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Did I? I had done my best to straighten myself up after the back seat JO session with Marcus.
“Must be the bug,” I replied, unable to meet his curious gaze. “I think I’m going to take some cough medicine, eat these burritos, and crash. Was it a good episode?” I waved my bag of Mexican food at the TV.
Liam nodded, and his green eyes narrowed. “I’m not a doctor or anything, but if you’re feeling like crap, should you be eating takeout at two in the morning?”
He pushed to his feet. He slept in shorts and a Gladiators tee, feet bare.
“Takeout always makes me feel better,” I lied as best as I could, which was not good at all. I’d never been a capable liar. My parents, teachers, and coaches had always known when I was feeding them bullshit. Liam nodded and gave me a soft “uh-huh” before I began prattling on about how sexy Captain Pike and Young Spock were and how, if I had time, I would so slash them in some fan fiction. “Right, I’m doing the bed thing. Night.”
I hurried into my room, closed the door, exhaled, and dropped my meds and takeout on my nightstand.
“You’re acting weirder than usual,” Liam said as he passed my door on his way to his room.
Yeah, I know, bro. That’s because I just double-jerked myself and my “arch nemesis” off in the back seat of your car.
I felt slimy. And not just from having our spunk dried on my skin. Nope, that actually kind of turned me on. I made my way to and then fell into my bed, and opened the bag of takeout. I wasn’t hungry in the least, but I needed something to do with my mouth, and since Marcus’s big dick wasn’t at hand, it would have to be a double beef and bean burrito. Resting my back on the headboard, I chowed down, chewing as I mulled over my choices of the past twenty-four hours.
A bean rolled down the front of my shirt. I plucked it from my thigh, ate it, and then rubbed the red sauce stain with my sleeve. Maybe I had come on too strong with Marcus. Maybe I should have kept my lips and hands to myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have texted him that message about steak and oral sex. I licked my lips at the thought of having his cock in my mouth. Damn but he was hung, thick, and long…
My cock jerked. “Shit.” I sighed, quickly leaving the sexy stuff in the dust to focus on the trickier stuff. Was it wise to get into a sexual relationship with a player on a different team?
Doubtful. Yet here I was, sexed up as hell, lusting for more of Marcus Newley in whatever way I could get him. And it wasn’t just about the sexual attraction. He was a genuinely nice guy. Single dad, talented goalie, working hard to support those he cared about. He was funny, kind, and loved fantasy and sci-fi shows, movies, and books. I adored his daughter, although I had never met her. He doted on her big time, and that right there made me want him even more. I had always wanted a lot of kids. Family is everything in Thai culture. That’s a large part of why my sister and brother-in-law were coming to America. Citra couldn’t stand the bias against the queer community—aka her younger brother—and didn’t wish for Banyu to grow up in a culture that fostered that kind of hate. Family love.
I found my phone and searched for the latest pictures of my nephew. Perhaps one day I’d have a son or daughter, maybe three or four, and my husband and I would be living in a big house outside of Pittsburgh. That was the dream. Oh, and a dog. Preferably a brown-and-white Dachshund that the kids would name. Yep, that would be me happy forever. I’d never once, in all of my various daydreams, imagined my spouse would be a hockey player. How would that even work? Who would be home with the kids and dog while we were playing on the road? And why the hell was I worrying about a dual hockey household?!
“Dude, you need to get a grip,” I whispered to myself as I tore off a bite of burrito and chewed.
You did have a grip earlier. Wink. Nudge.
I smiled at the memory of our cocks pressed tight together. Yeah, that had been incredibly hot. Incredibly hot. Warp core hot.
A belch rumbled up out of me. I finished off the burrito, tossed the bag into the trash, and turned off the light beside my bed. There I lay in my street clothes, the musky scent of sex clinging to my clothes, and I let my mind go where it wished. Amazingly, it led me back to Marcus and the way he kissed. My dreams that night were filled with sexual imagery that somehow led into a space battle against a giant bean that had been assimilated into the taco mind hive. Resistance was totally futile.
I woke up with the worst case of reflux known to man, a boner, and a lie the size of the Schaffer Salt Arena sitting on my shoulders.
***
“Baskoro! Just the man I wanted to see!”
I glanced up from the display of a road in Greece on the stationary bike, startled to see Marlene from PR standing in front of me. She’d pulled her dark hair back into a bun and was in a thick brown sweater and skirt combo.
“Ms. Blass,” I replied, slowing down from the mad pace that I’d set for myself. Pedaling across the Grecian countryside had not helped work off the worry about someone finding out about Marcus and me. Sweat dampened my face, back, and neck. Several other team members were in the workout room with me. Liam on another bike with earbuds in, Fossie and DJ in the corner lifting weights, and Greck was working his biceps on the chin-up bars. Every one of them shot me looks as Marlene neared.
“Oh please, call me Marlene. After all, you’ve generated more ticket sales and interest in the team than we’ve seen in years! So please, first names. So, now that I found you, I wanted to let you know that we’re not letting the video that the Comets released before the game last night be the final stone flung in our virtual slingshot war. We’re already working on setting up a shoot for you to film another video. This time, we’re going to use a country rock song that is perfect for the rivalry between you two!”
I glanced around the room. Everyone was keyed in on us, on this conversation, and all the Gladiators were smiling and nodding in agreement.
“Oh, well, okay.” I swiped at the sweat on my brow with the sodden towel around my neck. “I just…maybe do you think that this has gone on long enough? Like that possibly we should focus on hockey and not making videos to stir up angry emotions?”
She blinked, then laughed. “Oh, that was perfect. Honestly, hockey players have that innocent, homegrown dialog down pat. I’ll be sending you a copy of the song so you can learn the lyrics. We’ll need you before the cameras in two weeks. This will be just you alone this time as the tension seems to be between the two goalies. And don’t worry,” she patted my bicep but drew her hand back when she felt the sweat on her fingertips, “we’ll make sure to show some of the highlights of that amazing win last night.”
Her phone buzzed. She smiled brightly at me, wiped her fingertips on her skirt, and hurried off to make some other poor guy’s life more complicated, or so I assumed.
“How does it feel to be a superstar?” Greck crowed as he leapt from the chin-up bar, landed on his feet and then, to the hoots of half the team, threw his arms into the air ala Molly Shannon’s Mary Catherine Gallagher SNL character.
The ribbing started in earnest then. All of it’s good-natured, but still it was sitting wrong. Yeah, Marcus was on the other team. The team that was goading ours just as hard as we were goading them. And yeah, it was all for fun. Filling the seats was good for minor league sports teams. As was stirring up interest in hockey in general. More kids might start playing, bringing more talent into the pool for the future, etcetera. Yet this whole thing was starting to feel icky. I didn’t mind a few pokes on social media, honestly, but now that I knew him better—way better than most other players—I wasn’t quite so keen to make people dislike him. Truth be told, I wanted our fans to like him as much as I did.
Realizing just how much I liked Marcus did peculiar things to my stomach. Or maybe that was the double bean burrito hitting my lower intestines…
