38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Luke

Dayum, who knew I’d be steaming hot as a chick? Or hot as a dude who’s dressed like a chick? It gets confusing. I mean, Troye wears dresses all the time. But either way… I really am. Sure, my hockey shoulders look ridiculously big, the pearl choker around my broad neck stretched to the max, but the corset fits perfectly. It took visiting three lingerie stores before I found one that would fit and was black. Because it had to be black. The fishnet stockings I got online, and luckily, they hide the many cuts I got shaving my legs. Fuck, I’ve never shaved my legs before, but Elly insisted.

‘ It’s gonna look weird with hair sticking out of the fishnet holes. If you wanna be a girl, you gotta suffer like one. ’ In true teen fashion, she rolled her eyes at me over FaceTime while Lilly was doing some TikTok dance in the background. And boy, did I suffer. But it’s worth it though. The black-and-white checkered miniskirt barely hides my ass and I’m going to have to remind myself all night not to bend over too often. Sure, I’m wearing a pair of briefs underneath, but still. I’m going to wear Chucks instead of heels, though, because fuck if I’m going to have Coach on my back if I break a leg. Wouldn’t that be neat, both Cody and I injured?

The blond wig is the cherry on the top. It nearly reaches my waist, thick and luscious, the strands brushing against my naked shoulders. I found it online and I can’t stop playing with it, my fingers itching to toy with the long blond strands constantly. Along with the makeup, I really do look like him in the video Cody loves. It took me ages to get it just right, a tutorial on how to make smoky eyes and kiss-me-lips saving my ass. Thank you very much, YouTube. I adjust the lipstick one last time before I get ready to surprise my boyfriend. He just got home from his weekly physiotherapy appointment and a grueling rehab session and he’s probably looking at my Antoine Griezmann soccer gear right now, wondering what it’s doing displayed on the kitchen island.

I slide into the kitchen, swaying my hips seductively, trying to keep my face serious, my lips pouty and my eyelids hooded. And yep, Cody is holding up the jersey in front of him, the cutest frown between his brows.

“Luke, why’s Antoine’s jer—” he doesn’t get any further than that, his eyes going impossibly wide when he looks up at me. Gliding up next to him, I brush my fake glitter nails through his sweaty bangs.

“Now, I don’t know who Luke is but when I find him, he’s in massive trouble,” I purr in my best—and yes, pretty dismal—Aussie accent. Cody gulps and then he gulps some more, his eyes glued to the corset. I just knew that it was going to steal the show. It was worth every single dollar and every strenuous second I spent prowling the mall to find the perfect one. “Don’t you recognize me, hottie?” I gasp in mock hurt, batting my fake eyelashes. Cody looks at me, tilting his head, taking me in from top to toe, then recognition flashes across his face.

“Troye?” he whispers.

“The one and only!” I shriek, wrapping my arms around his neck. Leaning in, I pant against his left ear, “or rather, Troye Baby to you, Antoine .” An outdrawn groan leaves Cody’s chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. Shit, he’s shivering. I got my man all hot and bothered.

“Antoine?” he asks, a puzzled brow raised in question.

“Oui, mon cheri,” I pile it on thick for good measure and Cody’s lashes flutter like the wings of tiny butterflies as he sucks in a clipped breath.

“Fuck, babe,” he shakes his head, biting his bottom lip. The blush of all blushes spreads across his cheeks and I’m taking a mental picture of how he looks right now and keeping it forever. Just like I’m keeping him forever. It’s already been decided like some universal truth. Like fucking gravity or Pythagoras’ Law or whatever. That I’m his and he’s mine. Troye and Antoine forever and ever. It’s written in the stars. Damn, I’m cheesy.

“You like?” I smile, taking a step back out of his grasp, doing a twirl, sticking my ass out as much as possible for good measure. Cody burst into the most carefree laughter I’ve heard in ages, a wet sheen to his eyes. I love how easily he shows his emotions in front of me now, knowing that I’ve got him. That it’s safe. He’s such a sensitive guy, his laughter easily spilling into tears. Not because he’s sad—I’ve realized that by now—but because he gets all teary-eyed when something moves him.

“I fucking love it,” he positively glows, licking his lips. “Shit, babe, you look hot.” He shakes his head again. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” I lie because I haven’t told him yet. “Just for you,” I wink.

“For me?” He breathes like he still can’t believe this is real. Him and me.

Nodding furiously, I say, “Yeah, just for you, baby,” as I reach for my phone on the island and pull up Spotify. Scrolling my playlist, I find the song that I want. Putting it on, the beat spills from the Sonos speakers, Troye’s soft voice teasing the melody. Cody’s granite eyes glimmer, his gaze sweeping along the lace hem of the corset, as he drinks me in. Reaching out, he sweeps his fingers through the blond wig, an appreciative grunt leaving his mouth. “You into blonds, Mitchell?” I tease, unable to stay in character.

“Just into you,” he whispers. Pulling me in by the hem of the corset, his index finger dipping between my pecs, he has me flush against his chest. His heart beats steadily, his gaze heated, his freckles sparkling. Or maybe I’m just making shit up at this point because to me Cody always fucking sparkles and glows, this small miracle in my life.

I’m so into him, too, that it’s ridiculous. I never thought I could be into someone like this. We’ve reached a place in our relationship that is so safe and secure. Our boundaries are well-defined, and we know each other’s needs and limits. I never thought that it could be so fulfilling to know another person’s boundaries. To know how to move within those limits, to reach them and respect them, and to see in that person’s eyes what it means to them. Cody knows I see him and that I accept him. Because accepting someone’s boundaries means accepting them and who they are at their very core.

But what really blows my mind? How amazing it feels to finally know myself and feel good about who I am. Cody has taught me this. That I’m asexual. That I can still be attracted to someone without wanting a sexual relationship. That I can still crave closeness and intimacy without needing sexual gratification. The emotional bond we share is what defines us. I have his back like he has mine. Cody is going through one of the most challenging times in his life, and he’s so unbelievably strong. I’m in awe of my man. It’s our strength, along with our deep-seated friendship, the trust, and the connection we share.

Leaning in, he buries his face against my neck, pressing a soft kiss to my naked skin, breathing me in. Blowing in his ear, I join Troye and Charli XCX in their sultry plea.

“‘ Talk to me in French. Talk to me in Spanish. Talk to me in your own made-up language. ’” I pant the words against Cody’s ear, his body vibrating. It takes him a few seconds to come up for air, his expression all wrecked and love drunk. Then the right corner of his mouth curls, a curious frown building between his brows. And I know that look. He’s so on to me.

“What aren’t you telling me, Troye? ” he demands, squeezing my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting my head, the choker tightening around my neck as it bends backward. And now I’m the one who’s gulping because dayum my baby’s hot when he’s all bossy. Clearing my throat, my eyes fixed on his, I come clean and squeak, “So, remember when…”

Katie’s apartment is filled to the brim like she’s playing a game called How many pro hockey players can you fit into a three-bedroom ? The air is humid, music blasting from the loudspeakers, bodies swaying on the interim dance floor in the living room. Apparently, it was Greta and Virtanen’s idea to dress up as your celebrity crush. And bring your celebrity dream date , I added. Shit, I always thought it was Antoine, but now I know he was just a placeholder until the real deal came along. Sorry, Antoine, not sorry.

Wild cheers erupted when we arrived a couple of hours ago; our teammates, for the most part, were nothing but supportive of our new status as boyfriends. Yeah, we’re officially out now. We kind of had to be after Chatty Cathy and what is now commonly referred to as jersey-gate on the team happened . Riley already called dibs on best man. I smiled so fucking hard when he stood, shifting on his feet, in front of me, murmuring , ‘ I’m so happy for you, Luke. Truly. ’ Nowak—because he’s Nowak and he goes through life like it’s an endless playlist—of course, announced that he was going to oversee finding the perfect song for Cody and me. ‘ Everyone needs a song! ’ he proclaimed when I remarked it was, perhaps, a little premature. Although, I was preening on the inside because I already know I’m going to marry my guy. One of these days, I’m going to fucking marry him. You know, written in the stars and all that.

Even Crane took me by surprise the other day after practice when he came up next to me in the locker room and showed me an online article about the importance of out athletes in professional sports, referring to Cody and me as the latest couple to join a small but growing list of queer role models.

‘ Good for you, Carrington, ’ he rasped, shifting on his feet nervously. ‘ I mean, ’ he continued hesitantly. ‘ I think it’s cool that you guys, you know. That you’re open about… you know. Maybe it’ll get young kids to be… you know. ’ He shrugged.

‘ Thanks, man, ’ I bumped his shoulder. ‘ Appreciate it. ’

‘ Sure, ’ he mumbled, and then, the moment was gone, and he was back to being an asshole. ‘ You were slagging today, though. I wouldn’t have missed that shot in the 2nd. ’

‘ Whatever, dude, ’ I grinned, because nothing gets to me these days. I’m fucking untouchable. ‘ You keep tellin’ yourself that. ’

Crane, the kiss-ass, is dressed as Coach whereas Virtanen has stayed true to his previous proclamation that his celebrity crush is Buckhammer. Dressed like a cowboy, Virtanen looks ridiculous, his broad thighs stretching the denim material like nobody’s business, the white cowboy hat way too small for his big head. He even wears a pair of cowboy boots, size canoe.

‘ Dude, you know I’m from Austin, right ?’ Buckhammer blurted earlier when Virtanen beamed at him, making a dismal attempt at a line dance move.

‘ So ?’ Virtanen boomed.

‘ I’m not a cowboy. I’m a city boy. Not every Texan is a cowboy, ’ he sighed.

‘ What do you mean ?’ Virtanen growled in his no-bullshit fashion.

‘ Nothing, Finland, ’ Buckhammer shook his head in resignation. ‘ You look good, man. ’ For a second, the huge Texan got a little misty-eyed, and who could blame him?

‘ Of course, I do, ’ Virtanen beamed. ‘ I look like you !’

And he’s not the only one. Who looks good, that is. The best-looking guy in the room is my man, who’s currently engulfed in a passionate conversation with Greta. His blond locks are flying all over the place as he gesticulates wildly, Greta giggling, dressed as Pikachu.

Something ridiculously protective rose in me earlier as Cody stood in front of me in my bedroom, a shy smile playing across his lips, dressed as Antoine. There was something so utterly vulnerable about him as he stood there, four scars, two on each side of his left knee just above the red soccer sock. I’ve never felt protective of anyone like that before, my family coming close, but in a different way. It’s like I can’t fucking breathe if Cody’s not happy. I need it—his beautiful smile—like I need the very air in my lungs and the ice beneath my skates.

‘ What’s wrong ?’ he frowned adorably, his eyes connecting with mine.

‘ Nothing, ’ I whispered. ‘ You look perfect. You are perfect .’ Relief softened Cody’s features, that shy smile of his taking me off guard, nearly making my legs buckle beneath me.

‘ Do I look like him?’ he asked, a needy edge to his voice.

‘ Fuck, baby, you look way better than him, ’ I growled, pulling him in against me by the hem of my jersey, which is from this day forward his jersey. Because I’m going to be wanting him to wear it all the time now. So that I can peel it off again and again and just ogle him. That’s what I’ve been reduced to these days—Luke the Mighty Ogler. The Dumbfounded Drooler. But what can you do when your boyfriend’s abs have abs? Nothing. You can do absolutely nothing but ogle and drool.

‘ Yeah ?’ he whimpered against my lips, brushing a lock of hair out of my forehead.

‘ For sure, ’ I nodded, kissing him back, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, pulling a string of delicious moans from his mouth. Licking at the seam of his lips, his intoxicating flavor exploded on my tongue; a mix of Reese’s and coffee. As usual, I completely lost track of time, everything disappearing, fading into the background. It could’ve been minutes or hours; I have no idea. The ground could’ve disappeared beneath my feet, and I wouldn’t have noticed. That’s the extent of the effect that Cody has on me. He suspends time. It’s his superpower.

Eventually, we broke apart, breathless, lips puffy and bruised, voices hoarse and shaking. If it weren’t for that wicked setting spray that Elly insisted on me using, my face would’ve been a disaster by then, lipstick and bronzer smeared all over the place.

‘ I love you, ’ Cody laughed, his forehead resting against mine. ‘ So so much. ’

‘ I love you, too, baby. So fucking much, ’ I laughed back, wrapping my arms around him like I’m wrapping them around him right now from behind, Greta sending me a knowing smirk.

“That’s my cue,” she chuckles, wiggling her empty Corona bottle in front of us. “You want one?” She smiles at us.

“Sure,” we answer her at the same time, and she just shrugs and bounces off as much as you can bounce off while dressed as Pikachu. Turning in my arms, Cody’s eyes are swimming, a combination of alcohol and fatigue. These past few months have been crazy. For better and for worse, we’ve gotten through them, though. I’m exhausted too, but I’m staying strong for him. Always strong for him.

“You tired?” I mumble against his lips.

“A little,” he slurs, the scent of coconut and pineapple wafting from them.

“You wanna go home?”

“Not yet,” he smiles, swaying in my arms.

“Are you happy?” I ask, already knowing the answer but still holding my breath.

“Yes,” he smiles. “So happy, Luke. The happiest I’ve ever been.” And then my heart skips a beat and then another because I know it to be true. Because I feel it, too. It’s my truth, too. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and it’s all him. Cody. My Cody. And as if on cue, the music changes and I know. I just instantly know that whatever Nowak comes up with, it won’t ever beat this song.

My fingers wrap around Cody’s on instinct, and I drag him with me to the miniature dance floor. It’s crowded, but the guys make room for us. Just like they’ve made room for us on the ice and in the locker room. And in their hearts, too. I feel it. Love in the purest, most untainted form, forever linked with acceptance.

As I pull Cody against me and hold him close, my eyes catch Nowak’s across the room, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he holds up his phone, wiggling it knowingly. Well, of course. I tip my chin at him in acknowledgment, and he winks back as Troye starts, ‘ Now, let's stop running from love. Running from love. Let's stop, my baby. Let's stop running from us. Running from us. Let's stop, my baby. ’