. I need a psych ward, a brain scan, or maybe just a goalie mask to permanently hide my face from society.

I’m the team captain. The straight, no-nonsense captain of a division-one hockey team. I have scouts watching my every move, a reputation to uphold, and a future to build.

Yet there I was, less than twenty feet from the arena exit, letting the team’s giant plush mascot drop to its knees on the wet pavement right in front of me.

The image was burned into the back of my eyelids. Every time I blinked, I saw it. The heavy thud of those padded knees hitting the asphalt. The massive, ridiculous foam-and-fur head tilting up to look at me.

"Since you aren't into guys," the deep, muffled voice had rumbled from inside the mask, completely defying the friendly, cartoonish look of the costume. "Don't worry, captain. I’m just a giant teddy bear. Technically, it doesn't count.”

It shouldn’t have counted. It should have been a bizarre joke. I should have shoved the freak away, grabbed my gear bag, and sprinted for my truck. Instead, a hot, jagged spike of adrenaline and depraved lust had shot straight down my spine.

The absurdity of it, the danger, the filth, the complete anonymity, had overridden every single drop of common sense I possessed. My fingers had fumbled with my belt buckle, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet alley like a starting gun I couldn't stop.

Even now, sitting in the warm cab of my truck, my skin felt electric. I could still feel the phantom sensation of the cold night air hitting my bare skin, quickly followed by an overwhelming, suffocating wave of heat. The contrast had been completely maddening. The rough, synthetic texture of the faux-fur brushing against my thighs, and then...him.

The Bear hadn’t hesitated. He had been so incredibly confident, taking control of the situation with a terrifying level of precision. When I had gasped, my knees literally buckling under the sudden, intense rush of pleasure, I had forced my hand flat against the rough brick wall behind me just to keep from toppling over.

I remembered looking down through the dim lighting of the flickering streetlamp. The open mouth of the mask had been stretched wide, those shiny, dead glass eyes staring blankly up at me.

It was dehumanizing, anonymous, and God help me, it had been perfect. For the first time in months, the crushing pressure of the game, the frustration of the loss, and the crowd’s mockery had faded into pure static.

I had channeled all that aggression right into the back of that plush head, my fingers tangling deep into the coarse synthetic fur to hold myself steady.

He had taken everything I threw at him. He didn't complain, he didn't gag, and when the tension in my lower abs finally exploded in a white-hot, blinding release, he had swallowed every single drop of my dignity along with it.

Jesus Christ.

I let out a harsh, ragged breath, releasing one hand from the steering wheel to rub it aggressively across my face. My skin felt hot. I was sweating despite the blasting AC.

The worst part wasn’t even the act itself. It was the aftermath. The crushing weight of the guilt had settled into my chest the second I started fumbling to pull my clothes back together. I had actually tried to apologize to a giant plush animal. I had actually muttered, “Look, man... I'm sorry. I was too rough. I didn't mean to—”

Like an idiot. And the Bear? The smug bastard didn't even blink. He had just stood up, adjusting his massive padded suit, and let out a deep, gravelly purr that had made my stomach do a violent flip.

"Oh, please, I like a guy who plays rough," he had cut me off, his tone practically dripping with amusement. "Consider it a complimentary service from the team mascot. Next time, I'm charging you by the minute."

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, the honk of my horn startling me in the quiet cabin. "Fucking menace," I growled out loud to the empty truck.

The audacity of him. He had stepped back into the shadows, tilted that oversized foam head, and blown me a dramatic kiss with both of his massive paws before disappearing into the rain.

"I'll see you next game, McKinney," his voice echoed in my head.

I pulled into the garage, killing the engine and sitting in the sudden, heavy silence. My heart was still hammering against my ribs. I was exhausted, bruised, and compromised.

I didn't know who was inside that suit. It could be a classmate, a weird fan, or some random arena employee. But as I grabbed my gym bag and stepped out into the pouring rain, a dark, terrifying realization washed over me.

I was already looking forward to the next game.