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“We can book a hotel. Have lots of sex in a hotel room. Then go out to a bar or a club or whatever you want. Go back to the hotel. Have more sex.”
I waggle my brows, and he laughs.
He leans forward too, and mimics my pose, leaning on his arms. There’s a spark in his eyes, something reckless and devious I know is in him somewhere, but that he keeps on a tight leash most days.
“I might be persuaded,” I say. “Probably can’t let you wander around alone. It’s a big city. Nice boys like you might get into trouble.”
My lips twitch. “You’ll protect my virtue?”
“I’m pretty sure we got rid of your virtue a while ago, so that’s a lost cause. But I’ll keep an eye on the rest of you.”
“Maybe keep your hands on me, too, while you’re at it,” I suggest, because I realize something. We’re just part of the masses here. Anonymous. We can do whatever we want, and there will be nobody to ask questions.
Lake’s gaze rakes over me, and he licks his lips. “I can do that.”
We pay the bill and head out. Find a hotel. The shower we take together turns into blowjobs in the massive glass shower stall, with water beating down on me from above us. I blink the water out of my eyes and watch Lake, on his knees in front of me, eyes shining, my cock in his mouth.
Later, much later, I’m lying on the bed and watching him get dressed for our night out. He sorts through the meager supply of clothes I haphazardly threw into the bag earlier. He discards his own shirts, picks out one of mine, and pulls it on.
It’s hot as fuck, but mostly I feel the kind of tenderness I’ve never felt for another person before in my whole life. It’s the terrifying kind of tenderness where you suddenly have to confront the reality that somehow you’ve placed your heart in someone else’s hand.
And you have no control over what that other person does with it.
It should be more scary than it actually is.
The truth is, he can have it.
I’ve already admitted it to myself. I want to try. Try to be with him. No lies or hiding behind ‘experimenting’ or ‘casual’ or ‘just some fun.’
I want real.
And yeah, real comes with a shitload of complications. I’m under no illusions that this is going to be easy. For one thing, I’m not out. And while I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t know if I want to be. I’ve barely managed to wrap my head around my own sexuality, so I don’t think I’m ready to make any announcements yet. And I don’t want to be singled out. I don’t want to be ‘the gay one.’ I don’t want to be reduced to one aspect of my life. I’m not ashamed—I really don’t think I am. I’ve mulled it over and looked at it from this side and that. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but the idea of some sort of public coming out… It makes my stomach twist. It’s my life. And I want to keep it mine. Yeah, I’m aware that if I actually make it to the NHL parts of my life will be lived in front of the public eye. But I can’t help but feel like I should get to be selfish and greedy and keep some of it just my own.
That probably isn’t fair to Lake. He’s already a flight risk, and I’m not sure shoving him back into the closet will do much to help that.
Not to mention the fact that if everything goes according to the plan, I’ll be heading to New York in the fall. He’ll stay in Massachusetts for another year. And then? I don’t know what his plans are. Med school, sure, but where?
Best case scenario, he’s dying to live in NYC. Doable scenario—he heads to Boston. Or Baltimore. Or Pennsylvania. Worst case scenario? Pretty much most other states.
And still, knowing all that, I’m determined.
I want Lake.
Everything else? It’s details. Details we’ll be able to figure out together.
If only he wants me, too.
We find a random bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Lake says he doesn’t dance, but I’m starting to suspect that that soft spot I’ve always had for him? He’s developing his own version when it comes to me.
Under strobe lights and loud music, he wraps his arms around my neck, and we dance. Hips grinding together, mouths fused, hands wandering up and down every inch of skin we can reach.
It’s fun.
Fun and freedom.
We stumble outside hours later, still laughing. He kisses me in the middle of the street. One hand cups the side of my face, the other fists the back of my jacket. He’s plastered against me like he can’t get close enough.
“Take me to bed,” he says hoarsely once he pulls away.
