Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

LUKE

It doesn't make sense that watching Timothy leave my new place feels like I'm losing someone important.

From the minute I saw him pop out from under that tent, there's been something off with me. I don't know if it's because I'm attracted to him or if there are other factors at play.

Maybe it's some gut instinct within me that's saying "Hey, stop and look at the situation."

I've never been the patient type, so I'm not sure what good it will do me to actually pause and examine things. Besides, I've got to focus on this year and the team I've been brought in to take care of.

Jake's news that he wants to bring in Leon and Maddox to the Bears is going to change things. I'll have to work hard to ensure that the two of them don't come to a head before the season even gets started. Though, with the way Jake talked about it, the trade likely won't go through until things are underway.

He's got to grease a lot of palms and move a lot of chess pieces to get what he wants. He doesn't seem fazed by it either, which only furthers my belief that Jake Bellport is used to getting what he wants by any means necessary.

Not to point out the obvious, but he got me on board, and it didn't take much.

I'm sitting on my front porch, unable to go inside after Timothy left me, when the moving truck pulls up. I wave at the guys and hop down to let them know where everything should go.

There's not a ton of space, which is fine. I put most of my furniture in storage until I buy a house. I had the good sense to do that much.

This load has all my clothes and memorable items that can't be replaced. Things I didn’t want to risk losing should my father become a bigger asshole and try to access the storage place.

It takes a few hours for them to get everything inside. Once I tip them, they’re off to whatever hotel they're bedding down in tonight before making the journey back.

I'd love nothing more than to fall asleep and ignore everything else until I'm forced to deal with it. Unfortunately, that's not who I am. I can't let things go once they're on my mind.

So instead, I let my mind wander as I begin to unpack boxes. I start with my bedroom since I'm going to need access to my clothes and other important documents for this new position. Most of my paperwork is done; however, I'm sure things will pop up over time. It's always that way when you get a new job.

You think you’ve signed your last thing and bam, they pop up with another IRS or DEA or FBI form. I don't know. There are too many of them to track what each one is for.

It's part of the reason I loved being signed as a player. My agent took care of so much for me. He would just tell me where to sign and what to do. If he didn’t have the answers, my assistant did. He kept my life in order, and while I could have maybe convinced him to travel with me, I didn't want to take him away from his family. There were plenty of other players who could have used his skills.

That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t take on an assistant if I found one. It will take some time to see how much of a commitment this new role takes. Then I’ll reassess.

For now, I’m determined to take care of things mostly on my own.

Besides, the more focused I am on that, the less time I’ll obsess over finding a boy. Or worse, thinking I’ve already found one when he’s not interested in the lifestyle.

Hello, Timothy. I’m talking about your cute little butt.

While I work, I set up an order for groceries to be delivered. Some guys love to eat out at fancy dinners or order food every night. I'm not the type. I much prefer the idea of a home-cooked meal while relaxing on my couch or at the dinner table. Being out and having to be on all the time gets old fast.

I doubt there are much paparazzi here in Bellport, but I'm not up to being photographed on my first day in town. At least not yet. I fully expect people will track me down soon enough.

My move to here isn't entirely a secret. I'd just like a little privacy before the media storm is underway.

I've just finished the last box for my bedroom when the groceries arrive. I tip the driver after he helps me drag everything in. I got enough food to feed me for a few days. After that, I'll have to make a more solid plan.

Having worked myself up an appetite, I pull out chicken breast, cauliflower rice, and some veggies to make a quick stir fry. I labeled my boxes meticulously, so it's nothing to find the one holding all my plates and silverware.

All prepped for my cooking session, I turn to the stove, ready to dive in. Only I can't. There's a giant blockade in my way in the form of a stove that barely looks like a stove.

At least not from this century anyway.

I poke at it, careful not to do anything that might cause an explosion. The machine is definitely colder than I'm used to.

I pull out my phone to do some searching for a manual. Maybe there's a video somewhere of how to get this thing started. All I need to cook is some heat. I can figure the rest out from there.

My old house had those flat top burners. They were a bitch to clean, but man, I could cook on them in a flash. They would heat up quickly, maintain an even cook surface, and at the end of the day, I could deal with the cleanup if it meant I knew what I was doing.

But here, I'm lost.

I think it's a gas stove, though I really can't tell. Google tells me that it needs to know the exact parameters of the oven for me to get any type of instruction.

I scroll through endless pictures hoping I can get some kind of answer because there's not even a label on the oven to tell me what it is. No brand name, no code, no hieroglyphics even. It's as if someone built this from scratch and expected other people to know how to use it.

Given Jake’s nature, it's possible. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe I'm being hazed and there's a hidden camera around somewhere.

I glance around, hoping to get a hint of something. When my search comes up empty, I sigh and do the only thing I can.

Pulling up Timothy’s contact info, I shoot him a text, hoping he’s not asleep yet.

TEXT: Hey, Timothy. Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you knew anything about the stove in this house. I can't seem to get it to work.

I watch as bubbles form on the screen like he's typing something back to me. They appear and disappear a few times before my phone rings in my hand. I startle at the noise, surprised to see it's actually a video call.

My eyes widen when I see the man on the other side of the screen. Timothy is there, but he's nothing like himself. There's no bow tie or neatly swept back hair. Instead, it looks like he just rolled out of bed.

He's wearing pajamas with little bow ties all over them, and I think I see a line of drool.

"Luke," he asks softly, "what is it about the stove?"

I rub the back of my neck, embarrassed I had to call him, much less that I woke him up. It’s not the best Daddy behavior. Never mind the fact I’m not even his Daddy. It’s still a point that makes me uncomfortable.

"Sorry I bothered you. I'm hungry and was trying to get this thing to work. I thought since Jake had you bring me out here that you might know how to work it? Maybe you could just tell me how to turn it on?"

He nods as he yawns wide. “Turn the camera to the stove,” he says once his jaw is back in place.

I try not to think of all the sexual images that form at the thought of his mouth spread like that. These feelings I have for him are only growing with each interaction we have.

I can’t act on them.

I can’t.

I repeat the mantra in my head over and over as I flip my phone camera around to face the stove. Stepping back, I make sure he has a clear view of everything.

Timothy scrubs his face, then he leans closer to the screen. "Oh yeah, I know this one. They can be a bit tricky.”

He walks me through the steps. There are hidden burners underneath a door covering, and the knobs were actually in a drawer, which is why I didn't know where they were. I have to light the gas fumes with a lighter that’s also in the drawer.

Once I have a flame going, I put my pan on top and add the oil. Then I flip the camera around and set the phone down so I can get to work. I don't want to lose the flame, and despite it maybe being a little rude, it's nice having someone here with me while I cook.

I should definitely let him get back to sleep though.

“How do you know so much about the stove?”

Timothy gives a half shrug, his eyes starting to drift closed. "It's the same one my grandpa had in his house," he says softly.

I nod as I dump in the chopped-up chicken. It sizzles loudly. A quick glance at Timothy tells me he doesn't much care. He's falling back onto his pillows, his eyes closed.

The camera tilts in a way that I can't see as much of him anymore, just his nose and mouth and the top of his pajamas.

Guilt makes me say, “I’ll let you go.”

He mumbles a reply. As I'm reaching to press the end button, he moves in a way that sends a pulse through me.

His thumb slides between his lips, to which he immediately begins to suck greedily. I can tell this isn't an accident. It's very much something that he does regularly based on the motion and speed at which he goes at it.

While thumb sucking is a tortuous habit for those who partake in it, it's also a self-soothing method. In some cases, for those who are involved in kink like I am, it's a sign of age regression or age play.

As a Daddy who has not played with a boy in ages, my heart swells at how adorable Timothy is. A prickle of guilt moves through me again when I think of what he'll feel like the moment he realizes I've seen this.

Then again, he may not realize I'm still watching it. It's hard to look away when he's so peaceful and sweet and innocent. The crush in my chest blooms even more.

This instant attraction I have to him is going to be the death of me. I can't afford to be distracted. This is my chance to stay in the hockey world without forcing myself to go through being a player, without giving my father what he wants.

I have enough money that I could do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life, really, but I don't want to be the type that sits on my butt at home. As much as I love the idea of being part of a charity organization or starting to work with some non-profits for awareness or other great causes like that, I need to be in the game somehow. I need that competitive edge and that connection. I want to feel that brotherhood that I've known so closely.

Taking a step back into a different role would take that away, and I can't lose anything else right now. I don't have the wherewithal for it.

So even though I want to watch Timothy all night long as he sleeps, I end the video call. I set my phone down, then go back to making dinner, my thoughts solely on the boy and what it would mean to be his Daddy. What it would mean to take care of him and show him that he can trust me.

That night, I dream of his smile, which I've yet to see, of how soft his skin must feel, of what it would be like to run my hands through his hair and to hold him to my chest. I picture other things as well, visions of him wrapped around me, of our bodies writhing together, of him pleading with me, begging me to let him fall apart.

I wake, my hand already wrapped around my cock, my body on the precipice of coming. I cry out his name as I arch my back, every inch of me flooding with heat, and I come with a force so strong it sends me falling back into the bed.

So much for squashing that crush. Even my subconscious is wrapped up in him.

This fresh start is going nothing how I thought it would.