CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

L uke

I practically drag Sebastian from the room. “You could have agreed to join me sooner.”

“I’m sorry. I was in shock. Why did you tell them you could travel?”

“I-I didn’t know they wanted to go there. I swear.”

“They never go to hometown locations in the Christmas Edition,” we say at the same time, staring at each other.

“We should probably go before we waste too much time quoting Mr. Right rules to each other in the hallway,” I say reluctantly. I look around then spot the massage room. I usher Sebastian inside.

Thank goodness the masseuse is on another one of his long breaks.

The air is filled with eucalyptus and cedar scent, but I’m pretty sure it still won’t calm Sebastian. I pull him into my arms. “I’m so sorry.”

He stiffens. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are, baby.” I stroke his hair. “I don’t want anything bad to happen, and...”

“Now the worst possible thing could happen?”

I go rigid. He’s right. Nothing could be more terrible than this.

“I’ll keep you away from Bryce,” I say. “I mean, he would have told me if he recognized you.”

Sebastian’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Maybe.”

“He would think it was hysterical,” I promise him. “He absolutely would have texted me. It would be all over our family WhatsApp group.”

“Your family has its own WhatsApp group?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It’s a technology thing. I can set it up for you...”

“So, my mother has another place where she can ask me for money.” Sebastian shakes his head. “No thanks. I mean, I’m not cruel. I-I do want to share. But I already bought her a house, and she’s always on drugs and I don’t think I want her to have too much money in case it goes to something...nefarious.”

My stomach sinks. I’m pretty sure Sebastian’s mom is as startling imperfect as her son is startling perfect. I stroke his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He nestles his head against me, and I inhale his Tom Ford cologne, more sophisticated than anything most of us athletes spray on ourselves in here, where sweat is the prevalent scent. “What is this room?”

“It’s our massage room.”

“It didn’t make the tour last time.”

“Don’t want to give people the wrong impression about us.”

“That you spend your time inhaling eucalyptus?” His eyes dance again, and everything in my body warms, as if he’s flung a lit match at me.

“Yeah. Might give Montreal the wrong impression.”

He giggles against me.

“Feeling better?” I ask.

“Not if I think about everything wrong.”

“Want me to give you a massage?”

He gives me a strange look.

I lock the door. It makes a resounding sound when it clicks.

It’s definitely locked.

We’re definitely alone.

“I’m giving you a massage,” I say.

“I’m not a Blizzards athlete.”

“Well, I’m not a Blizzards masseuse.”

“We’d get in trouble.”

“Good thing I told everyone we were filming.”

“Pretty sure no one wants to hear you expound upon your views of having a dental or a doctor room in your NHL mansion.”

“I’ve always been partial to video recording rooms,” I say.

He stiffens.

I stiffen.

God, did I mean to say that?

He slides his gaze to me. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean. It will just make it harder when...”

Next week. That’s when the show ends. That’s when Sebastian flies home. That’s when we pretend we never meant anything to each other, that we never cared, that our hearts don’t ache and our bodies don’t ache, confused, why we are not in each other’s presence.

“I’m serious about you,” I say.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I am. All the same, I am.”

He stares at me in wonder, then his gaze dips down. “It doesn’t matter either way.”

I sigh. “I don’t think you’re understanding the situation.”

“The thousands of miles separating us? The fact you’re soon going to announce your engagement to some woman?”

“The fact we’re in a closed room with a massage table.”

“Oh.” His eyes round, his cheeks pinken, his pink tongue wets his pink lips. “Oh.”

I scoop him up in my arms and place him on the massage table. Then I remove his tie, moving the silky fabric in my hands.

He narrows his eyes. “I seem to remember having to tie your bow tie for you.

“You’re responsible for tieing it back on,” I say.

He snorts. “Remind we why we’re doing this?”

I capture his lips with my own, then suck on his tongue. Heat surges through me.

I draw back, and his eyes are glazed. “I remember. God, I remember.”

I smirk. “Good.” Then add, “time waster.”

“Luckily I am an expert clothes remover.”

“You are?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods madly. “Physical activity isn’t totally my thing, not like for you, but I’ll have you know that I’ve been taking off my own clothes for decades.”

I chuckle. “You are an expert.”

He gives a modest shrug. “And I don’t spend my days in button-less and zipper-less athletic wear.”

“Hey!”

“Just saying.”

I punch him, and he punches me, and then suddenly we’re both working on tearing off his clothes.

“A massage doesn’t have to be naked,” he says.

“Is that the direction you want to take this in?” I ask.

He blushes. “Maybe not.”

“Of course not.” I lay him over the massage table. His underwear is still on, and I start to slide it off.

His eyes widen. “Are you sure? Because I’m not... I have...”

I grin. “I might have barely made it through Mr. B’s biology class, but I have noticed you are male.”

“Right.” He nods. “I knew you knew that. I mean... I’m the first.”

I kiss his temple. “I like everything about you. There’s nothing about you that can scare me.” I kiss the corner of his lip. “I have the same equipment. We’re not exactly talking about something horrifying.”

“I should stop talking.”

“You should never stop talking.”

I pull his boxer briefs down. His cock pops up. It’s hard and throbbing, and nothing like the soft, lifeless cocks I sometimes see in the locker room. It pulses with light, glistening with pre-cum.

I rub my finger against it, feeling the rubbery skin. “Hello.”

“I know I was worried you might be afraid of it, but you don’t have to start a conversation with it.”

I lean toward it. “Did you hear how Sebastian talks about you?” My mouth is only inches from it, and it lurches toward me. “I definitely think it’s trying to talk to me.”

Sebastian has a strained expression on his face, like he’s trying to name all the parts of a video camera. “You might be right.”

I reach for it, because I might have seen cocks before, the same way I’ve seen other guys’ shoulders and calves, and some of them may have been fuller than normal from time to time, I’ve never actually seen one hard like this. I brush my finger against the length, following the veins and the exact shape.

“Luke...” He groans.

Everything is opposite how it normally should be, but it’s all perfect all the same. I kiss his torso, swirling my tongue over his smooth, narrow frame, holding his hands with my own. The more contact with Sebastian, the better. I explore his belly button, then continue kissing down him.

“Luke...” He squirms. “You don’t need to...”

I capture his cock with my hand. “Were you saying something?”

I move my fingers around it. He shakes his head madly. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not saying anything.”

I smirk, then swirl my tongue along the tip, tasting Sebastian’s essence. It’s salty and not, actually, bad.

I run my fingers along the straightness of his hips.

“This is an exceedingly happy massage,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, my mouth movements still focused on Sebastian’s cock. I want to make him happy. I want to carve the worry from his body and carry it myself, so he can be light and unburdened beside me.

I haven’t figured out how to do that, the largeness of Seeking Mr. Right and the Boston Blizzards hampering any simple solution, but maybe I can start with taking the cum from his balls. I grin as I continue to swirl my tongue over his head, then I slide my mouth over his shaft.

He presses his lips together, and his grip on my hands tighten.

I keep on sliding my mouth down, swallowing everything that is him. I suck, because I might not be a sex fiend like Troy or Dmitri, but I know what I like, know what I want to share with Sebastian. I keep my suction steady as I memorize the ridges of his cock with my lips.

“Luke...” he murmurs.

I slide my lips from his cock. “Did you want me to stop?”

“No.” He closes his eyes. “Actually, um, I would prefer you to continue.”

“Maybe you can stop talking then.” I continue to stroke him with my hands, because I might not be licking him now, but I’m not cruel. I won Teammate of the Year multiple times when I played hockey as a child, and though I’m not conceited and totally love and adore all my teammates, I suspect I might have a shot if the Blizzards offered it as an award.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Because I want you to relax,” I say. “And, it’s, um, probably best if we’re not too noisy. Just because I haven’t personally tested the soundproofing of this room.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he whispers.

I go back to licking and sucking and stroking, my new favorite things. I go back to inhaling Sebastian’s scent, less Tom Ford, more just him, and I go back to gazing at him from my position, seeing pink grow over his chest, and seeing his blue eyes gaze at me in wonder.

“I’m going to...” he whispers.

I shake my head and suck harder.

“I’m going to,” he whispers even more quietly, even more frantically. He writhes on the massage table. His throat moves. Sweat dabbles his forehead.

And then he explodes. I suck it all, thankful he’s not as big as me. Thankful he’s something I can handle with ease.

“That was...”

“Incredible?” I ask.

“Magnificent...” he murmurs.

His eyelashes flutter, and I kiss his temples, kiss his cheeks, kiss his lips.

At some point all his worry will come back to him, and his thinking will go into overdrive, but for now I want him sated and glowing.

He sits up, and I slide beside him on the massage table, wrapping my arm around his waist. He tucks his head against my neck, his breath still fast.

He glances at my own cock, hard and throbbing and uncomfortable in my pants. It points up indecently, unhampered by my sweatpants.

He reaches for it. “I can...”

I kiss his forehead. “Later. Now I’ll think about unpleasant things.”

“Like the trip to Ashcove.”

I glance at him. “You were supposed to stop thinking about that for longer.”

He shrugs. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, that was super hot. Are you sure you haven’t done it before?”

“Only for you.” I grin. “Though I do have a reputation for physical strength and grace.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you quoting the latest Sports Sphere article about you?”

“Did you read it too?”

“Purely for professional purposes,” he says stiffly. “You are my Mr. Right.”

“Oh, yeah?” I’m pretty sure my eyes are dancing, and he blushes.

“I mean...” He swallows hard. “I mean, because of the show...”

I nudge his shoulder. There are things I want to say, but maybe I shouldn’t. Promises I’m not sure I can make.

And so, I’m silent, inhaling the eucalyptus scent and the faint smell of sweat and cum. Hopefully the air conditioner will do its thing and the scent will dissipate by the time the masseuse returns from his always lengthy break.

“I know what you meant,” I say instead, but he’s still tense, as if that somehow wasn’t the right thing to say after all.

“I should have followed your lead about the trip,” I say. “I’m sorry. I feel terrible.”

“I know.” He squeezes my hand. “I guess there were reasons you wouldn’t want to tell Daniela and Oskar you’re not well enough to do any travel.”

“Actually, I was more interested in the fact we might be able to sneak into each other’s hotel rooms,” I confess.

Sebastian smiles. “Really?”

I nod. “I like sleeping next to you, Sebastian. I like not sleeping next to you, too.”

“Like this?” His eyes shimmer.

“Yep, we’re not sleeping next to each now,” I say. “And it’s pretty great.”

He laughs next to me.

I like that he does this. I like that he moves from sorrow and worry to joy. He seizes the good moments where he finds them. It’s probably why he didn’t wallow in Ashcove. Maybe why my brother continued to tease him, as if any smile, any joy, was a personal affront to my brother’s hard work at keeping him down.

God, I’m so angry at Bryce. So angry at myself for not stopping him. So angry that Sebastian is not excited at returning to his hometown, small-town boy who made it super, super big, but is nervous.

“You know, we could probably spend the night in Boston,” he says.

“Ella and Mateo wouldn’t notice me come into the place you’ve rented?”

“Well, they probably would notice,” he admits.

“Come to my place,” I say. “You still haven’t videotaped me talking about Flora and Willow.”

“The great dentist versus doctor room debate.”

“Ella would be disappointed if you don’t have the video.”

“Yeah, she was surprisingly intrigued by it.”

I give a modest shrug. “I’m not terrible at thinking on the fly.”

Sebastian does something between a snort and a giggle, and okay, maybe communication isn’t my thing. My thing is chasing after pucks after all. There’s not a lot of overlap with storytelling in there.

“I’ll tell him the video failed if they ask.”

“And because you’re so noble you went to my place to record the same day.”

“I’m truly dedicated and self-sacrificing.”

“You’re amazing. Completely and utterly.” Sebastian stops and stares at me.

Warmth surges through me, and I stare back.

I shouldn’t have invited Sebastian to my place.

It’s a bad idea.

I don’t live alone.

I don’t want Troy to know. I don’t want Sebastian to worry about whether or not he can trust my tall, intimidating, joking goalie roommate.

“I’ll sneak you in,” I say.

“I’ll say you were a Grindr hookup gone good if anyone asks tomorrow.”

“You were pleasantly surprised by how great I am in 3D,” I say, and he laughs.

I give him another kiss, then help him dress.