Chapter Three

Dinner was good. Booker didn't know what he had expected. In truth, he half expected Dash to close off again. Dash didn't know him. Not really. Not in the way it counted. He didn't understand Booker didn't quit on people. Goddamn, he had been putting up with his dad's bullshit his entire life and still called him family. If that didn't say something about his loyalty, nothing would. Dash's place was nice. Everything was big and open, making plenty of room for Dash to navigate the doorways and access every space. They cuddled on the couch, toying with each other's fingers.

"I feel like in all the time we've spent together, you've never really talked about yourself. You always talk about me going to the Olympics or our upcoming games. Why do you never get personal?"

Booker laughed at the question. "I didn't even realize that. What would you like to know?"

Dash kissed his forehead. He felt Dash smile against his skin. "Everything."

"Hmm. Let's see. I was raised by a single father after my mom passed away when I was six. It was hard as hell on him to be the father of a kid who just lost his mom. He just kind of tossed me into every sport imaginable, hoping to keep me busy, I guess. I was mediocre at everything I tried, but I enjoyed hockey the best. The sled team always had practice after my amateur hockey league. I would always stay to watch to avoid going home. My dad loves me—I think—but he's never really liked me, so I tried staying out of the way. Plus, he remarried when I was thirteen to the worst person alive. So I hated being home anyhow." Booker took a breath. He didn't enjoy thinking about that stage of his life. Booker simply hadn't stopped talking before he should have. Yet, he kept going.

"Anyhow, I guess I had the full chest confidence of a teenager back then, because I pointed out some weaknesses to Murphy about the sled team like the guy cared what a kid thought. From there, he sort of took me under his wing, and eventually, he named me as his assistant."

"Hmm." Dash sounded thoughtful. "Honestly, I thought you might have some heartfelt, feel-good story about how you knew someone in a wheelchair and blah blah."

Booker smiled. "Technically, I've known lots of people in wheelchairs in my years with the team." He leaned away to meet Dash's stare. "What about you? I've heard all about your rugby days. What about the rest of you?"

A sexy smile touched Dash's lips. It looked a little sad. "There's nothing good to tell. My parents spent their lives raising me to be the star. Everything revolved around pushing me to the top where I could support them into their old age. They actually told me that several times. I was their retirement plan. When the pressure and the injuries drove me to the bottle, no one noticed. If they did, they didn't care as long as the money kept coming. Then I pushed my luck too far and ended up here. After all the legal fees, medical bills, and shelling out to make my existence accessible, my accounts shriveled to nothing. That's when everyone disappeared."

Booker's heart ached. He wanted better for Dash.

Dash shrugged like it didn't matter and kept talking. "One day, shortly after I got settled into my new life, a retired Chuckers' player from the pro team showed up at my door. He offered to train me. I still don't know why he did it, but I had nothing else. So here I am."

"One of the best in the world and headed to the Paralympics," Booker said, reminding him of that detail, since Dash sounded like his life didn't matter that much anymore.

Dash waved a hand, as if wiping away Booker's claim. "It's just a sport. I'm still just doing what my parents shaped me to do. That's it. I'm not good at anything but playing the athlete. But I promise you, it doesn't keep me warm at night, and it definitely disappeared in my darkest hour."

Booker supposed Dash would know what mattered most after what he had been through. He only wished Dash saw himself the way Booker did. "You're amazing. Athleticism aside, you're…" Booker shrugged. He had never been good at putting his thoughts into feelings. A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured all the times he couldn't take his eyes off Dash. "You're the brightest smile in every room. The moment you appear, I can't see anyone else." He held Dash's stare so he would see the truth in Booker's eyes. "You don't realize how long I've dreamed you would see me too."

He swore Dash didn't blink as he looked at Booker—like he wanted to believe. Finally, he took a shaky-sounding breath. "I'm sorry you feel like I didn't notice sooner."

Booker shrugged. "It's not you. No one sees me."

A huge grin exploded across Dash's face. "I might not have noticed you were interested in me, but I definitely saw you. No one can miss those hot pink socks you like to wear to practice or your amazing ass."

Heat flooded Booker's face. "I love my hot pink socks."

Dash roared with laughter.

Booker couldn't look away. Dash took his breath away.

After a moment, Dash's laughter died. The air changed. "Do you want to get naked and make out?"

"Absolutely."

It was such an oddly serious moment. Booker felt something unnamed about them solidify. They were a real couple. He had never wanted anything more.

Things felt different from last night. Their kisses were slow and lingering. Dash's nude body covered Booker's like a blanket. It had happened so smoothly. They had stripped and slipped into bed. Dash had rolled, taking Booker beneath him. Booker had subtly helped him settle, as if they were a team who did this all the time. Dash had never felt less alone. Being with Booker was like a slow realization of falling for a friend. It was comfortable.

Dash was hard again and trying to ignore it. His soul ached to reclaim that part of his life. Last night had proven it wouldn't happen. He was still sad about that. Dash wanted to give Booker a typical relationship. Well, as close to the standard as he could get. He would figure things out. Dash didn't know how to quit.

The way their tongues brushed was hot. It made Dash's skin burn. He would definitely use this memory to take forever to get off next time he was alone. Booker one hundred percent turned him on like no one had in years.

Booker reached between them and palmed their cocks, holding them together and stroking. A moan vibrated through their kiss. It was him. He had made that sound because he had definitely felt that. Every bit of his focus honed in on the act taking place between them.

Dash dropped his head, pressing his forehead against Booker's shoulder. He couldn't even concentrate on their kiss or he might lose his erection. Booker didn't stop stroking. Dash held the sheets in a death grip. Fuck. He wanted to come with Booker so badly, it hurt. Booker had the patience—and obviously the stamina—of a saint. He never stopped or changed pace. Dash's mind fluctuated between concentrating on blowing and stressing that Booker might get frustrated.

Gasps began in the back of his throat. The sounds were beyond his control. Pressure climbed his shaft. He ground his back teeth so hard, he felt his jaw pop. He wanted this. His body itched with need. Sweat coated his skin as he fought to get there. He begged for it.

"Please." Dash heard himself and couldn't stop. He craved and ached. Every muscle tensed. Dash held his breath. Relief washed through him as he finally came. All he could do was pant and cling to the euphoria.

Booker cried out.

Dash's head shot up. He had to watch. Booker was sexy as fuck as he came. He looked like a man who had just seen heaven. Dash had to taste his cries. He covered Booker's mouth with his. Their tongues played as their bodies cooled. Dash felt whole for the first time in ages. That was on Booker. He had given Dash that. Dash wanted to stay like this forever.

"Qualifying for the Olympics should be a breeze now."

He felt Booker shaking with laughter beneath him at his ridiculous comment. Dash couldn't stop smiling. He had met no one as perfect as Booker. Dash wanted to stay with him.