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They
By : meow
Category: Individual Celebrities > Taylor Pyatt
Views: 674 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Taylor Pyatt. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
- 1
They
They flooded Facebook to express their love of his ‘gorgeous eyes’.
“I can’t believe this…” She muttered from behind her laptop, half proud, half jealous.
“Believe what?” He came up behind her.
“You have the largest fan group out of all the players on your team. All female members.” She muttered the last part to herself. “You even beat out the hometown guys.”
“… What part of that are you having a hard time believing?” He relied over her shoulder.
She turned around to whack his arm.
He ignored her.
“Hey… click on that.” He pointed to a related group entitled ‘According To Playboy, Hockey Players Make the Best Lovers’.
She rolled her eyes, but complied.
They read the group description in silence.
In an article published in Playboy, it was noted that hockey players make the best lovers. The article backed this statement by noting that hockey players have a strong and flexible core, leading to superior abdominal thrusts.
It finished with Hugh Hef doesn't lie!!!.
“No, he doesn’t.”
She could feel ear-to-ear grin as his voice took on a husky tone. She shivered involuntarily and kicked herself when he chuckled. She immediately clicked on the ‘X’ on the top corner of the web browser and closed her laptop.
“Hey, aren’t you going to join that group?” He said indignantly.
“Why? It’s a total lie.” She said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, is that right?”
An hour later.
“Where are you going?” He said to her retreating back as she slipped out of his bedroom.
“To join that group.” She tried to say it grudgingly, but failed.
There was no mistaking that it was a win-win situation.
They never knew of his passion off the ice.
“We’re going to be late.” He called to her.
“No, we’re not. I’m never late.” She yelled back from the washroom.
“Women.”
“I heard that.” She finally came out and was ready to take him on, but found him with an almost glazed look over his face.
“What?”
There was no response. Was he having a stroke? She tugged on her black cocktail dress self-consciously. It felt a little more… snug than the last time she’d tried it on. Damn him and his abnormally good baking skills.
“You’re not going in that.” He blurted suddenly.
“Why not? You said it was black tie and it’s too late to go out and get another dress.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. He didn’t like it.
“We’re going to be late then.” He stated, bring up a large hand to cup her face. She refused to meet his gaze, and as a result, missed the flash of hunger in his blue eyes.
“Weren’t you listening before? I am never late.” She continued protesting until his lips met the sensitive arch of her neck; his hand rising on her thigh.
“Oh.”
They came out of nowhere and yet from everywhere at once.
Thirty seconds was all it took for his presence to be known to every woman at the banquet. Young, old, they came in pairs and in trios, cheeks flushed and in varying degrees of awe.
And she was tired of it.
“I’ll leave you with your fans. Meet you at our table.” She had to stand on her tippy toes in order to whisper it in his ears.
“All right.” He replied distractedly, turning to pose with another fan or sign another programme.
“Who was that?” She heard one of them turn and ask a friend.
“Don’t know… but I love her dress.”
That made her smile at all the things they would never know, and better yet, never experience.
And for now, it was enough.Fin.
- 1
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