Changing Positions (Brooks Haven Bears 3)

Chapter 12 - Apple

Hans

In hockey, an apple means an assist. Give me an apple to get that biscuit right into the goal. In real life, an apple can mean so many things. Temptation. Love. Hope.

One thing I’m sure of: the situation I am in right now is not my idea of an assist. I’m going to kill Lance.

At this very moment, I’m so close to the proverbial dangling apple. Yeah, they say the fruit in the Garden of Eden wasn’t an apple. But what about Snow White? An apple doesn’t sound so good now, never mind the fact that nobody should know I’ve been looking for signs from the bible and fairy tales.

Maybe I’m the apple. I’m only wearing boxers shorts and my left wrist is handcuffed to the bed. I guess the other hand remains free to keep things consensual. I can still swat off whoever comes into this room. Hell, I may not even be above kicking the girl who comes in.

Nope.

Lance knows I’ll never do that unless my life is in danger. Is my life in danger? f**k if I know. What if this isn’t even an elaborate seduction plan, but more of an abduction one? I hope my dad would be ready to take in mysterious calls. He often ignores anonymous calls that I wonder about my deliverance. I can already imagine the news headlines.

“Penchant for Weird s*x Causes Hockey Captain’s Death”

“Wanted: Femme Fatale or a Group of Pranksters?”

Shit.

As for my mom, she’s only in her late forties, but she’s a little hard of hearing and won’t have the patience to keep on saying, “Hello? Hello?” and will drop the call almost immediately, but she hears enough of the gossip, and to be fair to her, she’s ready to listen to Mrs. Park, anytime. Maybe it’s the fact she can barely hear via her phone that makes her and Emily’s mom the best of friends.

I shake my head in frustration.

This isn’t funny at all.

Emily is supposed to tell me something tonight, something important, and I’m not even there. Knowing my luck, she’s probably already talking to Enzo right now.

Sultry music plays from behind the curtain a few feet away from the foot of the bed. I groan. Don’t tell me someone’s going to dance and sway into the room toward me soon. Talk about pathetic. I can’t even get a girl my own way that my cousin has to find ways for me to lose my virginity. I’m not going to be surprised if there’s a hidden camera somewhere to record my humiliation for all eternity. I almost wished I had just taken Stacey home. Almost. Not quite. Stacey’s a pretty girl, but there’s something about her that makes me cringe. The baby voice? Maybe. Maybe I just like Emily’s voice way too much. It’s husky, without even trying. I think I’m getting hard just thinking about it, and the girl who’s behind the curtain may come out soon and think that I’m ready for her.

Think shitty thoughts. Think of Lance. Ugh.

But somehow, the setup doesn’t sound like something that Lance would do.

If it were him, I would imagine he would be somewhere near, heckling the hell out of me and probably hooting at and eye-f*****g the girl before he finally leaves to hide somewhere close. Maybe it’s still too early and I’ll still see the fucker inside this room.

Then, memories tickle my brain, and I wonder if I’m in a lot more trouble than I think I am in.

**

An indeterminate number of minutes or hours earlier…

Some guy who seems stuck in the 90s with his frosted tips and extra baggy jersey comes over to me. He even has a large fake gold necklace around his neck. But wait. Up close, it doesn’t look fake. I’m probably going to hell for underestimating this guy, but he seems more cocky than actually loaded. Something tells me that if he’s loaded, it’s not through honest means. I get this feeling about people sometimes. Okay, most of the times.

“Lance has a surprise for you,” the guy says, looking up at me. He’s only a little over average height. I’m not the tallest in the hockey team, relying more on my speed and technique, but this guy has to tilt his head a little to look at me. Somehow, though, I think it doesn’t matter. This guy is rougher around the edges and gives off dangerous vibes.

“I don’t want it,” I reply drily. “Tell him that I’m not participating in any dumb s**t tonight.”

“Too bad then,” he coos. “Maybe you’re thinking of another girl. Long brown hair. Long legs. Like a sister to you.”

I don’t like what he’s insinuating. He’s right, though. Of course, it’s Emily I’m thinking about, especially after I received her texts, confirming that she’d be here tonight.

EMS: I’ll be there.

ME: I’m the devil tonight.

It sounds dramatic, but I really am just wearing black and a devil’s mask. I can’t pull off elaborate, but let her think that I’m going the extra mile. Okay, her response is here and she’s not convinced, either.

EMS: Likely story. You’ll more likely to dress as Captain America. Even worse, you may just come in as a hockey player.

God, she knows me well and I like it.

Me: Nah. What will you wearing? Just in case you plan to ignore the devils.

EMS: For you to find out.

I think of her almond-shaped brown eyes, distinctive and sharp. I’ll find her, I think confidently, but she just may have some surprises in store for me. My stomach tightens in anticipation, and I just want to get away from the dude in front of me.

“I need to go,” I say, not giving him the benefit of an answer.

“Wait, man, try this new stuff I got for you and your cousin.” He pushes a small red cup with some amber-colored liquid. Beer? I guess I can take a sip.

“I don’t drink.”

“Give it a go, man. It’s good.”

I sniff the liquid and take a sip. A small one. Damn, but why does that taste so good? I don’t think this guy will murder me in the middle of a bar.

“You see? Well, Lance said you don’t drink. I give him, you know, some special stuff but I suggested just simple wine with actual fruits for you. It’s just to make you relax. I hear you have a lot of responsibility. Hockey captain. New graduate,” he prattles.

Special stuff? I narrow my eyes at the dude whose name I don’t even know. Frosty Tips may well be a drug dealer. I remember Lance’s and Jason’s hysterical behavior from the night Emily came to my apartment. Then again, those two idiots can go off anytime even without any drugs involved.

“Why I’m not seeing him? Where is he?”

“Well, he wants you to meet up with the girl. I’m the one who’s supposed to lead you to her, but I guess you’re not interested, man.”

“Nope. Not interested.”

“I told him I don’t know why you should get a blind date when a lot of these girls here will fall all over you if you let them.”

I look around the dance floor. Lance rented the whole club for the night, and sure, some girls are watching me. One’s openly licking her lips, making me thoughtlessly drink the rest of the plastic cup’s contents.

“Blind date? Can you still call it that?” I ask, grimacing in distaste. The wine tastes great, but the idea of hooking up with someone I don’t even know sounds more like a Lance move.

“Yeah,” Frosty Tips shrugs. “I got her for you.”

“What the f**k do you mean you got her for me? It almost sounds like you just hauled her here. Does she even know me? Like me? What’s your name, even?”

“Too many questions, Hans. You said you’re not even interested. Oh, and the name is Spencer. You’ll love my services. You can ask your cousin for my number.”

I can’t for the life of me remember the rest of the interaction.

**

“Damn it. I’m Snow White,” I splutter. “I’m the i***t who took the fruity drink from the Frost Tips witch. Warlock. Bastard, whatever.”

I’m talking to myself, I know, but the situation warrants it. I can’t believe that I, Hans Frederik Blom, summa c*m laude and hockey captain, am an i***t. The evidence is in the handcuffed wrist and the fact that I was so out of it someone was able to take off my dark-washed jeans and black shirt without me waking up.

The sexy music increases in volume, and my heart palpitates. No. A long leg eases out through the bead curtain. Then, another. I was right. The girl’s going to dance for me. She’s only wearing a short skirt, a few inches above her knees and, thankfully, still covering her upper thighs. Her top, however, is gone. She’s only wearing a black silk and lace bra with red trim. Her assets are spilling over. I close my eyes, and curse myself for being human and watching a few seconds too long.

I don’t know this girl. She’s wearing some kind of veil, which covers most of her face and hair, which I assume is tied in a bun somewhere under all the black silk.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say hoarsely.

She doesn’t listen, straddling me and moving the apex of her thighs on my groin. No. I should have swatted her, right? How do you do that to a woman without hurting her?

“Please get off me,” I whisper, as I feel myself grow harder. My only s****l experience is with my fist, and I usually don’t last long. I’m a quick gratification kind of guy. I think.

The girl doesn’t listen. With my right arm, I use her torso as my leverage to raise my own upper body. She whimpers. The movement presses her heat closer to mine, and I feel like the most horrible asshole in the world.

Emily’s waiting for me somewhere in the bar. Where am I, though?

I try to pull her off me, but she uses her thighs to grip my hips. As I said before, I’m not above getting out of her kicking and screaming but I didn’t know that it can actually be harder if you have a stubborn female on top of you and your left wrist is tied up. I don’t want to injure any part of my body. I have games to play, scouts to impress.

“I’m going to shout rape, whoever you are. Just because I’m a guy you can’t just do that and get away with it,” I warn.

She relents, her thighs no longer weapons of destruction. I think she’s about to get up, but she hasn’t yet. I’m still hard. f**k this. Then, I see something peeking from under her short skirt.

“What the f**k is this?” I ask mostly to myself, as I slid the skirt up and see a ring of tattoo around her thigh.

It can’t be.

I pull the skirt up to her waist and see the pair of thigh ring tattoos. Using all my strength, I raise myself further and pull the veil of her face. I didn’t mean to unveil the girl, knowing that the cloth is meant to keep her identity safe. I don’t know what Lance has got us into , but I don’t like it.

However, the girl behind the veil has no business hiding her identity from me.

“What the f**k are you doing here, Emily Park?”

“I want to ask you the same question, Mr. All-Tied-Up-and-Ready-to-Go.”

Then, after teasing me with one thrust of her hip, she gets up and smooths her skirt down and looks like she’s ready to go.

“Uncuff me, please,” I beg.

“I’m still thinking about why I should do that,” she says, looking pissed. “And oh, I actually don’t know where the key is.”