And he let me. Then we were kissing again. Graham’s fingers slid into my hair, and he chuffed out a satisfied sigh between kisses. It was almost more intense than the fucking. We’d taken the edge off our desire. So this wasn’t a frantic let’s-get-naked-before-I-come-to-my-senses moment. Every slide of his lips against mine was loving and deliberate. We made out like two people who had all the time in the world, and every moment of it was delicious.
A little later, I set my phone to wake me up at five in the morning. Then, for the first time in my life, I fell asleep in Graham’s arms.
—
February
—
First Touch
: an action which stops the puck so that it may be passed to a teammate.
—
Graham
During the weeks that followed, I could not believe my own luck.
Pinch me,
I thought to myself as I collapsed into yet another sweaty heap, tangled up with Rikker. My body was heavy with the delicious exhaustion that comes from intense sexual gratification. I rested my head on his thigh to catch my breath.
But Rikker wriggled out from under me, turned himself the right way around, and dropped his head onto my pillow. He slid one of his muscular thighs between mine, hiked his body closer, and kissed me.
It was a lazy, satisfied kiss. Just one of hundreds I’d received since we’d become lovers again. Life in the bedroom was very, very good.
Of course, in order to accommodate my paranoia, we followed a complicated set of rules at all other times. Under no circumstances would Rikker and I leave Capri’s together, for example.
Tonight, I’d left after my third beer, drifting out without saying goodbye to anyone. (My interest in drinking had plummeted now that my interest in sex had done the opposite.) When I’d made it into the Beaumont courtyard, I opened up a messaging app that I used only to communicate with Rikker.
Just got home
, I sent him.
Climbing the stairs, my anticipation began to build. Rikker probably wouldn’t answer my text. And some nights — if he was super tired — he didn’t show up.
Tonight, as always, I’d really hoped he would.
After unlocking my room, I always flipped the latch to keep it open. I brushed my teeth in a hurry, and then climbed into bed in a T-shirt and boxers. Then I pulled a copy of
Sports Illustrated
off the bedside table. But I didn’t have much patience for reading. My mind was on Rikker, and I hoped like hell that he was on his way up my stairs. Just thinking about him, I usually had to slide my hand down into my boxers and grip myself.
Tonight, when I’d heard footsteps on the stairs, I started to stroke. And then my door opened, with Rikker filling it. I watched him click the lock back into position and close the door. Then he turned to me. And when he saw what I was doing, his eyes flared. “Hands off that,” he rasped. “That’s mine.”
I’d complied, and then sunk back against the pillows. Rikker dropped his jacket onto my chair. Then he hauled his shirt over his head.
The sight of his rippling chest made my mouth start to water. I never bothered to watch porn anymore, because I had my heart’s desire any time I wanted. Right in my own bed.
“Take your clothes off,” he said. Just the rough sound of his voice was enough to get me fired up. I didn’t do it right away, because I was busy watching him unbuckle his belt. The jeans fell away from his lean hips, and I could see a prominent bulge in his briefs. “Clothes off. Now,” he repeated.
This time, I’d listened, shedding my T-shirt and my boxers in record time. I was naked against the sheets, with his muscular body stalking toward me. He’d worn a determined look in his eye.
Sexiest. Thing. Ever.
He put a knee on the bed, and I could have watched his shoulder muscles pop all night as he crawled over me. Those big brown eyes appeared only inches above me, and my whole body tingled, anticipating him. When I was sure I couldn’t wait any longer, he dropped his sinful mouth over mine. And we were
gone
. All rational thought fled, as we nipped and licked and manhandled one another.
There was nothing like it. And the fact that I’d spent years trying to talk myself out of this was frankly astonishing.
Afterwards, we lay entwined, his arms around me. It took a minute or five until we were both breathing normally again. But then Rikker said, “Did you see that slapshot that Trevi bounced off Orson’s glove at practice?”
I laughed. “He was so pissed.”
“That’s because Orson owes Trevi a
case
of Red Stripe now, because they went double-or-nothing from last week’s bet.”
I put my head on Rikker’s chest, where I could hear the sound of his voice rumbling beneath my ear. The truth was that this part of the night mattered as much to me as the sex. Rikker and I always lay here talking about everything and nothing. Sports. School. Whatever.
Before, I was so used to being lonely that I’d barely noticed. My teammates were always around. But Rikker was the only person alive who knew my secrets. In bed with him, I talked more freely than I ever did with anyone else. I joked more. I felt lighter.
I was in love with Rikker, and had been forever. I didn’t tell him, though. I mean, this is
me
we’re talking about here. The usual coward. Rikker would have liked to hear it, I’m sure. And I would have liked to hear it back. But me being me, that wasn’t going to happen.
He loved me too, I guess. He’d have to, right? Why else would he stay with my cowardly ass, and sneak around like a stalker every time he needed to use the john? In the locker room he ignored me, as I needed him to. And — this was my worst sin — when someone made a fag joke, I said nothing at all. That’s how I repaid Rikker’s nighttime affection during the daylight hours. With my silence.
But at night, we held each other. We whispered and laughed, and we kissed until our lips were bruised. We worked our way through a serious stash of condoms, and then bought more. In the mornings, he stole out of my room before daybreak. That kind of sucked, because I would have liked to wake up next to him.
I just didn’t want it badly enough to ask him to stay.
Meanwhile, the team continued to kick ass. For the first time in fifty years, Harkness was ranked number two in the country. With six games left in our regular season, there was a good chance we’d go far during the postseason.
The first weekend of February, we took a road trip to Cambridge, where we defeated Harvard five to nothing in front of a giant crowd. That felt damned good. When we got back on the bus after a late pizza dinner, Bella sat down beside me. “Hey, Graham. How are you doing?”
It took me a second to reply, because I was texting Rikker, who was somewhere in the front of the bus.
Good game
, I’d teased him.
Next time you might even score
. Because Rikker had a tricky night. All his best shots on goal had been thwarted.
Nice
, came his reply.
Tho there are other ways 2 score
.
We used a separate messaging app to talk to each other, in case anyone (like Bella) ever looked too closely at my phone. I killed the app, stuffed the phone in my pocket and turned to her. “Sorry, what was the question?”
She studied me for a moment. “I just asked how you were.”
“Good.”
She smirked. “I can see that. A little distracted, maybe?”
I just shrugged.
“Who is she?”
Ah
. I gave Bella an innocent smile. “What do you mean?”
There was a silence while she watched me for another long moment. “You aren’t drinking so much these days. And you always have your phone in your face. Is it anyone I know?”
Again, I just shrugged, which was probably going to infuriate her. But there was no helping it.
“Spill, Graham.”
“Nothing to spill, Bells.”
She gave me an eye roll. But I wasn’t going to feel guilty about this. She hadn’t liked it when I was drinking too much. So she should just be happy that I’d stopped, right? It was only fair.
“I need to ask,” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “Is it okay if I put Rikker with you again tonight?”
When she’d done that back in the fall, I’d panicked. This time, it took all my effort to fight off a grin. “Sure. No problem,” I told her.
“Thanks. You’re a big help.”
If that’s what you want to call it
. Bella reached into her pocket and handed me a hotel key card. “Room four-twelve,” she said.
“Got it. Thanks.” I stuffed the card in my pocket, and then changed the subject. “What time is breakfast tomorrow?”
“Seven-thirty, unfortunately. Probably half the team will skip it. The bus leaves at eight-thirty. If you don’t want to bother with breakfast, the hotel website says there’s free coffee in the lobby.”
“Good tip. Thanks.”
I took my time getting off the bus. There was really no reason to feel nervous, but my heart rate was elevated just knowing who would be waiting for me in that hotel room. There were days when my secret felt like a weight around my neck. But tonight it just felt
hot
. In half an hour, while my teammates were watching Sports Night or maybe a little porn on their phones, I’d be getting some.
The elevator was full of hockey players, but I was the only one who got off on the fourth floor. “Night, Graham,” Big-D called.
“Later,” I said without a glance over my shoulder. The hallway was empty, which probably meant that Rikker was already in the room. I found number 412 and tapped my card on the scanner. Nothing. I did it again, but the light stayed red.
But that was only a minor setback, right? I knocked on the door. Then I did it again. I expected to hear Rikker moving to let me in, but there was only silence.
Shit.
Then I heard the elevator doors open again, and I waited to see if anyone I knew would appear. After a couple of beats of my heart, Rikker strode into view, a smile on his face.
“Oh, it’s you again,” I complained. But my smile surely gave me away.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling a key card out of his pocket. “Looks like you’re stuck with the gay guy.” He put his hand on my ass right there in the hallway, and I felt my blood stir. “No key?” he asked, waving his card in front of the sensor.
“Didn’t work. I must have demagnetized it already.” I shoved the door open the moment the light flashed green. And Rikker pushed me inside, his hand on my ass.
He threw his duffel onto the floor, and then pressed me chest-first to the wall beside the bathroom door. He kissed the sensitive skin just below my ear. “I made Bella check with you about sharing a room. Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”
I flexed my hips back, pressing my ass into his crotch. “On what planet do I not want to share a room with you?”
He pushed against me. “I don’t know. The planet where you’re thinking up ten different ways that we could get caught.” Rikker reached around my body to slide his hand down the fly of my jeans. “Mmm,” he said, tracing the bulge he found there. “Maybe you are happy to see me.”
“You think?” Putting my forehead on the wall, I angled my crotch into his hand. I was raring to go already. Rikker was the only one who had ever had this effect on me. When he put his hands on my body, I just lit up. And whenever he was a little bit pushy, I was on fire.
“I made a little pit stop in the hotel shop, for supplies. And before you ask, nobody saw me.” His chest pressed into my back, and both his arms came around me. He went for my belt, and then my zipper. Just the sound of the metal teeth giving way made me breathe faster. And then he wrapped his hand around my dick, and I tipped my head back against his shoulder, telling him without words how much I appreciated it.
“I know,” he whispered, as if I’d spoken. “And I like you up against this wall. But I’m looking at a walk-in shower stall in there. And I like that even better.” He took a half step backward. “How fast can you get naked for me?”
The answer? Pretty damned fast.
We left our clothes in a heap right there on the floor. And it was probably only a minute later when Rikker had the warm water beating down onto his bare chest. I walked into the shower stall and let the glass door close behind me. A second later, a wet, slippery Rikker had me by the hips. “Hands on the wall,” he ordered. And I complied.
Our life outside the bedroom was organized completely by my rules. No eye contact in the locker room. No texting my ordinary number. But at night, Rikker was the one in charge. He pushed my ass against the tile wall, and then dropped to his knees. Before I could even fill my lungs with air, he took me in his mouth.
The water ran over his back in rivulets while he worked me over with his tongue…
Jesus
. A little more of that, and I would probably explode. “Oh, damn,” I gasped. It was so potent. I was so worked up already. He took me deep, and I moaned. “So good. So good,” I chanted. Whenever he touched me, I became a live wire. Before, when I had sex with women, I could go for hours. Sometimes I never finished at all. But just the
idea
of Rikker touching me always had me ready to shoot. “Damn, Rikker.” I pumped my hips involuntarily.