The Ice Next Door

"There's something inside you. It's hard to explain..."

The chorus of Kavinsky's "Nightcall" wakes me up at five AM...just in time to watch my neighbor leave his house for his daily morning run.

I always jump up like the house is on fire every morning that I hear the song, my heart pounding a mile a minute like I'm in distress or on the verge of death. But I suppose it's warranted—because that's exactly how I feel when I know I'll be seeing Sebastian Tate.

I jump to action quickly, rushing up to the attic and over to the window to peek through the blinds at the bottom so I can watch as he turns his back to lock his front door before he sets off. It’s only a brief glimpse before I’m racing back through the house into to my bedroom to catch him through my window.

It's foggy and rainy today, and the murky weather does its best to cloak him, but I've been doing this long enough to know my way around the darkness. Standing up, I'm able to catch an unmasked view of him as he crosses the street and pulls the hood of his black sweater up over his beautiful caramel head.

My teeth find their way into my lip as my gaze follows him, reveling in his tall structured figure as he sets off into the woods and disappears within the trees.

Sebastian Owen Tate is the star Center and captain of the hockey team, and has been my neighbor for four years. He's an Adonis; a walking, talking, breathing sex bomb with hazel eyes, a beautiful shaggy caramel head of hair, and sharp features seemingly carved by all the Greek gods. I swear his eyes hold little golden flames inside them that burn my skin whenever he looks at me. The few times that he has, anyway.

One look at him was all it took to ensnare me in an all-consuming obsession. An obsession, mind you, that led to many sweaty nights, cold showers, and dreams that sent heat rushing between my legs—along with my pillow. It pushed me to hide between seats in the the bleachers at shcool to watch him during hockey practice. Forced me to set an alarm so that I could be awake just to catch a glimpse of him leave his house. Drove me to switch Math classes so that I could stare at him from across the room.

Yeah. I have it bad.

Real bad.

Embarrassingly bad as my best friend Maeve likes to call it.

But I can't help it. I have no control. I've tried to fight it, tried to resist it—the insane way my body both softens and hardens for him. But I've only ever ended up suffering through agonizing impulses.

I've touched myself more times than I can count after witnessing his many make-out sessions with the bimbos around here. Moaned his name so loud with a hand in my underwear that my throat was sore the next day. Became so desperate watching him fuck and get sucked off against the lockers in the back hall that my hips gyrated on their own.

Maybe I need a baptism to exorcize the demon that is Sebastian Tate—except Holy Water won't be enough to cleanse my soul or cast him out. I need to be bathed in his cum, doused and purified in his warm, salty seed.

You see, I may be a virgin, but I'm no prude. I've had dicks in my hand, in my mouth, and rubbed against me. I've tasted and been tasted. I've dry-humped holes into my pants and the pants of random guys before. I've done it all except had a cock enter my pussy.

And that's something I'm saving for Sebastian. I've held onto my virginity just for him—in the far-fetched hope he'd finally open his gorgeous eyes and see me standing in front of him, begging him to take me. Make me his. Fuck me so hard until the stars come crashing down and fireworks explode behind my eyes.

I know it’s pathetic and borderline delusional to hold out for someone who probably doesn’t even know my name, but my body refuses to listen to rationality when it comes to Sebastian, and I shiver at the thought of losing my v-card to him as I turn away from the window and get ready for school.

Sebastian doesn't usually return home after his runs on school days. He showers and changes clothes at the gym and goes about his day from there, so it's pointless to wait around for him.

I'll see him soon anyway. We have science together today.

And Social Studies and English on opposite days.

But Science first.

The bell rings for the start of the third period which means science class–my least favorite subject–as I slink down at my desk, feeling the heavy stare of Hadley Berry from the row beside me. The girl isn't subtle when she oggles me; she does nothing to hide the way her teeth capture her lip when I lean down to pull a book from my bag. I've seen her around, nearly everywhere I go, watching my hockey practices, posting outside the gym hoping to catch a glimpse, even peering out her window each morning that I take off for my morning runs waiting around to watch me disappear into the woods. She's not shy about her infatuation, either. Everyone knows about her little crush on me. It doesn’t sway her one bit. And I have to admit…it’s impressive. That kind of determination despite the consequences and small talk from those around. It borders on arousing.

The poor thing has got it bad for me. But she's not the only one. I’m the playboy of the school. I know it. Everyone knows it.

What? I didn’t brand myself with the name. The girls did. I just live up to it.

“Another perfect score, Miss Berry. Very well done." Miss Miller places Hadley's test on her desk, a glaring A+ in bold sharpie evident at the top.

Hadley gushes over her grade and takes the compliments of students as they compare papers, and I watch as she brushes some light red hair behind her ear, revealing the crescent of piercings she has. I count a total of five there, including the new piercing at the top of her ear she had done recently, sparkling with a rose.

An irritated sigh pushes past my lips when Miss Miller makes it to my desk and puts my test face down on top of it. "You'll have to do better than this Mr. Tate or else the hockey team will lose their star player."

Preparing for the worst, I carefully flip the test over and spot the 45 glaring at me in red ink.

Fuck. Why do I have to know all the parts of the human body anyway? That useless information has no bearings on what I want to do with my future—to my Doctor parents dismay.

God, I fucking hate science.

Beside me, Hadley is still proudly showing off her grade to another student, beaming ear to ear with a smile that makes her eyes shimmer in the beam of sunlight that cuts through the window. A twist of resentment coils through me. Why can't I be as smart as her? Why can't I do anything but shoot a puck into a goal? It's not for a lack of studying. I do study. I study a lot. But nothing lands. I don't know why.

"You should tutor me, Hadley." One of her friends teases, presenting a failing grade of her own. "I can offer endless pizza in return for your time." She laughs.

Hadley laughs too, a sound that's deep and bubbly, and pours out of her, "Change the pizza to tacos and we have a deal." She jokes back.

Just then Miss Miller speaks from the front of the room and turns to the chalkboard to write something that pulls me away from eavesdropping on people offering anything to Hadley for just a smidgen of her knowledge like she’s some long lost queen... and it makes my heart bottom out of my ass.

LABS BEGIN ON TUESDAY.

As soon as the board is read, I watch as the student behind Hadley leans toward her desk to whisper, "Do you want to pair up?" He asks, giving her a little half smile like it'll sweeten the pot.

She smiles but shakes her head politely, and I listen in when she shuts him down. "Thank you for the offer, but I was thinking about pairing up with Sam."

Sam is one of Hadley's best friends and you don't usually find one without the other—not that I've taken much notice or anything. He's out sick today. He's been out the whole week, come to think of it.

I stifle a laugh as the shunned student falls back into his desk, obviously disappointed. He got off lucky. I’ve heard Hadley fillet guys with just her words before. Slice them up and leave them socially bleeding out and scrambling to pick up their smashed pride from the floor as she saunters away with her bestie brigade. She’s even told a few of the guys on the team off a few times.

A second later, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Its Devin, one of my best friends and the best goalie I've ever seen.

DEVIN: How'd it go, superstar?

ME: Not good. I failed. Again.

DEVIN: The coach won't like that. He already warned you about your grades, Sebastian. He will kick you off the team if you don't pass, man. What will we do then? We need you.

I sigh. Yeah, I know. I've been called into the coach's office a few times for my failing tests, heard all the lectures about setting an example as the captain of the team, sat through endless warnings to change my act or be replaced. Blah, blah, blah. He's not going to tolerate my shit much longer.

And if I get benched, then I can’t play games. And if I can't play any games, then I won't get to impress the coaches at Boston University. And if I don't impress the coaches there, then I'll never be a BU Terrier. And then I can kiss the NHL good-fucking-bye all together because there is no way in hell my parents will pay my tuition for college—unless that school is a medical school.

And that's not happening.

I'm making it to the NHL— no matter what.

But there's fuck all I can do about the failed test sitting on my desk now. I'll just have to sweet talk my way out of another suspension, remind our coach that I'm the fastest skater on the team and a great play maker. And I've got eyes on me from numerous universities around here. So it can't be that hard, right? I've already done it before. I can do it again. I can bullshit my way out of another consequence.

I just have to find a way to make sure that the "F" glaring on my desk is the last one I get or I'm fucked.

And not in the good way.

But how?

Maybe I can get some nerd to tutor me? Get a desperate puck bunny to write me up a cheat-sheet or some shit.

I risk a glance beside me where Hadley is still gushing over her aced exam, her smile wide and bright as she basks in the praise around her.

And a thought pops into my head as her expressive green eyes slide to mine.

I could always just tuck my tail between my legs and ask her for help. Ask my stalker to be my lab partner before her bestie returns to snatch her up— and shatter my dreams of playing professional Ice hockey in the future.

Ha. Ha. As if.

I'm not that desperate.

Yet.

She'd agree to it, though. I know she would. She'd probably piss in her goddamn pants if I set my golden eyes on her right now and talked to her after saying nothing for so long, trip over herself and fall out of the desk just to say "yes" to me. To say, "Oh, god, yes." My focus slips down to her mouth at the thought, and I swear I can hear her moan of exhilaration echo inside my head.

"Yes, Sebastian. Yes!"

"God, yes!"

"I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Anything."

I wonder what it would sound like in reality. How those green eyes would look flooded with desperation as she gazed up at me from the floor.

I sit up straighter in my chair, my attention slowly working down her face to the impressive rack on her chest peeking out of her top. Damn. She's got a nice set of tits. Really nice, and big, too. Perky. Fuck. How did I miss that? How is this the first time that I'm noticing them? No, I'm not just noticing them, I'm fucking staring.

Almost drooling.

I snap my head forward again. No. There's another way out of this. I just have to find it.