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“Joke around all you want. I’m still not letting you leave until we finish talking.”
“We are finished. Besides, haven’t you missed enough games?” I point to his ankle. “I don’t think you’re prepared to give chase, and I will run if I have to.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Yeah, right.” I snort, glancing around to plot the best exit route. "You can't be serious."
“Deadly.” His calm tone is so unexpected I can’t help looking at him to see his expression, which is nothing short of sincere.
“You’d risk hurting your ankle again just to stop me from leaving?”
“Not my ankle. My career. If I don’t get back on the ice, chances are the Bulldogs won’t have a reason to keep me around. I’m too old for other teams to give me serious consideration. If I have to sacrifice the game to convince you you’re important to me, so be it.”
The itch that had started to fade comes back with a vengeance. He wouldn’t really do that, would he? “Nice speech, but I don’t buy it. You’ve been jumping out of your skin to get back on the ice.” I claw at the back of my neck.
“I was jumping out of my skin. You helped with that. You knew what I needed to calm down and get out of my head, and you helped me deal with my fear and frustration.”
“Glad I could be of service, but I think we can agree I’ve exhausted my usefulness.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Downplay what you’ve done for me. Downplay this. You’ve been staying here for nearly a month, sharing my bed and my life, and even though I’m not on the ice right now I’m happy. I think you are too. Or you could be if you get out of your head.”
That’s usually my line, the thing I tell him when he’s overthinking. I’m not sure how I feel about him using it on me.
“Have you thought this through?” I change tactics. “We’ve been in a bubble for weeks, but that will change once you’re cleared to play. You’ll be gone half the time, so we won’t be sharing anything. You'll be gone, and unless you plan to keep me here in secret, people will find out you’re with a man.”
“So.”
“So?” I echo. “What do you think people are going to say when not one but two players on the Bulldogs are gay?”
“I’m not gay, so who cares.” He lifts a casual shoulder.
“Stay in your lane, big guy. I’m the brat in this relationship.” I point to my chest. “So don’t sit over there acting all smug like it’s no big deal if people say… What?” I bark as he collapses into a fit of laughter.
“You said relationship.” His lips twitch into a satisfied smile.
“I…” My jaw bobs up and down. That’s not true. I’m morally opposed to them. Even friendships are a stretch. I’d never willingly admit to being in one. So, why can’t I deny it?
Closing my eyes, I try to breathe through the panic and uncertainty that feels like it’s crushing my chest, the way it did all those years ago when life pulled the rug out from under me. In… Out… In… Out…
It doesn’t help. My head starts to spin, and I know I’ve only got a few seconds to sit down before my legs collapse. Except, they’re rooted to the floor like they’re glued in place, and I wobble when I finally manage to shuffle a foot forward.
Instead of falling, I find myself pressed against Noah’s broad chest, his arms wrapped protectively around me. “I’ve got you,” he whispers as he guides my head to the crook of his neck.
Though my heart is still trying to win a record for the most beats per minute, the dizziness begins to fade the moment my body makes contact with his. If I was in my right mind, I’d probably worry about that, but the only conscious thought in my brain is that I’m safe in his arms. Admittedly, that’s a strange thought for a guy who thrives on his independence, but it’s turning out to be a weird day.
Fuck me, I’m a mess. A mess with a…boyfriend? The thought makes me shudder, or shiver—I’m not sure which—I only know it makes Noah’s grip on me tighten, and I lean into his embrace.
The longer he holds me, the calmer I feel. Usually, I feel jittery when people get too close—in a non-sexual way—but Noah’s touch seems to ground me. It dulls the warning bells in my head and the anxiety in my limbs, leaving me somewhat stable. And…content?
Is this what dating feels like? This weird sense of peace and comfort that has nothing to do with arousal? That’s maybe worth exploring.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, hugging in the kitchen while Noah tenderly sifts his fingers through my hair, but by the time he guides me to the couch to sit down, my pulse is somewhat back to normal and my breathing is steady.
“I’m sorry,” Noah kisses the top of my head as he tucks me against his side. “I didn’t realize I was pushing you that far out of your comfort zone.”
