Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

HANSLEY

I drive around Lemon’s house a few times to make sure I remember the neighborhood and which house is his. Honestly, he’s got the most exaggeratedly manicured and brightly flowered lawn on the whole street. I’d have guessed correctly where he lived if given the chance.

Once I’m relatively certain I can get back here, I head home. A pit forms in my stomach as soon as I turn my bike in that direction. It grows the closer I get.

I love my wife. For years, I thought I had the perfect life. In some ways, it feels like retiring from hockey wasn’t the end of a chapter. It was the end of a lifetime.

I’ve moved away from all my friends, the only life I’ve known and worked toward for nearly my entire existence. This wasn’t just a new experience for me. It’s almost like a completely new me.

My appearance isn’t something I’ve ever put much thought into. The only thing that mattered was comfort in my gear. So short hair and clean shaven. Easy. I haven’t changed that look at all, but somehow, I barely recognize myself when I look in the mirror.

I’d like to say it’s because in this new life with this new version of myself, I’m a cheater. I think that’s tinged how I think of myself, but does it really have an external view? There are other things I like about myself.

My ability to connect with my players and teach them. I’ve actually taught them already this year, and it’s only the beginning of October. Their improvement in this short time has been unreal.

They like me. They talk to me about things other than hockey. I’m surprised by how much it means to me that they’re comfortable in my presence.

I’ve also made some friends on campus. Other students have approached me, like Carly. The deans have complimented my ingenuity for fundraising—though that last one I make sure I’m not taking credit for the ideas. I wasn’t lying to Lemon when I told him I hadn’t thought up a single one of them.

Dean Devaroe even commented about how I’ve brought the athletic department together. The coaches of different sports mostly got along (he didn’t have to voice that the exception to that was Lemon Frost), but I’ve somehow facilitated them forming camaraderie.

There’s a new level of excitement around our fundraisers. The town is even excited to get involved.

I’m not a bad person. There’s all this evidence to support that.

But then there’s this weird hate-kissing thing with Lemon. This new me is apparently attracted to men. I mean, it’s fine, but it’s not a convenient time to figure that shit out.

The thing is, I’m not just attracted to him. I think about him all the time. The line of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the smooth expanse of his neck, the curls on his head. He’s petite, loud, brash. Yet somehow, everything about him screams loudly inside me; forcing me to pay attention.

I want to pay attention. That’s the problem.

No matter how much the guilt starts weighing on me, especially when I get home and Jessica is standing at the door waiting for me with a pretty smile, something poisonous inside me wonders what Lemon is doing. Is he thinking of me? What is his hate covering up?

I leave really early the following morning before Jessica’s out of bed. Part of the reason is I’m not going straight to school but to Sun Haven first, which is north of Glensdale, and we live in the suburbs on the southwest side of the city. Also, I’m concerned about finding his house again. That shit kept me up last night as I mentally drove through the streets in my head so I wouldn’t forget.

The last thing I need, him hating me more because I couldn’t find his house. He’d definitely say I did that on purpose to make him late for school.

Besides, yesterday evening was the first time we spoke without him yelling at me or accusing me of stealing something preposterous. Next it’ll be the knocker on his door or… one of the bright pink flowers in his yard.

I pull in at seven-eighteen and park my bike, setting the helmet on the seat but taking the key. At first look, this appears like a relatively safe neighborhood. I see a bicycle in a yard undisturbed and a go-kart in the driveway a few houses down.

When Lemon doesn’t come out right away, I knock on his door. I’m startled when he swings it open with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s looking at me with wild, frazzled eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out as he grabs my arm and drags me inside. “I woke up just a minute ago. My alarm didn’t go off. I was talking to my sister last night and I guess I didn’t get my phone on my charger.”

He’s moving down the hall as he talks. I’m not entirely sure if I’m supposed to follow him, but since he’s still talking to me, I do. Slowly.

“There was an app running in the background and my phone is already old, so the battery kind of sucks and I just haven’t had a chance to get a new phone. That’s your fault, by the way. I have to spend all my time concentrating on fundraising instead of doing other things!”

Lemon moved into the bathroom attached to what I presume is his bedroom. I stand outside the door, leaning on the frame, and listen to him ramble. He doesn’t pause, so there’s no need for me to participate in this conversation.

“And then I stayed up super late worrying about my car. The internet says it could be the alternator. Or the starter. I don’t have time for that! It was fine yesterday morning. There was no hesitation in starting or any weird feelings as I drove to work. Do you think someone messed with my car? Who would do that?”

I chuckle quietly as I listen to him move through the water while rambling. I had a glimpse of someone other than the hateful man last night. And now… there’s this Lemon. Nervous. Rushing. Slightly frantic because he’s late. He’s adorable.

“It’s a safe campus. No one has ever reported something happening to their vehicle. Although, I don’t read emails, so maybe there’s a serial car killer on the loose and I just don’t know about it. But I have a work-study student whose sole job is to organize my emails and report if there’s anything important. I think a serial car killer would be important. Wouldn’t it?”

The water shuts off and I imagine this man dripping wet. Running a towel over himself to dry. He’s still talking, so I’m surprised again when he steps in front of me. Once again, the towel is wrapped around his waist. His hair is dripping. I follow a droplet that falls onto his shoulder and runs down his chest, his abdomen, and sinks into the towel.

Swallowing, I meet Lemon’s eyes.

“Do you think someone hurt my car?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted together.

This man is beautiful with makeup, but there’s something almost ethereal about him without it. For a minute, I can’t answer as I stare at him.

Eventually, I shake my head. “No.”

“Even though it was fine yesterday morning?”

I nod. “Some things give no warning before they quit. Cars have a lot of bells and whistles to warn you about something being wrong. But still, more often than not, you get a vague light that could mean a bunch of things. It’s a clue of where to begin looking—not the answer to the bigger question of what’s wrong.”

“There wasn’t a light,” he insists, shaking his head. “I would have remembered that.”

“I’ll take a look when we get there,” I tell him.

Lemon nods. He stares at me. Silence moves between us, but I think we’re both more and more aware that he’s naked in front of me. I can fight and argue and deny that I’m attracted to this man all I want, but it’s all a lie. I am. I’m not exactly sure why. But there’s no one like Lemon.

“I still hate you,” he says, no heat or conviction in his words. “Just so you know. This doesn’t change anything, but… I appreciate your help.”

I grin. “I’ll take it.”

More silence. My skin prickles with awareness. It’s a mountain I’ve scaled to keep my eyes locked on his instead of looking at his body. Especially when his breathing visibly changes. When his lips part. His hand grips his towel a little tighter.

My feet remain planted right where they are. I will not touch him. I won’t. I can’t?—

But as soon as he takes a step closer, that’s it. My resolve might as well be made of tissue paper for how it dissolves. Our mouths collide and I instantly groan. It feels like ages since I’ve kissed him. Tasted him.

Lemon’s hand falls away and his towel drops. I touch him everywhere, feeling his naked body, still damp from the shower. He frantically pulls at my clothes. Struggling to get them off as we stumble through the room, leaving them in a trail behind us.

We collapse on the bed, though I practically trip when he falls backwards. Lemon laughs and then our mouths mold together again. My heart races. His laugh. I hear him laugh. The sound warms me, but then it’s set on fire with the heat quickly rising through my body.

Lemon pulls me down on him and our bodies rub together. Our cocks jerk against each other. Lemon rolls us, so he’s on top of me. Straddling me like I’m a damn horse. His hands press on my chest, like he’s keeping me down, while he ruts his hips against me hard.

My eyes roll. I groan as my body instinctively tries to move with him.

We roll again and though our mouths don’t come apart, I take that for what it was. Instructions for how to move on him. Demand for what he wants. In true Lemon fashion, he’s not subtle.

I don’t know how long we roll around, hands groping and fondling. When he’s on top this time, he pulls his mouth from mine and stretches over me. I kiss along his chest and stomach. Lemon moans as he rattles around over my head.

When he comes back, his mouth covers mine, and I can hear him messing with a wrapper. I’m not surprised when he rolls a condom on me. I don’t argue. Don’t fight it.

There’s no arguing that I want to fuck this man. Not at this moment. Probably not ever. I’m confident that every moment since the first kiss has been preparing me for this.

His body hovers over mine, and I try to figure out what he’s doing. What’s taking him so long? He already wrapped me. Following his arm twisted around his body, I feel what he’s doing.

A new wave of heat rushes through me. I’m pretty sure I leak into the condom.

“You can touch me,” he says breathlessly against my mouth.

This might be the first time he’s not demanded it.

We shift around a little more so I can trace his hand until I reach where his fingers disappear inside his ass. I shiver, pulling his mouth to mine again. He continues to work himself as I let my fingers rest there. Feeling what he’s doing.

When I work up the courage, I press one where his fingers disappear. He nods against me, not taking his mouth from mine. It’s a weird feeling, but not dissimilar from fingering a woman in principle. Just a minute later, my finger is inside his hole with his and together we stretch him.

It’s hot. Why is it hot?

Lemon abruptly rolls us and we both laugh as I fumble this time, trying to catch my body weight before I crush him. He grips my dick and lines me up.

I stare at him, hardly breathing, as he rubs my cockhead against his slick, ready hole.

“I still hate you,” he says. Zero venom. Zero conviction. I can’t even take him seriously with him panting like that.

“Fine, maybe I’ll fuck the hate out of you.”

Lemon shivers. “You can try.”

Gripping his hand, I pull it away from my dick and pin both of them above his head. Staring into his face, I watch his pleasure as I force myself into his tight body. It feels like I’m forcing my way in. He’s so tight. So tight that I can barely breathe. In fact, I don’t think I’ve taken a breath since I started.

“Hurry up,” Lemon gripes. “We’re late. Fuck me already.”

I huff. “You’re so fucking pushy.”

Snapping my hips, I bury myself deep, but I think that particular punctuation backfires since we both roll our eyes.

“Fuck me,” he grunts.

I do. Slowly at first, because this is a weird new experience that has my head spinning. But when I gather my wits, I start fucking into him for real. I know when I do what he wants because he stops telling me to fuck him.

Bending him in half, I listen to his loud whines. I watch as this man, who’s always so filled with anger, lets down all the barriers and walls he’s erected. I watch as pleasure paints his face and know that I’m making him feel that way.

“You don’t hate me now,” I grunt.

He huffs. “Yes, I do. I hate everything about you. Your pretty face and your stupid smile. I hate that you’re a nice guy and that you’re friends with those other jerks who steal guys. I hate how everyone likes you. Fuck.” His muscles stiffen. “I’m going to come,” he whines.

I let go of one of his legs and wrap my hand around his cock. He immediately goes wild with uncontrolled body movements as he’s fighting against his orgasm. He sprays himself and I stare, transfixed, as the evidence of the pleasure I’m giving him covers his chest and stomach.

“You better fucking come,” he pants.

Blinking away the fuzzy moment, I pin him down again and continue to fuck him until I do what he demands. I fill the condom in his tight hole, almost disappointed that it’s over. The moment carries on as long as I can before I reluctantly pull my spent dick out of him.

Then we’re staring at each other.

The thing is, he can’t run this time. And he can’t kick me out if he wants a ride to work. So I wait, staring at him, refusing to think about anything that’s trying to scream in my head right now. I wait for him to act.

“Still hate you,” he mutters and shoves me off. “Come on. We need showers.”

This is going to be an interesting morning. And a mortifying afternoon when the reality of what I just fucking did truly settles over me.