She didn’t go anywhere. She crossed her arms and gave me a scrutinizing once-over. “So, is it true? Do you have a girlfriend?”
Damn, she was relentless. I scratched the back of my neck and narrowed my eyes. “I’m seeing someone. And I’m not gonna fuck it up by playing any games. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I’ll think of another way,” she sighed heavily and headed for her car, waving before she got behind the wheel.
I waited for her to drive off, then glanced around the almost empty lot. I just told a girl I was seeing a guy. Wow.
Okay. So, I wasn’t specific. But it still felt like a big deal. And it was true. I was secretly seeing someone I really liked. Someone I thought about every second I wasn’t with him. When I wasn’t on the ice, I was consumed by Sky. I jumped at every chance I had to be alone with him. And not just because the sex was off the charts.
The second the door closed behind Elliot, we’d hurry to my room, get naked, and get busy. We’d lose ourselves in a passionate tangle of tongues and come together with soft sighs and a steady rhythmic beat of our own. Sometimes we went at each other hard, clawing at skin as we fucked like madmen. Other times, we were gentle…almost sweet. And it was never the same.
For instance, in the past week, he sucked me off in the bathroom at BBC when I stopped by to see if he wanted to go to the gym. That was code for “I have thirty minutes till my scrimmage starts. Wanna blow me?” A couple of nights later, he came over after practice. Elliot was gone already, and we had the place to ourselves to do whatever the hell we wanted, so I fucked him over the kitchen island. Then we showered and played video games until he said he had to head back to Orange. He spent the night occasionally, but he usually got up before the sun to beat traffic and avoid any risk of bumping into Elliot after a sexy sleepover.
It worked for us for a month or so, but by mid-October, I wished we had more time together. And run-ins with a girl who wanted me to be her beard made me feel…trapped.
Sky chuckled when I told him about Kendra’s idea later that night. He draped his knee over mine and passed me the gallon of ice cream we shared while a documentary about the cosmos played in the background.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Nothing. I told her I was seeing someone.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Is that okay? I didn’t mention I’m with a guy who tries to bore me to tears with geek shows. I kept it vague.”
Sky grinned, then leaned in to kiss me before shifting his legs off mine and reaching for the remote. “You secretly love it.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t even think about pressing ‘Next episode.’ I’m doing head bobs over here. I’d rather watch Star Trek reruns.”
“Oh, I bet we can find one,” he said enthusiastically.
“Nope. My turn.” I hijacked the remote and changed the channel to a pro hockey game.
Sky didn’t argue. He leaned against the sofa cushion and propped his feet next to mine on the coffee table. He looked sexy as fuck in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white snug-fitted tee. If Elliot came home, the story was that we met at the gym and came back to chill so Sky wouldn’t hit traffic. We rarely had to use any of our “stories” because Elliot didn’t spend a lot of time at the apartment lately. But it was wise to be prepared.
He spooned up a helping of chocolate chunk, then passed the container to me. “Who’s playing?”
“The Coyotes and the Ducks.”
“Who’s better?”
“They’re pretty even. And they’re both kinda meh. But hey, the season just started, so you never know what’ll happen.”
“Would you play for the Coyotes if they recruited you?” he asked.
“Hell, yes. I’d go anywhere. Kinda funny ’cause when I was a kid my dream was set and solid. All I wanted was to play for the Red Wings. No other team compared. Didn’t matter if they had a better record or not. I bled for my Wings. I slept in my jersey, hugged a junior team hockey stick instead of a teddy bear, and had posters of my favorite players all over my room. If you’d told my six-year-old self he’d end up in Long Beach, California, watching teams from Arizona and fucking Anaheim play because he missed the Eastern Conferences games while he was at practice, he’d have cried himself to sleep.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Life has a weird way of rearranging your plans without any input from you.”
“You sound like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. And quit hogging the ice cream,” he griped playfully. “How old were you when you moved to California?”