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“New York. And then Montreal after that.”
I grunt, thinking about my old team. I haven’t been in contact with any of them since I was traded, and it’s not a loss. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the one who came out on top of that deal. A small sliver of worry worms its way into my mind at the reminder of my contract, though. I’m only signed for a year here, and what then? What are the odds that they offer me an extension when I’m almost thirty-five years old and they could get the same skills from a rookie and for a cheaper price?
I look at Corwin. One of his legs is slid between mine, pajama pants rucked up slightly so our calves are touching. He’s still rubbing his hand over my back, though he’s made it down past my shoulder blades now. Nobody has ever touched me like this before—only doing it because they want to and not because they expect it to go further.
Whatever else happens this season, the one thing I know is this: I don’t want to leave.
Corwin
As someone who has spent a great deal of time hiding their emotions, I’m also very adept at reading others. Whatever happened in Nigel’s head just now seems to have put a damper on his good mood, the light dimming slightly in his brown eyes. I keep stroking his back, partially out of a selfish desire to have skin-to-skin contact with him, but also trying to soothe whatever ache just surfaced.
There is a large, angry looking bruise low on his hip so I avoid that area. I wonder if he would consent to lying here all day, letting me memorize every inch of him until I would know him blind.He might, I think, as I watch his eyes close and he sighs in contentment. Smiling an internal, private smile, I nudge the blanket farther down so I can see as well as touch. His abdomen quivers when I ghost my fingers over that line of hair below his belly button;I really do like that.
I feel really good this morning, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. I bet this is how Troy feels all the time, waking up next to someone he loves and then going into work at his dream job. Maybe I should take a leaf out of his book and ask Nigel to move in.
Running my fingers along the waistband of his boxers, I watch the rise and fall of his stomach. Obviously, spending half of my time in locker rooms with my undressed teammates, I’ve seen a lot of male bodies. I don’t stare at them, and up until now that resolve hasn’t been tested; but Nigel is beautiful in a way I’ve never encountered. Smooth, olive skin broken up by smatterings of dark hair. He looks like he spent the day on a Grecian beach.
His eyes are still closed, and I wonder if maybe he needs more sleep and I should stop pawing at him. I could sneak downstairs and make him breakfast, have it ready for whenever he wakes back up. My fingers still and I rest my hand down on the bed, looking at the way his eyelashes fan out like the bristles on a paintbrush.
He opens his eyes. “Sorry.” I whisper. “You can go back to sleep if you want, get some more rest.”
“I’m awake.” He adjusts his head on the pillow, bringing his face closer to mine. Probably I should kiss him; I don’t know what he tastes like in the morning, and it’s important I find out. “I was just enjoying that.”
He wiggles the fingers on his hand. This is a fantastic development, because it means I can pick back up where I left off. Immediately, my eyes are drawn back to his happy trail and I start there, tracing a line around his belly button before running it down that line of hair. This time, when I reach the waist of his boxers, I press the pad of my thumb against his skin and slide it under the waistband.
Nigel gasps, softly, but remains perfectly still. I follow the line of his shorts, keeping in contact with his skin the whole time. I don’t go any further, and I suddenly wonder if that’s okay.You shouldn’t touch him there unless you’re going to finish the job, dumbass.
This time I travel north when I smooth my fingers over the strip of hair and flatten my palm against his chest. He lets out a surprised huff of air when I lean forward and kiss him; mystery solved, Nigel tastes just as good in the morning as he does in the evening. I hum into his mouth, hand still flat against his chest.
He breaks away first and I’m stupidly grateful. I’m not exactly sure how to put what I want to do into action, and no amount of porn will give me the confidence to execute it. He tips my chin up with his thumb and kisses my neck.Who the fuck knew there were so many nerve endings in your neck. He doesn’t pull back far, lips tickling my skin as he speaks.
“We should get up.” Another kiss. I try to focus, but honestly, it doesn’t sound like he’s saying anything I want to hear. “Weight training, remember?”
“And breakfast.”
We do actually get out of bed after that, heading downstairs to complete the workout. Because the only clothes he has here are the ones he came to the barbeque in, Nigel is wearing my athletic gear—similar to every other piece of athletic gear except for the fact that it’s mine. It’s incredibly distracting, and I purposely keep him out of my visual field while we lift, not wanting to drop a dumbbell on my foot.
When we finish, Nigel goes upstairs to take a shower while I head to in the kitchen to prepare the breakfast that was promised. I watch him go, noting the way my shorts fit across his muscular thighs. It feels wrong, somehow, that he’ll be naked in my house and I won’t be there to enjoy it. Of course, I probablycouldenjoy it; could probably walk right up the stairs and step into the shower behind him. I consider it for a moment, fingers drumming on the counter in front of me.
But then what? Every fantasy I’ve had of being with Nigel has been vague and shadowy, like I know what’s happening but I don’t actuallyknow. Where do I put my hands? My mouth? How am I supposed to ask for what I want when I don’t even know what that is? It’s all a confusing jumble in my head, made more so by the fact that he’s being so damn patient, waiting for me to figure my shit out. I rub a palm over my face and turn toward the refrigerator.
Nobody ever figured their shit out on an empty stomach, I reason, as I grab a carton of eggs. I get started, mind going into autopilot as I maneuver around the kitchen. When my phone dings, I go to check it immediately, just in case it’s someone from the team who needs something. I pick it up, eggs balanced in the other hand as I check the screen; one of the eggs falls to the floor as I jolt, reading the name on the alert.
Dad.
Another text comes through on the heels of the first, and I can practically feel the impatience. I glance up, trying to ascertain whether I can hear the shower running. Another text, and my heart rate picks up faster. I don’t want to read what he sent; I don’t want to talk to him while Nigel is in the house, because somehow these two things cannot exist in the same space. A small voice in the back of my mind warns that it’ll be worse if I leave him waiting.
Molten shame floods my chest.Twenty-four-year-old virgin, and afraid of your father too.Gritting my teeth, I gently place the eggs back in the carton and unlock my phone. Three messages, all telling me to call him. Deliberately, I slide the phone into my pocket and take the time to clean up the egg I dropped on the floor. I slowly count down from five as I go outside to my backyard, closing the door gently behind me. He answers on the first ring when I call him back.
“It’s nine a.m. on a Wednesday morning and you didn’t have a game last night; what the hell were you doing that it took you so long to answer?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you busy?” He sounds skeptical, like he doubts anything might have more importance than this call.
Five, four, three, two…one.“I can talk for a minute.”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish, so certain is he that he’ll be given priority to everything else. “Your mother made a donation for that charity for homeless women, you know the one—”
