I hook my finger into the hem of his base layer and tug once.
“Come with me.”
He comes.
I don't take him out of the building. I don't walk him past media. I don't walk him past the owner's box. I walk him ten feet down the corridor and through the unmarked door that says STAFF ONLY that leads to the admin suite none of us use. The cluster of small offices the front office keeps empty during home games. I tried the handles on them all in October when I was bored and looking for privacy. The middle one is unlocked. It has always been unlocked. Someone at this organization is either trusting or stupid and tonight I am going to kiss their lazy soul.
I pull Theo in. Close the door. Turn the lock on the inside. It's a thumb-turn. It clicks.
Small desk. Two chairs. A window with the blinds half down. One framed print of a jersey from 1987. The overhead is off. Just the security nightlight above the door, a thin blue-white that makes Theo's skin look like a dream I haven't had yet.
“Mad Dog,” he says. Quiet. Already breathing wrong.
There it is. The name I trained him to use. He's using it now without being told and my gear shorts get tight in a way that has not been tight since puberty.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He comes.
I take his face in both hands. I kiss him like we won. I kiss him like I've been wanting to kiss him since the puck crossed the line. I kiss him until his mouth opens and his hands are in my quarter-zip and his hips press mine and the cup is not doing its job in any direction.
“You were beautiful tonight,” I say into his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The face-off. The pass. That's on a highlight reel forever. That's yours.”
His forehead tips against mine.
“Yours.”
“Ours.”
I hold his jaw tighter.
“Ours.”
I turn him. Hand on the back of his neck. Walk him to the desk. Bend him forward over it. He goes. No resistance, just a soft sound in his throat like his body was waiting to be bent.
“Here?” he says.
“Here. I can't wait. I've been hard for you since the face-off.”
He drops his forehead to the desk.
“Oh my god.”
“You want it?”
“Yes.”
My hand fists in the hair at the back of his neck.
“Say it.”
“Yes, please, Mad Dog, please.”
I lean down over him. My mouth at his ear.
