Team plane? Not a problem.
Any hotel on the road? I’m down for the count in seconds.
My own bed on a Saturday morning?
There is literally no place I’d rather be.
That’s why it pisses me off that my brain has a motherfucking bee in it right now. It’s flapping its wings, whispering dangerous thoughts.
Check your phone.
Maybe he sent you a breakup text.
Don’t check your phone.
He probably took off for New York without saying goodbye.
I figured, stupidly, that I could sleep through Declan’s morning outing to see his father. Like it was just a dream. I’d wake up and he’d be back kissing me.
But that’s not what happens. I can’t fall asleep again. Still, I’m glad he went. This is a test.
It’s not a test for Declan though.
It’s for me.
Can I trust him to return? Can I trust he won’t break my heart again?
I want to pass the trust test so badly.
Staying busy will help.
I get out of bed, brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and pull on some hot briefs—because positive thinking—and a pair of gym shorts—because I’m meeting Crosby and Holden for a workout later. I pad downstairs to the kitchen and start some coffee. When it brews, I pour the mug, go to my couch, grab my tablet, and catch up on sports news. The Dragons still don’t have a new manager. Our cross-town rival team has been cleaning house lately, and the last piece of the puzzle is a new skipper. Holden’s been antsy, hoping for one.
When I check the clock, it’s been forty-five minutes since Declan took off, and my heart grows a little more restless every second.
But I talk back to it.
Trust him.
I repeat that, as needed, until I hear the most wonderful sound—my garage door opening. A few seconds later, it closes, then I enjoy the clicking of the door that leads into my house, the footsteps pounding up the stairs.
“They were out of sesame. I got you an everything bagel,” Declan calls out.
All the butterflies in the city land in my chest. “Perfect.”
I rise, meeting him in the kitchen. After I toast the bagel, I spread peanut butter on it, and then take a couple bites.
He arches a brow. “You like peanut butter on everything bagels?”
“I like peanut butter on everything.”
Declan closes the distance, presses his body against mine. “Would you like peanut butter on my cock?”
“Is that a trick question? Two great things that taste great together? Yeah, I would fucking love that.”
I set down the bagel. I’m not into food play, but I’m into him. I’m into the fact that he’s here.
He runs his thumb along my cheek, across my whiskers. “And I like your morning stubble too, Grant.” He kisses my jaw, enjoying my half-a-day beard. “Mmm. You just got out of the shower.”
“I did,” I say.
“Love your freshly showered smell,” Declan whispers, and my skin sizzles, then heats even more when he crushes my lips with his.
When we break the kiss, I ask, “How did it go?”
“It was good. We just talked. He didn’t ask for anything. And I didn’t offer him a ride when we were done.”
I arch a brow. “Is that a big step for you?”
“I think so. He was angling for one, but I didn’t want to let him that far into my life—or yours. It’s my life. And ours. I want to live it on our terms.”
I grab his hips, splaying my hands wide on them. “You’re so sexy when you’re all therapied and shit,” I tell him.
Declan cracks up and hauls me in for another hot kiss. After a few minutes of making out just because we want to, I glance at the clock. “When do you have to leave?”
“Around twelve-thirty. Maybe twelve forty-five. Flight’s at three.”
“I’m meeting the guys at one to go to the gym.”
“Perfect. We have plenty of time for all sorts of good stuff. Like this.” Declan sinks to his knees. Pushes down my shorts. Gives an appreciative smile when he’s eye-to-cock with my tight boxer briefs. I love how my man runs a hand over the outline of my dick then jams his face against my hard-on, inhaling my scent, and rubbing his cheek and mouth along the ridge. “Tell me you’re not wearing these to the gym.”
I roll my eyes even as I grab his head, jerking his face up close and personal against my cock. “They’re for you, obviously. I have tons of Rafe Rodman briefs to wear for you. Especially now that I know you’re a junkie.”
“Mmm. Junkie for your junk. They make your dick look so good.”
“Bet you’d look good in Rafe Rodmans too,” I say.
“It’s almost a shame to take them off,” he says, taking his time sliding them down my legs. “But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Because I didn’t only get you an everything bagel.”