Page 50 of Puck Tease
"Door's opening, Tom."
He turned, his back a solid wall of muscle, and walked toward the apartment entrance. I scrambled into the kitchen, the cold linoleum biting at the soles of my feet. The apartment’s open-concept design offered no sanctuary; the kitchen island, a smooth expanse of granite, was the only perceived barrier between the culinary space and the living room. It offered zero actual protection.
I fumbled with the faucet, twisting the cold tap. The rush of water, loud and sudden, drowned out the click of the lock turning, but Tyler's booming voice cut through the white noise with startling clarity.
"Cap! Brought the beer. And I swear to god, if you beat me with that bullshit corner kick glitch again, I'm putting you through a wall."
"Get better defense," Jax drawled, his voice pitched to carry.
I heard the heavythudof the door closing, followed by the distinctiveclump-clumpof heavy boots entering the hallway, moving across the entryway rug.
"Where's the roommate?" Tyler asked, his voice closer now, laced with a mild curiosity. "Usually he's sitting here with a book looking like he wants to die."
"He's around," Jax said, his tone flat. "Busy."
The heavy footsteps moved, closer, then stopped. I could feel their presence, a shift in the air pressure in the open space.
I stood frozen at the sink, a wet sponge clutched so tightly in my hand my knuckles turned white. My back faced them, my gaze fixed on the hazy reflection of the apartment complex beyond the window above the faucet. My body trembled, a fine, uncontrollable vibration. I was naked. Completely, utterly stripped bare.
Tyler stopped walking.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute, so profound it hummed, pressing against my eardrums.
"Holy shit," Tyler breathed, the words thick, expelled on a shuddering exhale.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a knot forming in my stomach. My ears burned with a fierce heat. I could feel his gaze, a physical weight that started at my heels, crawled up my calves, lingered on the curve of my ass, and traced a scorching path up my spine to the nape of my neck.
"Cap," Tyler whispered, his voice a strangled rasp. "Is he..."
"Doing the dishes," Jax finished calmly, his voice unwavering. "Sit down. Grab a controller."
"He's naked, man. I can see his…everything." Tyler's voice was barely a sound.
"Yeah. He likes the breeze."
I heard the distinct rustle of leather as Jax settled back onto the couch. A softbeepsignaled the console powering on.
"Tyler," Jax said, his voice dropping, a low, guttural warning threaded through it. "Eyes on the screen. Or eyes on him. I don't care. Just sit the fuck down."
The leather of the sofa creaked as Tyler finally sat.
"This is... wild," Tyler muttered, his voice still thick with disbelief. I heard the sharpcrack-hissof a beer can opening. "Does he do this often?"
"Only when he needs to learn his place," Jax said, his tone devoid of humor. "Turn on the TV."
Electronic cheering erupted, followed by the overly enthusiastic voice of a sports announcer, filling the oppressive silence with simulated stadium noise.
I forced my hands to move, picking up a plate. My movements were stiff, robotic, each clink of ceramic against porcelain echoing too loudly. I was terrified to move, terrified to draw attention, and yet acutely aware that my very existence, every subtle shift of my weight, was a spectacle.
"So," Tyler said, his voice disjointed, pulling himself back to the conversation with visible effort. "Coach wants to change the lines for the Minnesota series. Thinking about moving Mills up to first."
"Mills is too slow," Jax said, a click of a button following his words. "Pass."
"He's got hands, though."
"He's got stone hands."
They talked hockey, the familiar jargon of strategies and power plays and ice time filling the air, a surreal counterpoint to my nakedness. I stood ten feet away, scrubbing a frying pan, my balls swinging with each arc of my arm.
