14. Chapter Fourteen

“Are we there yet?”

The urge to sigh loudly was strong, but Super Dad that I am, I held it back and smiled into the rearview mirror at my offspring sitting so proudly in her booster seat. Her gaze met mine instantly.

“No, baby, we still have a couple of hours to go.”

My child did not hold back on the dramatic sigh. Nope. She was an expert. “Why does Mr. Basky live so far away?!”

“It’s not really all that far, honey. It’s about three hours or so. If you’d sit back and listen to the audiobook that we borrowed from the library, the time would fly. Kind of like the dragon in the book.”

She frowned and tugged at the collar of her new dress. She had insisted on wearing it on our little trip despite my aunt and me begging her not to and save it for school. But nope, she had been adamant and when my child set her mind to something it was pert near impossible to change it. I guess she took after me in that regard. Just look at how set I’d been to be a goalie, raise my child alone, and romance Baskoro, even though I knew all the above would require hard work and lots of dedication.

“Okay, I’ll listen to the book.”

I smiled sweetly and hit play once more. Actually, the story was pretty enchanting. It was a classic about training your dragon to read by a famous Scottish actor who had played a two-hearted doctor who traveled through space in a blue police box. How could you go wrong?

We’d driven about four miles and were approaching the exit for Tunkhannock, the story of young Hiccup playing away when Kyleen spoke up.

“I have to pee.”

I let a small breath pass between my lips, hit the blinker, and pulled into a local fast food parking lot. Kyleen leapt out of the car as if she had been imprisoned for years, her pretty black patent leather shoes getting soaked as she raced through puddles of melted snow before I could tug her around them. Once inside, she raced into the ladies room, and I took up a guard post outside. Two older women exited, gave me suspicious looks, and then scuttled off to whisper to their elderly friends seated nearby. Knowing that they were probably weighing if the Black man lurking outside the bathroom was a threat, I gave them a big grin just as my child burst out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to her shoe.

The tension among the silver-haired diners eased when they saw Kyleen at my side.

“Daddy, can we get nuggets and a milkshake?”

Peeling the wet toilet paper from her shoe, I wadded it up and knelt there like a damn fool, trying to decide if I should attempt to use the men’s room while we were here. If nothing else, I would like to throw this wet mess away and wash my hands.

“I think it’s only breakfast food,” I said to my daughter, then stood up with a handful of wet toilet tissue in my palm. Super.

I hated to leave her alone in a busy restaurant, but since there was no family bathroom available, it was a problem that I faced a lot as a father of a little girl. I mean come on corporate America. Gender neutral bathrooms would be incredible as would changing tables in men’s rooms. Not only moms had to tend to babies. Let’s do better, big business.

“She can sit with us while you use the bathroom,” one of the older gals nearby called over the din of diners and workers calling out orders. I glanced at the table of older women. They seemed harmless, but then again, lots of kidnappers looked like normal people before they stole your kid while you stood at a urinal. While I did have to go, it wasn’t too bad. I could hold it.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m good.” My bladder would make it for a few more hours. And just because I was a glutton for punishment, I allowed my darling child to talk me into breakfast to go, which included a large coffee for me. Once in the car, I doused my hands up to my elbows with hand sanitizer. I literally had like a dozen small bottles left in the glove box from the pandemic that we used for moments just like this.

“You smell like the doctor,” Kyleen informed me as I rubbed in between my fingers, the gel drying quickly.

“Doctor Daddy,” I quipped and got a giggle. I handed her sandwich to her but held onto her milk carton until she requested it. The child did tend to spill things frequently. “Now be careful with that, it’s hot.”

“I know,” she replied and took a big bite that was followed with yummy sounds. I dove into my food, enjoying the hell out of the takeout grub—after I peeled the ham off the egg and cheese—which I rarely ate. The team nutritionist tended to scowl at fast food of any kind for athletes but conceded that once in a while, it was fine. This was my once in a while. I’d not worry over the amount of holiday food that I had ingested and would ingest over the next few days. Baskoro had texted me last night to warn me that his mother and sister were trying to put Ooni’s spread to shame. “Do you think Aunty Zada is sad without us?”

Given that my aunt had just about pushed the two of us out the door this morning, I rather doubted she was missing us all that much just yet. She had plans to do as little as possible over the days we were gone, which I was thrilled to hear. She worked too damn hard keeping our house running while I was off making hockey happen. A few days to herself would be just what she needed, and if she snuck off to bingo or the Moose more power to her.

“I’m sure she’ll miss us, but she’ll rest with her feet up more.” I offered Kyleen some apple slices, which she stuck her nose up to, so I ate them after my sandwich was gone. When the food was finished and the trash placed in a can outside the restaurant, we were back on our way. Kyleen finally settled down to enjoy the audiobook while we made our way north through Pennsylvania into New York State. “Do you want any more milk?”

“No, thank you. It will make me pee more.”

Smart child. I should have followed suit because by the time I pulled into Baskoro’s skinny drive my back teeth were floating as Aunt Zada liked to say. Exiting the car, I breathed in fresh air, crisp as a fall apple and cold as a witch’s heart. Seneca Lake rarely froze according to Basky, but the wind that blew off the water was brutal.

Wasting no time, I hustled Kyleen along, hoisting our bags up onto my shoulder, and knocked on the door to Baskoro’s small but loved lakeside home.

It opened, a rush of heat flowing out over us, and Baskoro welcomed us inside with a hug for both of us.

“Okay, so warning you now that my mother is in full Mom mode, so be prepared for her to gush endlessly,” he whispered beside my ear as he took my coat and Kyleen’s, tossing them into a tiny closet by the front door. The house was lived in, and I liked it. Nothing extravagant, as so many of the homes along the Finger Lakes were, but nicely maintained. It was obvious two men lived here. Where my house had knick-knacks and knitted doilies, this home had hockey memorabilia on the tables, fat goalie paddles in the corners, and one skinny pine tree in the corner that appeared to be more than a little lopsided. We kicked off our shoes and then nodded in thanks at the green and red slippers Baskoro handed us.

“Noted,” I whispered back, stole a fast kiss, and then was swept up into the Huda family’s warm bosom. Mrs. Huda was in her glory, fussing over Kyleen and me while bouncing her grandson on her hip. Mr. Huda was pleasant but reserved. A slight man with glasses, he seemed happy to sit quietly in front of the Christmas tree and discuss things with his handsome son-in-law. I had no clue what they were discussing as they were speaking Thai, but I did remember to make wai to everyone that we met, as did Kyleen, who it seemed earned a cookie for everything she did that pleased Mrs. Huda. Joyo, Citra, and Banyu were delightful as well. Baskoro’s sister poked at me for all the details of our romance, which made her brother stammer and blush.

The food that was served was not at all the traditional Christmas feast that I was accustomed to, but it was filling and incredibly good. Kyleen poked at the dribbles on her plate, taking teensy no thank you bites until she found a few things that she liked such as the wide noodles in soy sauce, some fried rice, and of course the dessert of banana roti. Our skills with chopsticks left a little to be desired so we switched to flatware. Baskoro was smiling throughout the long, friendly meal, his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes brimming with emotion.

That look of utter contentment stayed with him throughout the opening of presents after the big meal. Diwa and Intan, Baskoro’s parents, who insisted I address them by their first names as Americans like to do, had bought me a bottle of aftershave and gifted Kyleen with a lovely tea set just the right size for her little hands. She was thrilled, bowing and thanking them as Baskoro had instructed us to do, before setting out to make tea for all the grown-ups. It was incredibly weak and cold, but we all sipped it and raved as if it had been tea made for a queen.

Movies on the big-screen TV came next as did more coffee, little shortbread flower cookies in various shades of pink, blue, and green, followed by yep, more coffee. I wouldn’t sleep for weeks but the coffee was robust, sweet, and the perfect accompaniment for A Muppet Christmas Carol that both kids seemed to enjoy, although Banyu fell asleep after about ten minutes, his small head resting on Baskoro’s wide shoulder. The man had not been lying when he had said he adored children. It was obvious watching how he doted on Kyleen and Banyu.

Night came early, and with it some light snow, so Citra gathered up her husband, her son, and her parents for the short ride to their new home. There were warm goodbyes and then, finally, the door was closed and silence fell over the small house overlooking the lake.

Kyleen was curled up on the sofa, her head on a throw pillow, her teapot in her arms.

“I’ll get her into her pajamas and into bed,” I whispered as I bent down to lift her from the couch. She mewled, clutched her white teapot to her chest, and yawned into my neck. “Say good night to Basky.”

“Night, Basky,” she murmured and nodded back off. It had been a long, busy day, and she was exhausted. I should be as well, but I had so much coffee coursing through my veins I felt as if I could swim the length of Seneca Lake a few times and still have energy left over for a jog.

“Night, butter bean,” he called while picking up coffee cups, plates, and napkins.

Undressing and dressing Kyleen was fun. Imagine trying to wiggle a jellyfish into footed sleepers. After a small argument about the safety of sleeping with a teapot, we settled on placing the pot on the nightstand where she could see it.

“I love Mr. and Mrs. Huda. Will they be my grandparents?” she asked around a big yawn as I folded her new dress and placed it in her pretty pink suitcase.

“Oh, well, I don’t know, baby. Basky and I like each other a lot, but we’ve not talked about marriage.”

“Okay. If you do talk about it, I vote yes. I always wanted a grandma and poppy to have tea with.”

She dropped off immediately. I bent down to kiss her on her soft cheek and then turned off the light. The very masculine room fell into darkness but she would be safe sleeping under the watchful eye of a Bryn Mettler poster on the far wall.

With the nightlight from her room that we had brought along—don’t leave home without it—I eased out of Liam’s room, closed the door gently, and turned to find Baskoro standing by the tree with a small box with a bright red bow in his hands. The living room was tidy, the sound of a dishwasher running in the kitchen.

“What’s in the box?” I asked as I closed the distance.

He shrugged. “You have to open it to find out.”

“Well,” I commented as I grew closer. “It’s not your dick because it’s far too small of a box and you’re holding it way too high.”

He snorted in amusement at the SNL reference, the heater coming on to blow some soft strands of his hair into his face. I reached up to smooth them from the new whiskers on his jaw. His lashes lowered in pleasure, and he held out the box as his eyes reopened.

“I really want to take you to bed right now,” I confessed. He smiled a wicked smile but jammed his present into my chest. “Fine, I get it.”

“Seriously, I’ve been waiting all day to give you this and I am not lying down for a sound dicking—”

“Oh, so you’re so sure you’re the one getting dicked? What if I wanted to get dicked?” I teased as I lifted the slightly heavy box from his hands.

“We’ll flip a coin then.” He gave the ribbon a tug. “You’re such a dawdler. Open the damn thing already.”

“Stop being such a gremlin,” I said, turning from the man who had shown zero patience for opening his gifts earlier. Honestly, he went at his presents like a Tasmanian Devil spying a long-eared, sarcastic gray wabbit. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Bet you won’t say that later,” he teased, slipping up behind me to cinch me to him, his chest to my back, his hands resting on my belly.

“Probably not,” I admitted as I loosened the bow and lifted the lid. Inside lay six gold and red candles in thick glass jars. The aroma that burst out of the box was intoxicating, heady with spices that tickled my nose. I glanced over my shoulder at him and got a wink. “You got me candles?”

“Yeah, for bedroom use only. Here, check it out.” He stretched an arm around me, lifted one, and showed me the label. “They’re all Lord of the Rings inspired. So this one is a ranger and it’s got pine and white beech bark. Then there’s one for a wizard and one that’s for elves and I didn’t dare sniff the dragon one, but I bet it smells like a lizard.”

I had to kiss the man. I just had to. So I wiggled around in his arms, box of candles between us, and put my mouth over his. He responded as he always did, with a passion that robbed me of breath and reason.

“These are amazing,” I whispered when the kiss ended.

“Want to go to my room and light up that ranger one? I bet he’s a randy ranger.”

“One second,” I said, handing him the candle then digging into my pocket for his gift. He smiled widely as I placed the necklace into his open palm, his other hand still holding my hip.

“Oh man, this is beautiful.” He held it up, the gold pendant spinning softly in a circle, the lights from the tree making it glow red then blue then green. He let go of me to stop the circling, his brows knitting as he tried to read the tiny inscription on the outside. “What language is this? At first I thought it was Thai, but it’s not.”

“No, it’s Vulcan calligraphy.” His mouth fell open, his eyes flared in surprise. “It reads talunk nash-veh k’dular, which translates to ‘my cherished one’.”

He swallowed softly, eyes growing misty, and then kissed me with every bit of emotion his long, strong body contained. I pulled him close, weaving my tongue with his, as the necklace rested between my shoulder blades, his hands resting around my neck.

“It is the most perfect gift ever,” he whispered over my lips. “I’ll carry it with me everywhere so that when I see those words I’ll know that you cherish me.”

“I do,” I told him on a rustle of breath. “Cherish you, Baskoro, so damn much.”

“I really want you to dick me down just like a Vulcan in pon farr.”

His hand took mine. I grabbed the candles and followed as he led me to his bedroom, long fingers around my wrist, where we closed and locked the door before lighting one of the richly scented candles. I chose the wizard one, for this man had surely ensorcelled me.

I’d never seen Baskoro in candlelight, but I would never forget the sight. He was beautiful, his long hair down, his strong body bared to my hungry eyes.

“You steal my breath,” I confessed as I moved to the bed, shucking my jeans and briefs in one not-so-smooth move as he lay on the bed, caressing his lubed cock, his heady gaze luring me closer and closer. With a nimbleness that only a yogi or tendie possessed, he lifted his leg high, ran his free fingertips down over his glistening balls and then found his pucker. Lost in the sight of him fingering himself, I let my cock drip, my mouth pooling with drool that I had to hurry to swallow to stave off choking. He teased his opening just a bit, then went back to tugging on his cock and balls.

“Don’t pass out on me,” he purred like a mountain lion, his graceful fingers moving up and down his shaft. I crawled onto the bed, over him, bracing my arms as my hips were cradled between his legs. He released his prick to touch me. Everywhere. My face. My shoulders. My sides. He massaged my ass, kneading the muscle hard, spreading me so that he could finger my hole as I ground against him.

“Love this so much,” I growled into his mouth, one kiss following another, each one hotter and wetter than the previous. He pressed a dry fingertip inside me. I gasped, groaned, and then pumped my hips into him, our cocks scrubbing. It felt amazing, but I knew filling him with my cock would feel even better. “Need a condom.”

“No, no condoms. We’re both on PrEP and haven’t been with anyone else. Our last tests were clear. I want to feel you inside me, no barriers. I need to have you fill me up.”

I lowered my head to taste him, to try to show just how hot I was for him, how much I cared for him. My dick was already slippery from rubbing it against his cock and slick hole. So, with a twitch of my hips, I stared into his eyes as my cockhead entered him. His lashes fluttered, his mouth forming a delicate circle, his hands moving from my shoulders down to my ass to guide me deeper with a firm but gentle touch.

“Now move, Marcus.” His words were whispers in the dark, soft and pure, and I stole a kiss as I began thrusting. Slow at first, to allow his body to stretch, and then faster, harder. Sweat fell from my nose and landed on his chest, next to the glittering gold pendant that lay on his heaving pec. The inscription rolling through my head as our bodies spiraled out of control. I felt his orgasm as it claimed him, his body tightening around mine as his cock kicked, coating his stomach and chest with ribbons of spunk. I tumbled over with him, giving him what he had wanted. I drove deep and filled him. His fingers clutched at my ass, ensuring I stayed buried inside him.

His lips moved silently as we drifted back.

“Love you so much,” he was saying, each exhalation delicate as a dove’s wing.

I captured those quiet entreaties with my mouth, inhaling his whispered words of devotion before saying them back as we grew slack. I eased out of him, got a complaint that made me smile, and dropped a dozen little pecks along his shoulder before rolling to my back, winded, coated with sweat and his cum, dazed but not in the least bit confused. There was no doubt, no uncertainty. This man was everything to me.

“Be right back,” he said softly, easing from the bed to pull on a robe and sneaking out of the room. I sat up and got to my feet. My briefs lay right beside the bed, so I shook them free from my pants, wiped my belly, and then stripped off the coverlet. I jammed the blanket into the hamper, noted that the sheets appeared dry, and rummaged around in his drawers for some jogging pants. We were roughly the same size, so what fit him should fit me. Knowing it would make him pause, I pulled on a pair of Gladiators fleece pants. He slipped in just as I was hiking them over my backside, froze, and then rushed back into the room.

“If only I had my phone,” he said as his robe was discarded once more. He moved around the room, the scent of soap following him, and dug into an old chest at the foot of the bed for a clean covering. Once that was on the bed, I slid under it, followed by Basky after he pulled on a pair of sleeping pants.

Lying on my back, I sighed as he curled into my side. Eyes closed, I turned my head to the side so that I could smell and feel his hair on my face.

“Wonder what kind of miracle it would take for this to be an everyday thing?” I asked sleepily, my arms now filled with Baskoro.

“Unless we played on the same team, that’s not going to happen,” he replied, his tone mellow with a trace of sadness.

“Stranger things have happened,” I reminded him because this was not the time to be blue. Yeah, we had some shit to take care of, obviously, but tonight was about us being a couple.

He placed his lips on my bicep, then let his head fall back where it had been. “Of course, sorry. I’m feeling really emotional right now. Not a very macho thing for a hockey player to admit.”

“Meh, macho is stupid. Give me an honest confession of just how much I rocked my man’s world anytime.”

He chuckled softly. “Egoist.” I didn’t argue. “So, how do we go about coming all the way out about us being a thing?”

“Hmm, that will take smarter minds than ours. I do have an idea about a song we could use for a video if the teams would be down for it.”

He lifted his head, perched it on his hand, and studied me. “Yeah? What song is that?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” I teased. He rolled his eyes. My stomach rumbled. His eyes flared at the sound.

“You cannot be hungry.”

“Hey, keeping my man happy in bed is hard work. Is there any of that mango sticky rice your sister made leftover?” I peeked over to see his lips twitching in amusement.

“If I feed you, do I get to slide into your fine ass afterward?”

“Baby, if you give me more mango sticky rice, you can do whatever the hell you want to me afterward.”

He fed me, and then he made love to me in a position that only a couple of contortionists or two goalies could ever pull off. Talk about good life choices. I’d never been happier than I was right now to have chosen to be a bendy tendie. Tumbling head over heels for another pliant hockey player from Watkins Glen, while certainly not on my list of life goals, had been another darn good decision or stroke of luck, whichever. Being an athlete with some small amount of ego, I was willing to say it was fifty-fifty smarts and fortune. Now all Baskoro and I had to do was figure out where and how to go forward from here.

But that was a worry for tomorrow…