12. Smitty

We stumbled upstairs to my bedroom, pausing to suck face against the foyer wall and again on the landing. I lost my shirt somewhere along the way and I was vaguely aware that my sweats only covered half of my ass. My brain was on autopilot, being led by my monster erection pitching an impressive tent behind the thin layer of fabric.

I pushed him onto my unmade bed and climbed on top of him, tongue-fucking him as I humped his equally rigid cock. The sweet friction was a thousand times better at a horizontal. Don't get me wrong, I loved every stolen moment in the basement, groping like teenagers drunk on a new high, but this was different. And it wasn't just that I loved feeling him under me with his legs wrapped around my hips. No, this was…more.

I leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp and grab supplies from the nightstand. Bryson yanked his shirt over his head, lightly shoving me off him in between kisses to finish undressing. I took the hint and shed my clothes, then stood over him, dick in hand, watching him toe off his shoes and shimmy out of his jeans and briefs.

Bryson kicked the duvet aside and lay on the pillow, one leg bent, hands behind his head. His thick cock drooled precum on his lower abs, and fuck…that was hot.

"You're so goddamn sexy," I whispered reverently. "I've wanted you like this in my bed for so fuckin' long. Months and months."

He leaned on his elbow and crooked a finger. "Come here."

I obeyed, hiking one knee on the edge of the mattress. He scooted closer and glanced up at me, brushing his nose along my shaft, inhaling deeply.

My heart banged against my rib cage at the wicked tease. I traced his jawline with my thumb and tapped the tip over his lips. "Are you gonna sniff or suck?"

He chuckled and opened immediately, twirling his tongue once, twice, then swallowing my length in one go. I pushed his hair aside to get a better view of the show. I loved the way he hollowed his cheeks, and his dirty hum sent a shiver up my spine. The urge to fuck his mouth till I came down his throat was strong, but we both wanted more.

Bryson pulled off with a pop and reached for the lube. "I can tell you right now, I'm not going to last long."

"Me either," I admitted, yanking the bottle away. "But let's go slow. Get on your knees and show me that hole."

He arched an imperious brow and somehow managed to look like a boss as he turned, presenting the world's finest ass to me like a gift.

I spread his cheeks wide, admiring his tight pucker before bending to lick it. Bryson fisted the sheets, grunting as I flicked my tongue over his entrance.

"Oh, fuck. Oh…"

"You like that?" I growled.

"Y-yes."

I feasted on his ass, fondling his balls while he jerked himself. I slipped a single digit inside and took a moment to give my poor cock a little attention. I was hard enough to pound nails, and the sight of my finger moving in and out of his gorgeous ass was almost too much to take. I rescued the lube and squirted a generous amount over his hole, adding a second digit and a third. I was going for "strung out and begging," but I was already torturing myself. I couldn't wait.

"I need to fuck you." I rubbed my scruffy end-of-day beard on his ass cheek and bit it playfully as I climbed behind him.

"Yes, yes, yes…"

I fumbled with a condom, slathered more lube than necessary on both of us, then slowly pushed my cock into his tight hole.

I'd have loved to report that it was poetry in motion—but the truth was, I fucked him like a man possessed, pumping my hips to a primitive rhythm I had no hope of maintaining for long. This was what happened when you pretended to have a grasp on self-control and ended up losing every last shred of it at the first guttural moan from the man chanting your name along with a whole lot of nasty commands.

"Harder, faster, more. Give it to me. I want it, I need it. Oh, fuck yeah…"

There was only so much I could take. I wiped sweat from my brow and pressed him face first into the mattress, thrusting over and over as I nuzzled his neck and licked his ear.

"You feel so good. I'm gonna come, but you gotta go first. Come on, baby…come on."

Bryson let out a strangled cry and fell apart with a dramatic all-body tremor that pulled me under. I bucked and roared, pumping every ounce I had in me into the condom.

I fell on top of him and closed my eyes, feeling more content—physically and emotionally—than I had in years. The bone-deep satisfaction was overwhelming, yet I didn't question it. In a way, I figured we deserved this.

Like it or not, we were more than strangers who'd become neighbors and casual lovers. We were friends who trusted each other enough to share some ugly truths. It didn't mean this was heading anywhere special, but I sensed a depth here that felt like a lifeline. I couldn't speak for Bryson, but damn, I needed this.

So maybe for now…I needed him.

We didn't paintthat night. Or the next.

To be fair, I no longer gave a fuck about the butt-ugly yellow walls in my living room. I was too busy sucking Bryson's cock or screwing his brains out to give them a second thought. We were on a two-week sex bender, and the cool thing was that there were no awkward "Should we be doing this?" recriminations. We gave ourselves permission to get naked every damn night.

And why not? We were neighbors on a quiet street with oodles of trees. No one was going to notice how much time Bryson spent at my place. But if they did, we had excuses at the ready. Just watching the game. Just helping with a little DIY. Just having a beer. You know…neighbor stuff.

It wasn't as if we were lying. We watched a lot of hockey, replaced some blinds, hung a few pics, and drank beer…and wine. We also had more sex than I'd personally had in over ten years. No joke.

It was amazing.

Every night was a sexfest.

We'd lunge for each other the second the door shut, tearing at the layers in between us as we sucked and licked, stumbling upstairs to my room. And on the nights when the trip seemed too far, we'd fall onto the borrowed sofa in the living area, grinding, humping, sucking, and occasionally…fucking.

Like last night. Bryson had straddled my thighs and ridden my cock while we "caught up" on sports highlights. He'd planted his feet on the cushions, bouncing like a rodeo hero on a bucking bull while I'd jacked him. Sweat had glistened on his chest as he'd bitten his lip and tilted his chin at the ceiling, staving off his orgasm for as long as possible. And I had to say, I loved watching Bryson fall apart.

I had a feeling that the only time he completely let go of the tight reins he held on his self-control was during sex. Maybe he did that in his sleep too, but we didn't sleep together so I couldn't vouch for that.

We had unspoken lines that weren't to be crossed, and spending the night was one of them. I wouldn't have minded waking up with Bryson in my bed, but that was a step too far for now. I wasn't in a position to push for intimacy I wasn't sure I wanted anyway. I had enough on my plate trying to coach a ragtag team of quirky-ass teenagers.

Our season didn't technically begin until late November, but our weekly scrimmages with Pinecrest were soul-suckingly awful. We're talkin'…I wanted to scrub my eyes out with soap and unsee every missed pass, missed block, missed goal.

"Suggestions are welcome,"I huffed at the unofficial meeting I'd called at the diner with the coaches from Elmwood Rink. "We've got one player who's consistently engaged. The rest are in la-la land half the time. They like each other and they love hockey, but they don't gel on the ice. At this rate, I don't know how we'll eke out a single win all damn season."

"You need more coaches," Riley said, twisting the straw in his Diet Coke. "I haven't been able to hire anyone new, and unfortunately, the athletic director gig requires time and attention from Court and me."

"Sorry you've had to do so much alone," Court chimed in. "Football season is killing us at the high school. The parents want to start a booster club, and everyone has ideas about how that should happen. As Ivan says, it's been…a lot."

"Ouch. I promise we won't turn into psycho sports parents when Alec is old enough to play." Vinnie winced and checked his phone. "Huh. Nolan should've been here by now."

"Alec has the sniffles, not the plague. It's a routine doctor visit. He's fine, and Nol will be here soon. Stop worrying so much, Dad." Ronnie patted Vinnie's hand, chuckling when his best friend tossed a sugar packet at him.

Ronnie Moore was a balding, happy-looking dude in his forties who happened to be Vinnie's business partner at Elmwood Rink and his brother-in-law. They had a good thing going at the rink with a nice staff of former pro players who coached at every level. That included everyone at this table except me.

Two months into my new gig and I was still the only full-time coach at Elmwood High School. I was happy with my decision to stay, but I had to admit I felt more like an ineffective gym teacher on ice than a real coach most days.

Vinnie flipped his best friend off and shifted on the green leather booth to peek at the entrance. "Look…maybe we could send over a couple of recent grads to help out. Most of our guys went to college last year, but I think a few stayed and picked up construction jobs in Wood Hollow."

"Worth looking into," Court agreed. "It's brutal going from feast to famine mode. We have too many coaches in summer and nowhere near enough in winter."

"It'll even out eventually, but in the meantime, let's take turns with assistant duty and try to find a few locals with experience." Riley sipped his drink and reached for the decimated pile of fries in the middle of the table.

Vinnie stood, flicking his gaze between me and the parking lot. "Sorry, guys. I gotta track down my husband and my kid. Let me know if I can help, Smitty."

"I should go too." I left some cash on the table and said my good-byes, following Vinnie outside.

Vinnie was an inch shorter than me, but he was still a big, muscular dude and he'd struck fear on the ice in his NHL heyday. It was mildly disconcerting to see the former D-man so obviously distraught. I felt sorry for the guy.

He shoved his sunglasses on his head, his eyes locked on his phone. "Sorry, in spite of my best intentions, I've turned into that dad. Alec had a fever last night and was barely eating this morning. And let me tell you, that is not normal. So now they're at the doctor, and I should have gone with them."

"How old is he?" I asked politely.

"Almost twenty months. He's a little bruiser—always smiling, always curious. He gets into everything. Since the day he learned to walk, it's been nonstop bonkers at our house. He's got so much energy and when he's not feeling well, it fuckin' breaks your heart. I swear to God, I don't recognize myself sometimes." Vinnie huffed with chagrin. "My son probably has a cold, but I can't concentrate on shit 'cause what if it's worse? I don't know if I can handle two kids."

"You're having another one?"

He blew out an exaggerated breath. "Not yet, but soon. I'm not getting any younger and Nolan is—oh, thank fuck. There they are. Hey, one last thought on coaching stuff…talk to Bryson. His son, Jake is always great about helping whenever he's in town, and I think he'll be here soon to visit. I bet he'd be happy to lend a hand."

Yeah, probably not, I mused, watching as Vinnie strode toward the white SUV turning into the parking lot.

He kissed Nolan, and opened the rear door to unbuckle a toddler from his car seat. I should have waved and moved on. I had a coaching idea swimming in my head and I wanted to act on it, but my feet felt like cement blocks. I couldn't move.

I stood there, staring at the small family—the two dads and the little blond boy they held between them. The casual public displays of same-sex affection didn't faze me anymore. Maybe it was a Vermont thing, or maybe it was Elmwood. Either way, inclusivity was the refreshing norm.

No, what got me was the family element.

Two people who loved each other had a kid. It was a simple story and one I'd really wanted to be mine. I wasn't surprised by the sharp stab of longing. It still happened more often than I wanted to admit.

This time, I didn't fight the feeling. I let it be what it was…sadness. It was okay to be sad. It was okay to mourn what never was.

But if things had gone differently, I wouldn't be here, standing on Main Street in a little town in a forest in Vermont, grappling with an inkling of purpose. I couldn't say how or why, but I knew I was supposed to be here. And damn, that was so much better than feeling as though the best parts of life had passed me by.

No, I had more in me. Much more.

I waved at Vinnie and Nolan, crossed at the corner of Main Street and Blossom, and made a beeline for Henderson's Bakery.

"Good afternoon, how can I—oh! Hello, Smitty. How are you?"

I greeted Court's mom, Penny Henderson, with a friendly nod. "Pretty good."

"I'm glad to hear that. The weather has been divine lately, hasn't it? The leaves are already turning orange and red?—"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Penny. The man didn't come in to talk about the damn weather," a cantankerous smoke-graveled voice piped in.

I bit my lip to keep a smile in check. I couldn't help it. There was something about the tiny eightysomething spitfire that cracked me up.

"Annie…" Penny warned through clenched teeth before facing me with a pained expression. "What can I get for you?"

"A loaf of olive bread, please."

"Coming right up," Penny said.

I glanced over at Crabby Annie and inclined my chin. "I was actually hoping to run into you."

The old woman rolled her eyes and fussed with the button on her blue cardigan as she toddled to the front door. "I knew it. I'll be outside having a smoke by the fountain. Can't light up anywhere you want anymore. The world is going to hell in a damn handbag, so who cares about a little cigarette smoke? Don't worry, Pen. I'm goin', I'm goin'."

"She's a live wire," I commented with a laugh as the bell over the door chimed after Annie.

"That's one word for her. I adore Annie, but she's a handful. Can I get you anything else?"

"Whatever Annie likes to drink, please."

Penny chuckled. "Scotch on the rocks. Or…lemon tea. Let me get that for you."

I paid for the olive bread and tea and met Annie at a bench near the fountain in front of Town Hall, a stately brick building flanked by elm trees and old-fashioned lamplights.

"For you."

She shot a suspicious glance my way before nodding her thanks. "You don't have to butter me up with tea. I'll talk to you, but I got nothing new. Denny is a quiet kid, and that's just how some people are. I let him do his thing, and I try to stay out of his way. Sixteen-year-olds don't need their grandmas hangin' around like moldy cheese."

Yeah, this wasn't the first time I'd asked Annie for a little insight into how to reach her grandson. Once a week, I tried to shake something new out of her. Anything.

"Well, here's the thing…I need his help. Denny's the best player I've got, but you can't play on a team and be an island. I want to get him out of his shell. It's a tall order, but I still think he'd make a good captain."

"So you want him to do part of your job for you," she teased with a cackle.

"No, but?—"

"I'm teasin' you. Don't be a tightass, eh?" Annie took a drag from her cigarette and coughed. "I should quit smokin'. Don't tell Penny I said so, 'cause she'll never let me hear the end of it."

"I won't say a word."

She puffed away, humming as she shifted on the bench. "Listen up, Coach. I've lost two sons and a husband. My daughter lives in Canada, and I don't see the rest of my grandkids very often. So it's me and Denny, and in the wisdom of my old age, the one thing I've learned is that you gotta let people be who they are."

"That's good advice."

"Hmm. Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Yeah. What would you think about coming to some of our scrimmages?"

Annie widened her eyes comically. "Me? Denny wouldn't want me there."

"Why not?"

"I'm not fun, I'm not interesting, I don't know what's cool anymore. I'm just a grandma."

"You're the person who showed up and stayed," I corrected.

"I…of course, I did. I love the kid."

"Yeah, I know." I passed a napkin over and pretended not to notice as she swiped at a tear. "So, come around sometime. I think you'd be good for the team."

"As a fuckin' mascot?"

"Exactly." I put my arm around her bony shoulders, squeezing gently.

She gave me a watery half smile. "I'll think about it. Now go on, get out. And quit flirting with me. You're crushing my cigarette and spilling my tea."

"All right, all right." I raised my hands in surrender and stepped aside. "See ya, Annie."

My brain was still buzzing laterthat night. After blowing Bryson in the foyer the second he walked in the door, I'd fucked him over the sofa. That was usually enough to quiet my mind, but I had a lot of excess energy, which made it the perfect time to finally tackle a few household chores.

"So…painting. How does this work?" Bryson asked, staring at the can of paint and the roller brushes on the card table in the middle of the room.

"Didn't you go to kindergarten?"

"Many, many years ago. And this isn't finger painting, smartass."

"It isn't rocket science either. We're just rolling paint on a wall. Nice and easy. Watch." I coated the roller in white paint and moved to the solid wall across from the fireplace, painting a long swath from the top corner to the midsection and made a small square, then filled it in. "There are all kinds of techniques, but I like to do a zigzag pattern to get more coverage at once. You try."

Bryson tentatively picked up a roller. "How much paint should I use?"

I stepped behind him and curled my fingers around his, sliding the brush in the tray. I bit his earlobe. "This much."

He shot a dirty look over his shoulder. "Don't distract me. I could do some terrible damage here."

I snort-laughed. "No, you couldn't. Anything will be an improvement over this color."

"Yeah, but I might drip the paint or make streaks or…press too hard."

"Bry?" I waited for him to meet my eyes and continued, "It doesn't have to be perfect."

I could have sworn I witnessed a battle of sorts play out under his carefully neutral expression. He didn't agree with me, and yet he didn't seem comfortable enough with his reasoning to fight about it.

"Okay, let the record show that you were warned," he remarked, cupping his hand under the roller on his way to the wall.

"You don't have to be so cautious. I have tarps down to catch any spills." I bumped his hip playfully and started on the wall that divided the kitchen from the living area.

"Did you order the sectional we were looking at online?" he asked conversationally.

"Yep. We can't, in good conscience, keep fucking on a borrowed sofa. I should get a coffee table too. Want to go shopping with me?"

Bryson did a double take. "Together?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. You said the best furniture stores are in Pinecrest. We could check one or two out and have lunch or dinner or something."

"Like a date?"

"Uh…sure. I mean, it doesn't have to be a date date. It could be more like a couple of guys looking at furniture," I assured him quickly, narrowing my gaze when his shoulders shook in amusement. "What's so funny?"

"Us. We sound like dating rookies."

"I am a dating rookie." I wrinkled my brow, my paint brush frozen an inch from the wall. "I haven't been on one in…years."

Bryson widened his eyes incredulously. "You never dated after your divorce?"

"Nope. I screwed around some, but never with anyone I wanted to see on a regular basis."

"Me either. And I live in Elmwood."

"Hmm. Folks are a little nosy here, eh?"

He snickered. "You've noticed? Nothing stays quiet for long. By the way, do you know why you shouldn't tell secrets in a cornfield?"

"Dad joke break," I groaned. "I give up. Why not?"

"Too many ears." He winked and cast a goofy grin that complemented the streak of paint on his cheek.

The contrast of Bryson's GQ handsome exterior and his occasionally adorkably uncool outbursts got me. His relentlessly wholesome vibes made it hard to believe he'd known some dark times. In some ways, he was a mystery and yet, he was friendly and accessible. The kind of guy you'd trust with your biggest fears and lowest moments, knowing he wouldn't judge. He was solid and honest, and…real.

I gave in to impulse and left my station on the opposite wall to kiss him breathless. "You're a fuckin' geek and I have no idea why that's sexy, but it is."

Bryson fluttered his lashes, panting as he snickered. "A sexy geek? I like that."

"Me too." I nibbled his chin and smacked his ass before picking up my brush again. "I gotta stay away from you, or this room is never going to get painted."

He chuckled. "Sorry. How am I doing, by the way?"

"Terrible. Gotta cover that whole wall, babe. Not just one little patch," I singsonged.

We worked quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sports highlights on the flat-screen like background music.

"I want to go on a date with you," Bryson blurted out of the blue.

I flashed a megawatt grin his way. I didn't even bother trying to be chill. "So…that's a yes?"

He nodded. "Let's go furniture shopping and see what that's like."

"Now I'm gettin' all hot and bothered thinking about coffee tables and lamps."

"Me too," he snickered, moving to my side. "I'm free anytime. Except…Jake's coming home next weekend for three days."

"Ah, right." I rubbed my neck, mentally preparing for a potentially uncomfortable conversation.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just…Vinnie suggested asking Jake to do a guest coaching spot for an hour or two. Do you think you he'd do it?"

"Absolutely! That's a great idea," he enthused. "Jake always hangs out at the El Rink when he's home. I'm sure he wouldn't mind going to the high school to help out instead."

I scoffed. "He hates me."

"No, he doesn't. Well, okay, he thinks he does, but Jake doesn't know you. And it's not about you or Jake, it's about hockey and helping out in the community. Seriously, it's a great idea."

"Huh. I didn't think you'd want us in the same room."

"Don't be silly. I don't necessarily want to tell him about us," Bryson hedged. "But you're a great guy, and I think he could learn a lot from you."

"True. I know shit," I bragged. "Hey, do you think he'd mind if I told him that his snap shot is too wristy and that he's too slow to get off the wall?"

Bryson made a yikes face. "You noticed that too?"

Oh, yeah.I'd never commented on Jake's occasional flubs when I'd watched his televised games with his dad. I wasn't a complete moron.

"Easy fixes or…the beginning of bad habits."

"Well, constructive advice rather than criticism might work, but I wouldn't lead with anything negative." Bryson tugged at my tee and smiled up at me. "I'd really love for you to get to know each other. You live in Elmwood now and…"

"We're neighbors." I kissed his nose.

"And friends." He nipped my earlobe.

"And fuck-buddies," I added, biting his chin.

Bryson leaned sideways to dip into the paint on the nearby tray, then ran a wet finger from the bridge to the tip of my nose. "Don't be rude, Errol."

"Ohhh. Are we going there?"

"Whoa! Wait up. What are you doing?"

I fixed him with an innocent grin as I flattened my palm in the tray and placed a perfect handprint in the middle of his T-shirt. He gasped in faux outrage, pulling the fabric over his head in a huff.

"Oh, rookie move, babe. Now you have paint in your hair. C'mere, let me get it for you."

I motioned Bryson closer, chuckling when he stepped away with his arms crossed as if he were protecting himself from a vampire. Which of course, made me want to give him the full vampire treatment. I bared my teeth, raising an invisible cape as I stalked forward.

"Smitty…no," he admonished, his eyes alight with laughter.

I cornered him in an unpainted section—'cause again…not a total moron, we had a lot of work to do here—and captured his hands before playfully biting his neck.

"How do you feel about hickeys?"

"Not good. Not good at all," he insisted, still chuckling.

"One tiny little one won't hurt."

"I will end you if you even think about it. I'm a professional. I'm a?—"

I tickled him instead. And in a twist, Bryson Milligan, serious real estate agent to the Four Forest area, was very, very ticklish. He wiggled and out-maneuvered me, switching our position faster than I would have thought possible. I was taller and thicker all over, but the element of surprise definitely worked in his favor.

Sure, I could have escaped with little to no effort. I didn't want to, though. I liked the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and that sweet, unfettered grin that made his dimples pop. He reminded me of the guy I'd hung out with in the hotel bar, chatting about everything and nothing in particular. This was the real Bryson.

And I really fuckin' liked this man.

"You got me," I growled in a deeper than normal voice. "Now what?"

"Now you're going to keep your hands where they are and I'm going to get down on my knees and suck you." He gripped my erection through my sweats and stroked. "Then you're going to sit on the floor and I'm going to ride your beautiful cock."

"You're kind of bossy," I panted, loving his rough hands on my pole.

"Yep. I've got you right where I want you…babe." He licked the seam of my lips and bit them. "Got anything to say about that?"

Our gazes met and we smiled. It was one thing for me to throw around an offhanded term of endearment and quite another for Bryson to do it. This was a statement. Not a major declaration, but…something.

"Yeah, I do. It's going to take longer than expected to paint this damn room. And I think it's your fault."

"Guilty."

And with that, Bryson dropped to his knees, freed my aching cock, and sucked me like I was the last popsicle on the hottest day in summertime.

I rested my head on the wall behind me and surrendered, sliding my fingers through his hair and watching the show as he worked me over. He could do whatever the hell he wanted with me. Use me, have me, take…and take some more. I didn't mind at all.

He made me feel whole, wanted, needed. I was beginning to think he might feel the same about me.