23. BILSON

TWENTY-THREE

BILSON

“You’re killing it this season,” Oskar says to Miles. “Those three back-to-back shutouts made us crap bricks to go up against you.”

Miles shrugs, his eyes sad. “Turns out you didn’t need to worry. I haven’t exactly been living up to my potential lately.”

“Nah, fuck that,” Oskar says. “That’s the game. You win some, you lose some. You can’t let that get in your head, or you’ll find yourself in a slump. But for your first season as a starting goalie, you really are killing it. Take the compliment. I don’t give them often.”

“It’s true. He doesn’t. Unless it’s to himself.”

Miles still looks uncertain, but he nods. “Thanks.”

“Get a few seasons under your belt, and we might need to poach you to the West Coast.”

I point the lip of my beer bottle toward Miles. “No.”

“You know Nashville has my heart,” Miles says.

I turn to Oskar. “Get this. Miles actually likes his parents.”

“Hey, I like my parents too …” Oskar hesitates. “Mainly because they live overseas.”

I laugh. “Seeing my parents once every summer is my limit. And luckily, they’re generally too busy to see me, so I don’t always get that.”

Oskar whistles. “And people say I have daddy abandonment issues. The three divorces make sense now.”

Miles corrects him before I can. “It’s four, actually.”

“You got married again? What is wrong with you?” Oskar yells, catching the attention of everyone at the bar.

“Shhh. You know Hadley.”

Oskar’s brow furrows. “Oh, right. Wait, I thought she was number three?”

“You’re probably forgetting Brea. She lasted a whopping forty-two days.”

“How have you not given up yet?”

“Oh, I have.” My gaze flicks to Miles, who immediately averts his eyes and sips his drink.

“It also explains your shitty wrist shots tonight. Carpal tunnel?”

I have to admit it’s kind of thrilling having this secret, but at the same time, I want to embrace my new identity, which still doesn’t have a label. But that doesn’t matter to me. Not being confused is freeing in itself.

Oskar narrows his eyes. “Wait …”

Miles jumps up. “I’m going to go get another round for us all.” He couldn’t move faster if he tried.

As much as I want to be able to tell Oskar I’ve started batting for his team, I don’t want to put Miles in any situation where he’s uncomfortable. Sure, I could tell him only about me, but that will come with follow-up questions like who I’m hooking up with. Knowing Oskar, it would also include questions like how many times we’ve done it, what positions, and if I’ve become acquainted with my prostate yet. Which I haven’t. I’m not sure if I want to. Thought about it? A little. Mainly when Miles is begging for me to fuck him harder and hit that spot inside him. But with prep, cleanup, and the not-so-great things about anal, I generally stop myself from thinking about it too deeply. The only deep thoughts I’ve had are about being balls-deep inside of Miles.

“That was weird,” Oskar says, staring after Miles.

Maybe it was a mistake bringing him here. He’s obviously dealing with his own confusion over what’s happening between us, but it’s harder for him. He has people to disappoint. I’m used to disappointing people.

Oskar’s still staring after Miles.

“He’s a goalie. It would be weird if he wasn’t weird.”

“Fair point.”

We only stayfor one more drink before I can tell Miles is getting antsy, so I make an excuse for us to leave. Need to rest up and whatever. Which is a lie because we’re finally on our way home tomorrow for three days off from games. But we are exhausted. This road trip has sucked all around. You know, other than the times where Miles was … sucking. That has been a fun time.

We head straight to my room, and I’m choosing to believe he’s in a rush to get inside because he’s desperate for me to get inside him, but there’s a niggling feeling at the back of my mind telling me it’s more of his weird mood he’s been in.

Or I could be reading into things.

I’m probably reading into things.

It’s possible that because there’s no chance of a future here, I’m focusing on imaginary issues I can be neurotic about.

Seriously, what is wrong with my brain?

The answer to that question doesn’t matter when we’re behind closed doors and Miles pins me up against the wall. His hands go for my pants, popping the top button and unzipping my fly. I reach for his to do the same, but he swats my hand away.

“So you can undress me, but I can’t undress you?” I laugh because I don’t really mean it, and I think it comes out lightly, but maybe I’m wrong because he pulls back. Looks at me. Frowns.

“I …” His voice cracks. “I know I usually like when you take control of me, and you are so good at it.” He closes the gap between us. “But tonight, I need … I need …”

Instinctually, I cup his face. “What do you need?”

His gaze drops to my lips, and I want him to take what he wants. I want it too. But he needs to take this step.

“I’ll give you anything.”

“Your mouth,” he begs. “I need your mouth.”

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both surge forward until our mouths meet. Either way, the second our lips touch, I regret not having done this before.

When he parts his lips and licks inside my mouth, his stubble scraping against mine, it’s more intimate and turns me on like fucking crazy.

I grip him close and then turn us so we can switch positions, and I have him pinned against the door, but we continue to kiss, drinking each other in.

As much as I want inside him or for him to blow me again, I actually want to take a step back from that and explore his mouth. Explore his body.

I want to touch him. Touch his cock. I haven’t been game enough until now. I guess that part of me that was still in denial—thinking that letting a man blow me or using a man’s ass without touching his cock is just sex and doesn’t count—is all in now.

But what to do first? There’s so much I want to explore. So many things I could do. If only I could pluck up the courage to make the first move.

With shaking hands, I hook my thumbs in the sides of his already undone pants and drag them down his legs. He lets me undress him this time, but I think it’s because he’s too entranced with our tongues intertwined to even notice I’m getting him naked.

I pull back to take his shirt off next, and he’s so compliant it’s as if he’s already forgotten he wanted to be in control of this. He said he needed more, and the second I gave it to him, he melted back into who he truly is. Someone who loves giving up control.

It makes sense. On the ice, he has to be on all the time. He can’t take his eyes off that puck. Unlike the rest of us who take shifts, he’s out there for the whole game. In control. Switched on.

Miles tries to pull me back to him, but I pause before we go back to kissing, and I lose my train of thought in his mouth.

My voice is raspy, my lips dry. I want to take the plunge and sink to my knees, but the reality is I have no idea what I’m doing. “You said you wanted my mouth? What if I gave it to you … here.” I swallow my nerves and wrap my hand around his cock. The sensation is kind of weird because I’ve touched my own dick a million times. Touching someone else’s … it’s almost like I’m expecting to be able to feel it but can’t. It’s different than when I used that sex toy on him. It’s flesh on flesh. Warm skin against my palm.

It’s like stepping on a broken escalator, expecting it to move and then getting disoriented when it doesn’t.

I can’t say it’s a bad thing. Just disorientating.

Miles sucks in a sharp breath. “Please, yes. Fuck.”

I lick my lips, trying to prepare for what happens next. I’m not scared of having another man’s cock in my mouth, but I am worried I’ll be bad at blowjobs. I want to make Miles feel good.

Whether it’s that his lips are now too irresistible or I’m stalling for time—it could be either—I lean in for one more kiss before I drop to my knees.

Not wanting to jump right in, when I sink down, I kiss my way down his chest, his abs, his amazingly cut V.

“Why are you teasing me?” he whines.

I can’t tell him it’s because I’m trying to build up the courage to put my mouth on him because I don’t want him to think he’s pressuring me into this.

I’m excited for it. It’s just the pressure … so much pressure.

To find the courage, I channel the energy I have on the ice when we’re one goal down and only have a minute left on the clock. The “Let’s get this done” attitude.

Right before I lower my head, I glance up at him.

Miles’s lips are parted, his eyes hooded, and I’m reminded of why we’re doing this. That look on his face, the awe and need in his eyes … I want him to come alive.

I don’t take my eyes off him as I lick over his tip. His lip trembles, and he has to bite it to make it stop. It spurs me on.

My tongue swirls around his head, and then I lick my way down his shaft.

His breath is shaky, and I’ve decided I love sucking cock, even though, technically, I haven’t even sucked on it yet. But that’s about to change.

I close my mouth over him and work my way down his hard length, going slow so I can work out where my limit is. On my way back up, I suck hard, and Miles’s hand flies into my hair and pulls me off.

“Shit, did I do something wrong?”

He pulls me up to my feet. “Not at all. But nope, nope, nope, I’ve decided we’re not going to do that.”

“Why?” My lips quirk.

“Because I’m going to come way too quickly that way.”

“What do you want instead?”

“Your hand,” he breathes. “I want you to touch me.”

I step back. “Only if you touch me too.”

We shed the rest of my clothes and then come back together, hard cock against hard cock.

He reaches for me first, his long fingers wrapping around me. I shudder in his arms and slump forward, my forehead on his, and allow myself a few seconds of pure bliss. Then I take a grip of his cock too.

We start slow, getting a feel for each other, stroking in tandem.

Our breaths are heavy. My eyes threaten to close, but I don’t let them because the blissed-out expression on Miles’s face is too good to look away from.

The smallest moan falls from his lips, and I surge forward to swallow it down.

Kissing him isn’t like kissing anyone else. I can’t pinpoint why, but I like the way he explores my mouth. Savors me.

Miles begins stroking harder. Faster. I match his pace, and my hips get in on the action too. Our mouths wrench apart.

We’re both so close. I can tell by the way he’s panting that he’s teetering on the edge as much as I am.

When I start to spill over, Miles tenses and grunts his release. I don’t slow my strokes, coaxing him through his orgasm and prolonging my own. The mess between us is warm and wet, but I don’t care about the cleanup.

We try to catch our breaths, foreheads resting against each other while we come down from our highs.

After my brain stops melting, I let out a laugh. “That was a fun new game.”