13. BILSON

THIRTEEN

BILSON

Boneless. Sated. A little … embarrassed?

No, that’s not the right word. I’m not embarrassed about what we did, but now that it’s over and neither of us is moving, with every second that ticks by, the awkwardness grows.

I’m still inside him, for fuck’s sake, but I can barely move. And if I do shift and kind of kick him off me, will he take it the wrong way?

“Can’t. Move,” he gets out.

When I laugh, he de-straddles me. But he only gets as far as flopping onto his stomach with his head turned away from me.

“Oops. Your duvet is probably covered in cum now.”

“Eh. It’s smelled of worse before.” I refuse to look at him, and for a moment, I think he’s the same, but slowly, he lifts up on his elbows and stares down at me.

“I don’t want to know. You all good if I use your bathroom to clean up and then get out of here?”

I make the mistake of making eye contact. He averts his gaze immediately.

“Go for it.” I want a shower too. I’m sticky from the lube, I need to ditch the condom, but we’re both so wooden and stiff that I wait for him to get up and close the bathroom door before I move.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, deal with the condom and tie it off, but dump it on the floor to get rid of later after Miles is gone.

I don’t regret what we did, and I didn’t think fucking a guy could feel that way, but there’s something uneasy in my gut that has nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with now.

Miles kept it as impersonal as he could, which I’m grateful for, but it makes it come with a side of guilt? Like using him that way was wrong. Though I can’t deny the way he loved being called names was hot.

I knew having sex with a man would be different, but it’s in ways I never imagined. I thought the hard body, the muscles, the obvious differences in anatomy would be what I’d focus on, but that part didn’t even register.

I was raised to treat women respectfully inside and outside of the bedroom. That might be why I’ve always connected sex with love. But with Miles … him asking me to degrade him like that …

Fuck, my cock perks up, wanting to do it again.

The shower turns off, and I’m still naked, so I quickly jump up and pull out a pair of sweats from my drawer. Which is ridiculous now that I think about it because in two days, we’ll be back in our locker room, seeing each other naked again.

He comes out only wearing a towel, steam billowing out of my bathroom after him, and I hold my breath.

Here’s the part where we either pretend nothing happened, play it off like it’s no big deal, or turn into mortal enemies who never speak to each other ever again. Which will be difficult when we’re on the same hockey team.

His eyes meet mine. “What? No sandwiches? No sustenance? Worst one-night stand ever.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Orgasms and sandwiches should be a thing.”

“Don’t you mean brogasms?”

Miles fist pumps. “Yes. It’s catching on.”

“Sure. Let’s go around telling the team that’s what we get up to.” My tone is dry, obviously sarcastic, but he either misses it or wants to double-check I’m not being serious.

“We’re not … like, telling anyone about this, right?”

“Hell no.”

“And we’re still good?”

That’s the big question, isn’t it? “I am if you are. That should get me through to All-Stars week at least.”

He rubs his chin. “I was hoping to be more impressive than that, but I guess I’ll have to take it.”

“You’re good at … taking things.” Am I testing how far we can push this? Yes. I need boundaries.

I’m thankful he doesn’t recoil but preens. “I’m the best you’ll ever have. I’ve ruined you for all the pussies in all the world.”

“Oh, there’s that cocky side coming out to play again.”

“Always.” He moves across the room and picks his clothes up off the ground but glances at me as if to tell me to turn away so he can get dressed.

Okay, so it’s weird between us now but not ruined.

I can live with that.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” I turn on my heel and leave the bedroom, having no idea where to fucking go in my own house.

I settle for the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, but before I can drink from it, Miles appears out of nowhere and takes it from me.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Help yourself.”

“What, you can have your dick inside me but can’t share your water?” He side-eyes me, and I think he’s doing what I was back in the bedroom: testing the boundaries.

I should wince or be turned off by him saying that, but I so am not. Pretty sure my need for more sex just jumped forward to Christmas instead of All-Stars.

“Is that going to be your comeback for everything now?” I ask.

“Sure is … you know, when it’s only us anyway.”

“Want to pinky swear on this?” I’m half joking.

He holds out his pinky finger, and I link mine with his. After we shake on it and he pulls away, he kisses his two fingers and then points them to the sky. “New pregame ritual. It’ll be like our little secret.”

The thought of doing that in front of an arena full of people sends a shiver through me. To have a sign between us that so blatantly screams we had sex, without anyone knowing what it means … my only fear is starting each and every game with a hard-on from now on.

Even though weleft shit on good terms, the next time I walk into the arena, I’m on edge.

I wish I could say this feeling made the whole sex thing not worth it, but it really doesn’t. If anything, I’m so on edge because I can’t stop thinking about the way he rode me. How he was so needy for my cock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get that out of your head, Cody.

We’re only here this morning for a skate to keep warm for our game tonight, so technically, we don’t even need to interact. Would it be weird if we didn’t? Ever since the beginning of preseason, Miles and I have gravitated toward each other. There’ve been jokes about bromances and what-the-fuck-ever, so if we avoided each other, would the rest of the team pick up on it?

Am I overthinking this already?

He’s not in the locker room when I get there, so I go straight to my cubby and start stripping off.

Maybe I can get dressed and out on the ice before he even arrives.

Then I hear, “Hey, old man,” and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

The other guys in the locker room do snicker though.

“What? Can’t hear you,” I sing.

He yells across the room now. “You so old you need hearing aids, pops?”

Thank God nothing’s changed on that front.

But there is something that has changed between us, or at least from my side, and that’s that I notice him a hell of a lot more.

Across the locker room, on the ice, during his stretches … it’s like my eyes find him wherever he is, and every fluid move, every leg splits, I notice. And when he’s on the ground on his knees and leans backward until he’s lying on the ice? I have to force myself to look away.

It’ll be fine. Completely fine. In a week or so, we’ll have put the whole thing behind us, and I’ll stop remembering how hot the sex was.

It’s all good.

Even if it means not making eye contact with him for a while. Or showering at a different time than him in the locker room. I’ll avoid everything that reminds me of his naked body, of him taking my cock like a champ.

On the outside, we may be able to play it off like we’re the same two guys we were last week, but on the inside, he’s worming his way under my skin and into my brain.

Like a tapeworm.

A slutty tapeworm.

And now I’m not even making any sense.

When we’re told to hit the showers, I hang back at my cubby for a bit while he disappears into the steamy part of the locker room.

I slowly get my gear off and am still sitting there in my base layers when Miles returns.

“Is someone a wittle sore fwom all the skating? Old bones and all that.”

“I might be old, but not as old as the old person jokes.”

“Good one.”

I stand, about to head for my own shower when Coach walks in. “Bilson. Olsen. PR wants to see you after you’re dressed.”

Miles and I look at each other, all playfulness gone and faces stoic.

My thoughts immediately jump to the women we propositioned about having a threesome and that one of them recognized us.

“Is this because I keep calling CB old?” Miles asks.

“I said PR, not HR, though I won’t be surprised if that call’s next.”

Oh, fuck.

The only solace is that we never actually did have a threesome, so it’s not like anyone can say we did.

Right?

We might be in actual trouble here.