Him (Him #1)(83)

My heart rate drops one notch, but I’m still afraid to be hopeful. Because it seems impossible to believe a high-profile NHL team would shrug off Wes’s confession. None of this computes.

“But… wouldn’t we avoid the places where your team likes to eat?” I ask slowly. “You know that means people will see us, right?”

“Yeah, but some day soon that’s not going to matter.”

“Really?” I want a guarantee. I want a notarized document.

I want a Valium. Or a blowjob. Or both.

“I’m having a really good day,” Wes whispers.

My blood pressure drops again. “I’m glad,” I whisper back.

“I love you,” he adds.

“I know.”

Wes laughs in my ear, and the happy sound of it is what convinces me we might be okay.





40





Jamie





On a Friday in mid-August I move in to our apartment. Though “moving in” requires air quotes, because we don’t own much of anything.

Earlier in the week Wes ordered a couch—a macho leather thing, if I’ve understood the description correctly. It seems his taste runs to “early man cave,” and I can’t say I mind. He also picked up three bar stools for the kitchen island, which means we can put off worrying about an actual table.

Last night, after round one of our I-missed-you-so-much sexual marathon, Wes made a show of going to the grocery store, but he only came back with chips, dip and beer, which means I need to go back again and buy actual food. I may not have mentioned to him yet that I’m a pretty good cook. Wes seems prepared to survive on take-out, and in Toronto that’s easily done. I’m going to have to acquire some pots and pans and blow his mind one of these days. That sounds like a whole lot of fun, actually.

Meanwhile, we blew each other’s minds (and other parts) in our new bedroom last night. Then we passed out and slept for nine hours in our brand new king-sized bed.

Now it’s Saturday, and there’s still plenty to do. This morning, after breakfast at a diner, I drag Wes around Toronto for a few more necessary items. By the time we finally get home, Wes is in a state of agitation. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to calm him down with a blowjob.

“That’s three hours of my life I’m never getting back,” he fusses as we walk in. His words echo, because our apartment is still awfully bare.

The reason for Wes’s bad mood is the fact that shopping took three hours, because we’re just a couple of jocks who don’t know one store from another. We went into four stores before we found one that didn’t look like the Queen of England was planning a visit. That’s where we picked out a rug and coffee table, which we bought. But the place didn’t stock coffee makers, so we had to keep shopping.

“Good coffee is non-negotiable,” I told him while he grumbled. But after I chose a dual drip/espresso machine with an integrated grinder, I started checking out the towels. That’s when Wes lost it a little bit, and I gave up and brought him home.

“Oh, the irony,” he moans, kicking off his shoes. “My boyfriend dragged me to a f*cking mall.”

“You’re right,” I say drolly. “That trip was entirely gratuitous. Who needs towels? We can just air dry.”

Grumpy Wes stomps into the bedroom and I follow him, because it’s one of two functional rooms in our place.

I set down the coffee maker and watch while he throws off his shirt and climbs onto our giant bed. “Would you please get over here?” he whines. “It’s an emergency.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so attractive,” I mutter as I ditch my shoes. “I had no idea that stepping into a store turned you into cryin’ Ryan.” I walk over to the bed where a shirtless, ripped man lies waiting for me, his expression burning up with lust.

“It doesn’t usually,” he mumbles. “But we have a situation.” He grabs my hand and tugs.

I climb onto his body, leaning down to tongue his nipple, and he moans. “What kind of situation?” I ask between licks.

He lets out a shaky breath. “I thought it would be fun to wear a plug out to breakfast today. That way you could f*ck me when we got home…”

My eyes snap up to his. “Seriously?”

He nods, his expression miserable. “But then you said, ‘Let’s just look at a couple of rugs.’ And that was, like, hours ago. Every time I walk across another store, this thing massages my prostate. If you don’t f*ck me in the next five minutes I’m going to explode.”

I’m speechless. But my dick has plenty to say. I’m already hard at the idea of Wes being prepped and ready for me. I drop my mouth onto his and he moans again. My tongue glides across his piercing and we’re off to the horny dog races.

We kiss as if there’s a meteor heading straight for the Toronto metropolitan area. Wes’s eager hands roam my ass while I suck on his tongue. His eagerness is like a drug, and I want hit after hit. I can feel how hard he is, even through all of our clothes. He wants me to f*ck him, and he’s all primed and ready?

“Mmm,” I moan into his mouth. Sexiest f*cking thing I ever heard.

That’s when the doorbell rings.

“Hold that thought,” I say, pushing up on one arm.