11. Bryson

Icouldn't decide if I should be more alarmed that Smitty was staying or that he wanted me to help paint.

Okay, Smitty staying in Elmwood was a bigger concern, but painting was a close second.

I wasn't a DIY guy…at all. I was the guy who hired professionals. For everything. I probably should have begged off and said I was busy, but hanging out with Smitty after work had become my favorite part of the day. Dinner, foosball, hand jobs…sign me up. For a short time.

But now he was staying in Elmwood.

And he wanted to paint.

Yeah, this could be a disaster.

I took Smitty's wardrobe advice to heart and showed up in a pair of holey jeans and a faded Penguins tee that had seen better days, then handed over the bottle of Pinot I'd brought to go with the pizza he ordered.

We ate first, sitting side by side at the mini peninsula while Smitty chatted amicably about his decision to stay. He loved the kids, the town, he had a sense of purpose here, and he knew he was needed. No one needed him in Toronto…or anywhere.

I didn't know what to say to that so I nodded, smiled, and inwardly sorted through the ways our liaison could blow up in my face.

Okay, that was dramatic. I was pretty sure no one in Elmwood had seen us interacting as anything other than neighbors or in a friendly-agent-slash-client-capacity. Right this very second, someone could knock on the door and we'd just look like new buddies sharing a pizza.

Nothing about "us" was suspicious.

We didn't kiss in public or go anywhere together. That made sense because we weren't dating, we were just…secret sex buddies. And that was the problem. I knew better than anyone that nothing stayed secret forever, and I had more to lose now than I had twenty plus years ago.

So far, I'd done a damn good job of keeping Smitty at arm's length, but I couldn't do that indefinitely. If I were smart, I'd cut ties completely before I did something stupid…like fall for him.

"Nothing has to change," Smitty said as if reading my mind. He chomped a big bite and continued around a mouthful of pizza. "We can still do…whatever we want to do."

"I'm not so sure about that. This is a small town, and people talk." I swirled the burgundy liquid in my glass thoughtfully. "You're a seemingly straight new hockey coach with a reputation for being a tough guy on the ice. Engaging in a casual fling with your gay neighbor is probably not such a great way to launch yourself into the community."

"Oh. So you think I should come out." He rubbed at his scruffy jaw, his elbow resting on the counter.

"No, that's something you do when you're ready, for yourself. Not a minute sooner."

"If I'm honest, I think I need a little more time to come out. I need to think it through and talk to my friends and…that's a big-ticket item. I'll do it, but I might need a few months."

"Like I said, do it on your time."

"But if secrecy is a problem for you, how do I make it better?"

My smile reached my eyes this time. "You don't have to worry about me, Smitty. But thank you."

"No, no. You're not getting off the hook that easy. Look, I've been playing this cool and casual, but the truth is…I like you. I like being with you. And you know what?" He leaned forward and slid his hand between my legs. "I really want to fuck you again. I want inside your sweet ass. I think you want me too."

My cock twitched in my jeans on cue. "Wanting you isn't the issue. It's more complicated than that for me."

He sighed theatrically. "I've been hit on the head far too many times to guess what that means, Bry. Cards on the table time. What's the real problem? Am I just not the type of guy you want the good folks of Elmwood to associate with you?"

I laughed aloud. "Are you kidding me? There is no scenario in the history of histories where I'm not thrilled at the idea of having a hunky hockey player in my bed."

"And yet, I've never been in your bed." Smitty raised his hand. "Let me ask you something. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I replied automatically.

"Good. I trust you too. I want you to know that when we talk"—he gestured between us—"this is just me and you. No one else."

"I know."

"Great. So I gotta ask you…what's with the armor? Where'd it come from, and how do I get through it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Smitty…"

"Don't do that. Don't brush me off and tell me I'm reading too much into this, 'cause I have a strong feeling that you'll help me paint tonight and afterward, you'll let me touch you. You'll let me suck your cock and taste your cum, but I might not see you at all tomorrow. Or the next day. And I don't know how much ramen I can buy before the whole town wonders what the fuck is wrong with me. Someone will follow me eventually and figure out that I've got it bad for the real estate agent. They'll feel sorry for me, and I'll feel sorry for me too. I fucking hate pity, so let's not go there. Let's be real with each other here and now. I'm your friend and I care about you. And…I also want to get in your pants."

I threw my head back and guffawed. "You're a piece of work."

Smitty opened his arms, shrugging boyishly. "Honesty is the best policy. Go on. In fact, you tell me something, I'll tell you something."

"Seems fair, but I'm sorry to disappoint you. I don't have any deep, dark secrets."

He slumped in his chair in defeat. "It doesn't have to be deep or dark, dummy. Just something real about you that maybe you're not so proud of."

"Oh. Okay…easy. I'm a perfectionist."

"And…" He prodded.

"I want to be the best and that's not always possible, so…it's a struggle." I sipped my wine, running my tongue over my bottom lip as I set the glass on the counter.

"Keep going."

"Well, that's it. I don't have anything else to say. I was a fuckup in high school and college. The life of every party, the guy who knew where to get the good stuff, and who to contact for a quick thrill. I was the definition of chaos."

Smitty whistled. "You know, you told me all that, but it's still hard to believe."

"I was attention starved. I would have done anything to feel…connected to a person or a group of friends. Anything at all. I took every dare, did every drug, screwed around without a second thought. I was the opposite of the person I am now, and I changed overnight. Like an alcoholic who goes cold turkey after decades of heavy drinking."

"For Jake."

"Yeah." I shifted on my stool to face him. "You want a deep, dark secret? I OD'd more than once. I had my stomach pumped at eighteen and again when I was twenty. I got into a fight with a junkie when I was twenty-two and ended up in the ER when the jackass sliced my lip with a knife."

He squinted at my mouth. "That's a very faint mark."

"They did a good job stitching me up," I agreed. "It was a bad episode and you'd think that would have scared me straight, but I wound up in the hospital a year later from another overdose. A friend and I were partying at a house in the Hamptons. It was summer. The house was beautiful, and there were fireworks and a lot of people. I remember sirens and water and screaming…and nothing else. I woke up attached to IVs and a police officer asking what happened. I couldn't tell him. I had no idea. He was disappointed, but everyone was disappointed with me, so that was nothing new. But this time, he was hoping to give a family closure. My friend didn't make it."

"Holy fuck." Smitty exhaled and set his hand on my knee. "I'm sorry."

"Me too, but the worst part was that I didn't really know my ‘friend' at all. I didn't know his name or where he was from. All I could tell the cop was that he drove a red Honda Civic and kept red vines in the glove compartment." I stared at the tarp he'd lain on the floor in the living room for a beat before meeting Smitty's gaze. "I was…a bad person. A shell of a human. I was selfish and dark, and I had no sense of deferred gratification."

"That's definitely not you now."

"No, it's not. I kicked my drug habit years ago. I went to therapy, finished college, married a nice girl, had a son, came out, divorced, and the rest is history. You might see a boring, regular guy who likes order and goes out of his way to not be a selfish prick, but the potential for chaos is still there…just under the surface. I sense it, and it scares me. I don't want to blow up the life I made here by allowing my cock to dictate my actions. And I'm doing a terrible job of it."

Smitty raked his hands through his hair. "Fuck."

"Well…I did warn you," I huffed, tipping back the last of my wine.

"You did. But for the record, I don't think you're boring at all. Geez, I fuckin' admire you."

"Thanks." I quirked my lips in a lopsided lazy grin. "Your turn. What's your secret?"

"I can't have kids."

"Huh?"

"You heard me. The sperm count is there, but my swimmers won't attach to an egg." He wrinkled his nose and sat up taller. "It's the reason my marriage failed. I couldn't give her the thing we both wanted and…one day, she told me she was tired of trying. I thought she meant she was finally open to looking at other options, like adoption, but no. She was done with me."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It gets better. Rachel remarried a year after the divorce and…as I mentioned, she's pregnant now."

I squeezed his shoulder. "Fuck, that must be hard."

Smitty inclined his chin. "Yeah. I want to be happy for her, but there's a part of me that feels betrayed. We stood in front of God and church, and family and friends. We promised to love each other forever, and I believed in us. I wouldn't have married her otherwise. Every couple goes through challenging times, but this was something I couldn't fix. And it was me. She blamed me, then resented me."

"I'm sorry."

"The last year was the worst. Rachel insisted on staying in Michigan 'cause her family was there and she liked the doctor better. Plus she hated Toronto. She said it reminded her of failure. I drove back and forth in winter in between games on icy roads, praying, wishing, hoping. Sometimes I flew, but most times, I wanted to be in my truck. I needed to feel like I was in control of something…the thrum of the engine, the grip of my hands on the wheel, the sound of death metal music. Anything. And every time I'd see her, it got sadder and sadder. She stopped talking to me. She was depressed, I was depressed. Christ, my dying marriage was fucking killing me."

I rubbed his knee in a silent show of support. "That's awful."

"It was, but you know something? I played the best hockey of my life that year. I was fearless on the ice. I took chances I wouldn't have dared take earlier in my career. I played angry, I played mean, I played like a fucking beast. My teammates used to say I was always on thin ice. Always the guy taking stupid risks. But it was the only place I felt alive, you know?"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"I shouldn't have been surprised that she wanted a divorce." He pursed his lips, adding, "I was. I kept hoping we'd get lucky, but she'd already given up."

Silence.

"That is dark," I said, breaking the heavy quiet.

"No, no. That's not the dark part. The dark part is in here." Smitty tapped his temple. "It's the voice in my head saying I failed and it's my fault…on repeat. It's silly, right? Rachel moved on and that's good, and I moved on too, but guess who got shitfaced the night I saw my ex all pregnant and happy with a new husband this summer?"

"Oh."

"And I don't fuckin' get it. I don't miss my marriage. I don't miss Rachel at all. I couldn't make her smile, and it hurts to be around people who used to love you and don't anymore, so…no, thanks. But there's still something that just isn't the same inside me." He bit into his pizza and waved the crust at me. "And my real secret is that I fucking ran away to Elmwood to escape my life 'cause I needed to get off that road between Toronto and Detroit. So I ask you…could I be any more of a head case?"

Okay, that was a lot of information to absorb. Heavy confessions and brutal honesty didn't go well with a casual chat over pizza and wine, but I supposed there really was nothing casual about us. I was wildly attracted to Smitty—his sexy body, his big personality, and his easy confidence, but I wondered if I'd subconsciously been drawn to the broken bits I recognized in myself.

We were just a couple of guys who'd schlepped oversized baggage to a tiny town, hoping for a reset or a reprieve from the real world.

I leaned into Smitty's space and kissed his nose, pushing his hair from his eyes. "You're not a head case. And did you run away or adjust course? So much of how we see ourselves is our own definition. It's easier for me to think I'm a doting parent and a conscientious citizen than a former addict who grapples with control issues."

"Mmm, so I could be a hopeful coach who wants to make a difference at a new school rather than a hopeless schmuck hanging on to old demons." Smitty nodded slowly as if pondering alternate terminology. "I like it."

I chuckled. "It has a better ring."

"True. Now what about us? No walls, no secrets…I like you. I'm not going to insert myself in your life or do anything to make you uncomfortable. I'm gonna coach hockey and hopefully get to know my neighbor…intimately. If he's down to?—"

"Don't say clown," I intercepted, stacking our plates.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Smitty flashed a faux-innocent look, holding my wrist before I could continue tidying. "Let me see you. Let me just…"

Smitty drew me to his chest and cupped my face between his hands. He stared at me for a long moment as if memorizing my features. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of his sweats, tilting my chin and willing him to make the first move. I felt like being manhandled by a bigger man with calloused hands and a thick cock.

So much for playing this cool. So much for thinking I could keep him at bay. He could bend me over this counter right here and now.

He licked my bottom lip and tilted his chin, fusing his mouth over mine. Our tongues danced in a lazy twisting motion. It was sweet and sexy, each thrust building on the last, coaxing the promise of pleasure. My cock throbbed behind my zipper. I lowered his sweats and briefs, grabbing his bare ass for purchase while I devoured him with ravenous openmouthed kisses.

He pulled away, gasping for air as he captured my hands.

"Your room," I purred, nipping his jaw. "Now."