Armstrong swallows, and I’m staring at his Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down, his eyes widening upon focusing on me.
No idea what he sees on my face, whether it’s the manifestation of that tension or if it’s something murderous or entirely different, but his lips part in slow motion, and I can’t rip my gaze away.
From his lips, I mean.
No clue what the fuck I’m doing as I reach a hand to his face—his helmet, to be more accurate. I need it gone so I can…touch.
His lips. His eyes. His skin. Doesn’t matter where.
All I know is that Ineedto touch him.
Just once.
Onceis enough.
“Osborn, stop looking at me like that—” His choked words are interrupted when I’m hauled away from him by none other than Callahan.
We break into a brutal fight. I punch him harder than I usually do in these skirmishes, because the useless piece of shitinterruptedsomething.
What, I don’t know, but there wassomething.
It takes a lot of effort for our older teammates to break us apart, and we’re both sent into the box. Soon after, the game is finished.
But the tension I feel about Armstrong isn’t.
If anything, it’s wilder and deeper than any time before.
Next game.
I’ll get him in the next game.
I never actually got him.Except for recently, that is.
But after that specific game three years ago, something different happened—I started fucking men.
And the first guy I fucked was blond with a similar build to Preston’s. I might have imagined a different face when I pounded him doggy style.
I pictured bright-green eyes and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he stared at me with his lips parted while he was trapped beneath me.
I might have come the hardest I have in my entire life.
Now that I think about it, Preston was my queer awakening.
I don’t know what the fuck I would’ve done if Callahan hadn’t pulled me off him. I don’t think I would’ve been satisfied with just touching him.
I never have been.
Even now, I want to yank him from the ice and devour him.
Preston’s eyes meet mine during his greeting of the crowd and he pauses, his smile faltering before a frown appears between his brows.
I wave at him one finger at a time.
No, I shouldn’t be here when I have a game tomorrow, but let’s call it studying the enemy or something.
Soon enough, the game resumes, and Preston is a scoring machine. He cuts through the defense and exchanges the puck with Callahan and Davenport in pure showmanship.
The three of them have always made a great team, complementing each other perfectly.
