28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Luke

Charlie’s lips are moving. I can see that. But I can’t for the life of me make out what he’s saying. Apparently, Nick can because he’s smiling through the rain. Shit. The recent group session, which was my fourth, has fed off so many questions that I feel like my head is close to exploding or imploding or whatever. Even Cody, a man with the patience of a saint, seems to be so over me right now as I stir next to him on my bed and he eventually pauses Heartstopper , leaving poor Nick and Charlie standing in the rain.

“What?” Cody groans, looking at me. He looks as tired as I feel. It’s been one week since we came back from Lancaster and our days have been busy, filled with practice and games. Practice and games. And group sessions.

“Nothing,” I murmur, burying my face in my pillow. “It’s just…”

“What?” he chuckles, pushing at my shoulder, forcing me to look up at him.

“I’m so confused,” I finally admit.

“About what?” His voice is tinged with patience. So much patience. How does he even put up with me? Not only does he wait for me all the time when I’m late—because, yes, still notoriously late—he also waits for me to catch up with him so that we’re on the same page with this whole sexuality thing. He’s been so patient with me, answering all my random questions after each group session, and never making me feel stupid or bothersome.

“I just…” the words get stuck in my mouth because I’m afraid that if I admit to this part of myself, then it’s over, this thing between Cody and me.

“You can tell me, Lucky,” he reaches out and sweeps my hair from my forehead, the tips of his fingers lingering just a little while longer than necessary. Like he knows instinctively that I need the connection. Right now, more than ever. He’s so good. So good. I don’t think he knows just how perfect he is. And I want to be perfect for him too. Only, what if I’m not? The thought frightens me more than anything ever has. I’ve lived a sheltered life. I’m not oblivious to that. I’ve been luckier than most. I’m not used to not getting what I want. I know that probably sounds entitled, but it’s also true. “Tell me,” he coaxes, biting his bottom lip.

“When Kenny talked about being ashamed tonight…” Shit, why is it so hard to speak those words? I’ve done it countless times myself but now it feels shameful almost.

“About masturbating?” Cody murmurs, his hand sliding from my forehead, down my temple, and further down my cheek. Dancing along my chin and neck, his hand eventually settles on my shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Yeah,” I croak. “I… I felt that. How he felt at that moment.”

“You did?” Cody looks at me, his eyes so big and bright, the light from my bedside lamp making them sparkle. “Why?” Why?

“Because I do that. Masturbate,” I say, and I feel like I’ve just admitted to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. My stomach sinks and regret courses through me. Then sadness. Because this is it, right? This is when Cody realizes that I’m not right for him.

“So?” he tilts his head, a curious frown between his brows. “Many asexual people masturbate.” He says it like he would say, “ Many people enjoy a drink with their meal ,” or “ Many people admit to not washing their hands after visiting the bathroom .” So casually.

“They do?” I blurt, dumbfounded. “But… isn’t that sex?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do it, too, on occasion. To ease the pressure. Doesn’t mean I want to have sex with another person. I guess it’s more of a physiological thing. The need to get off.” He looks so sure of himself and his place in the world as he speaks. About masturbation. And sex. And not having sex. Like he knows himself. I want to get to that place so badly where I know myself, too. Because I always thought that I did and now I just feel like I’m in free fall. And I hate that feeling.

“You masturbate?” I say, testing the word on my tongue.

“Yeah,” he shrugs.

“And that’s okay…?”

“Of course it is.” He smiles at me. Not overbearingly, but again with endless patience and understanding. He squeezes my shoulder again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Luke. Don’t look for ways that disqualify you as an ace person. The need to get off is a natural urge. It’s healthy. There’s nothing wrong with doing what feels good.” He pauses, looking over my shoulder, out of the window. “That’s why I don’t have sex anymore. It didn’t feel good.”

“So… it’s all about what feels good?” I’m trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. I’ve never thought about it like this before. I’ve always viewed masturbation as part of sex. As part of discovering your sexuality. But maybe it’s not. Maybe Cody is right. Perhaps it’s just a natural urge.

“Yes,” he muses, looking back at me. “About what feels good and right for you .” A smile grows on his face and somehow, I feel our roles are reversed. Cody may be the rookie on our team, but when it comes to matters of sexuality, I’m the rookie. I think I have to get used to this feeling. It’s new to me. Shit, I didn’t mean for this to get so heavy, so fast. I return his smile, placing my hand on top of his that’s still resting on my shoulder.

“So…” he smirks, a playful spark in his eyes. “Who do you jack off to?” Fuck. Me. “Is it that Antoine of yours?” he grins.

“Uhm… yeah… mostly,” I mumble. It’s not. Not anymore. Sorry, Antoine, but you’ve been replaced by a gorgeous hockey player with gray eyes and blond hair.

“Just as long as you don’t call me Grizou when we make out,” he winks.

“ Grizou? ” I smirk. “You looked him up?” Cody blushes adorably, shrugging.

“Yeah… I mean, I gotta know who I’m up against, right? You know, my competition and all.” Jeez, this guy. He’s the cutest.

“It’s not a competition,” I murmur. “Never will be.”

“No?” he whispers, his eyes growing wide.

“No. Never.” I lean in and kiss his chin, his familiar scent enveloping me. “What about you?” I ask, holding my breath. “Who do you think about when you get off?” I want him so badly to say you , and I want him so badly not to at the same time, because I think I’ll explode into a million little pieces if he does.

His smile widens even more, and his eyes turn dark gray, bordering on black. He digs his front teeth into his bottom lip, his teeth so white against the puffy pink.

“You,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I always think of you, Lucky, when I touch myself.” Fuck, that name on his lips. That name he’s chosen for me. It’s like a promise that we’ll be okay. No matter what happens, we’ll be good. His cheeks turn a bright red, and he looks down at the blanket beneath us, his fingers toying with a loose thread, shaking slightly.

“You do?” my heart soars in my chest as what feels like a band of wild horses takes flight in my stomach. Shame and fear are instantly replaced with exhilaration. And calm. A strange calm in my head. “You think of me?” I ask needily, my gaze fixated on him. He looks back up, the answer lingering in his eyes.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I only ever think of you, Luke.” Fuck. Me.

“Yeah?” I ask with that needy voice of mine that, until lately, I’ve never heard before. A lot of firsts, I guess. “What do you think about?”

“Your eyes,” he smiles, a glassy sheen to his own. “That deep chocolate brown. How it changes color with the light, from golden honey in the morning when I wait for you to wake up and you finally do, and the sun hits them just right. And then, at night, they’re an almost black coffee color. Like these… I don’t know. Like these pools of dark brown, swimming before me when you get tired.” He scoots closer to me, brushing the tips of his fingers along my lips. “And your mouth. How soft your lips are when you kiss me. How good you taste on my tongue.” He pauses, leaning all the way in, spelling the words out on my lips. “You always taste so fucking good, Lucky.” He closes the gap and presses a barely there kiss against my lips. “Like pink Gatorade and Reese’s cups,” he pants. He fucking pants.

“I do like my Reese’s,” I whimper, my fingers tingling with the need to touch him.

“You do,” he laughs, and his laughter so fresh and crisp like cool, cool water.

“What else?” I beg, because apparently, my neediness knows no boundaries. I have zero shame at this point.

“Your hair,” he says, sweeping his fingers through the hair at my temples, pushing it behind my ears. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous hair,” he sighs. “You know how many times I thought about touching it? All those times I watched you on TV. Even when it was hidden under that helmet. I still thought about it. I can’t wait until it gets warmer, and you swap your beanie for a cap. I bet you wear it backward, don’t you? I know you’ll look fine doing it. So fine. Can’t wait to ruffle my hands through your hair when I pull off that cap. Find out how it feels.”

“Yeah? How will it feel then?”

“Like fucking heaven, babe. Everything about you feels like fucking heaven, Luke.” Babe. It’s the first time he’s used that small endearment and from how wide his eyes grow, it also surprises the shit out of him. As much as I adore the name Lucky on his lips, to the outside world, it’s neutral. We could be anyone to each other. Roomies, teammates, friends. But babe. It’s so… affectionate. Tender.

“I’m a babe ,” I grin stupidly. I’m the babe ! Obviously, I’m the fucking babe.

“Uhm… yeah,” he mumbles. “Is that okay?” Doubt creeps into his voice and I hate that. I hate all the people who’ve ever made him doubt anything about himself.

“Of course, it’s okay. It’s more than okay,” I reassure him. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Relief washes across his face, and my belly makes a weird flip, like it’s excited, too.

“Yes. Now I just gotta think of one more for you,” I smirk.

“Oh God, no,” he groans, leaning in and resting his forehead against mine. I laugh against his lips, the tips of our noses rubbing against each other. I’m going to find the best pet name for him. For my Cody. Well, the second best because baby came so effortlessly that it will always be my favorite for him. Shit, I’m so far gone for this man. If I was any more gone, I would be invisible. An invisible hockey player. Huh.

“Can you see me?” I ask without even thinking.

“What?!” he laughs into my mouth.

“Nothing… just…” I tap my forehead. “Silly thoughts.” He nods, then licks my bottom lip, his tongue coaxing me to open up for him. And I do. I let him in, sucking his tongue into my mouth, lathering it in saliva. I love sloppy kisses. They’re the best. Sloppy kisses with Cody. Damn, that sounds like an awesome 80s movie. Like Weekend at Bernie’s . Only more kisses and fewer dead people.

A succession of the sweetest moans reverberates against my lips, pulling me back to the present moment. Cody’s fingers are buried in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling at it. He shifts, and suddenly he’s straddling my thighs, getting comfortable in my lap. His lips are still glued to mine, the taste of caramel and peanut exploding on my tongue. I lose track of time, as one second bleeds into the next to the soundtrack of our moans, licks, and sucks. It’s pure fucking heaven on earth, Cody in my lap, his fingers in my hair, his lips sealed against mine.

Finally, we come up for air, Cody’s eyes swimming before me. His cheeks are on fire, his lips glistening and puffy. He looks wrecked. I did that. I made him look all dazed and wrecked. I wonder if I look the same. I hope I do. I want Cody to know what he does to me. To see how he turns me inside out with just a kiss. Or a look.

“Your turn,” he pants, small puffs of his warm breath hitting my chin.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“What do you think about when you think of me?” he says, all smug, his voice slurry, his eyelashes fluttering. Damn, he called me on my bluff. He so fucking knows I masturbate to him and only him.

“How long do you have?” I grin stupidly.

“How much time do you need?” he whispers, looking too smug for his own good.

Forever.

“All fucking night, beautiful,” I wink. And there it is. I didn’t even have to think about it after all.

“Beautiful,” Cody repeats, stunned, his voice just as needy as mine now. “You think I’m beautiful?” He frowns, wonder filling his eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “I think you’re the most beautiful boy in the world, Cody. So beautiful that my heart hurts just looking at you.” And it’s true. It hurts. But in a good way.

In the fucking best of ways.