Jesse

We catch the bus to the ice rink early so we can get out of the house before Dad wakes up and asks too many questions.

I haven’t been to this rink for a while, and when I see it, I’m flooded with memories of being a kid and coming here with my dad.

I knew from a young age that hockey was expensive and that my parents had to make a lot of sacrifices for me to play. I didn’t learn until later that they had re-mortgaged the house at one point, and that my scholarship was the only thing allowing me to go to college (well it definitely wasn’t my brains).

When Sam comes out onto the rink in full hockey gear, my heart bleeds, because she’ll never have the same opportunities to play that I’ve had and it’s obvious she loves it more than I do.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing, just gas.”

“Gross.”

“Come on kid,”

I slap her on the back, “let’s get out there.”

We mess around with the other kids playing on the ice and I try to block the goal and let her get a few past me, though I’m not a goalie and she does actually get a few real ones in the back of the net.

After practise, we head to Wendy’s and eat our bodyweight (well, her bodyweight) in cheeseburgers and fries before heading over to the arcade where she challenges me to a dance off on the dance machines.

“No way,”

I tell her, “the car games are more my style.”

“What’s wrong?”

Sam asks, “scared it’ll bruise your fragile masculinity?”

“Where did you learn that?”

Sam laughs and starts clucking like a chicken.

“Fine!”

We throw our gym bags beside the machine and I put a few coins in.

Sam’s an expert obviously. She probably comes here all the time with her friends and has the highest score.

After she doles out the beat down of the century, I grab us an ice cream and we sit in the parking lot and watch pigeons fighting over a McDonald’s burger wrapper.

“So loser, got a girlfriend yet?”

I push her and, without her padding, she goes flying.

She slaps my arm, hard - it actually stings.

“No, how about you? Any little boys I have to beat the shit out of?”

Sam rolls her eyes, “don’t be ridiculous.”

We’re silent for a minute, watching the pigeons peck away at the ketchup-smeared wrapper, eating our ice creams.

“It’s probably your butt-ugly face,” she says.

“What?”

“The reason you don’t have a girlfriend.”

Or maybe it’s because I prefer boys. The thought pops in and it’s like a slap. I tell myself it’s not true. I like sleeping with boys, but I would never want a boyfriend.

“What’s your excuse?”

I ask her.

“My butt-ugly face,”

she shrugs.

My heart sinks, even if she’s kidding. “You don’t have a butt-ugly face. And you definitely won’t now you don’t play hockey.”

I show my teeth, but she doesn’t smile.

“I wish I was a boy.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

I feel Sam’s eyes on the side of my face, but I pretend I don’t know she’s looking at me.

“What do you mean? You get to play hockey, you don’t have to wear dresses, you don’t get a period, you get babies without any pain, you get to be an asshole and people just say boys will be boys…”

“Okay, stop, you’re breaking my heart.”

Sam picks at a scab on her knee and I swear to god if she cries I will kill anyone who made her sad.

“Was a boy mean to you?”

I ask, putting my arm around her shoulders.

She scoffs, “what are you gonna do John Wick? Go burn down the world? Stop being so emo.”

“Okay fine, you can take care of yourself.”

She squares her shoulders, “of course I can.”

When we get back to the house, Dad asks us where we’ve been. We’ve got gym bags full of hockey gear, so there’s no lying and saying we just went to the arcade.

He sends Sam upstairs and asks me to stay so we can have a talk.

Sam mouths ‘sorry’ as she heads up the stairs and I shake my head to tell her not to worry about it.

“What do you think you were doing?”

he asks. His voice almost deceivingly calm.

I can hear Mom moving around in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.

“What do you mean?”

“You know we said she can’t play hockey next year.”

“I know, but that shouldn’t mean she can’t play for fun.”

“You’re just torturing her.”

“She knows she can’t play, how is it torturing her?”

Dad sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know we can’t afford to put two kids through hockey camp and all the equipment and coaching…”

“I know,”

I hold up a hand, “you’ve told me a hundred times.”

A vein in his forehead is standing out and I swear I see it pulse. That little kid who was scared of his dad spanking him resurfaces and I’m about a millisecond from running upstairs and wedging something under the bedroom door.

“You’re in college because of the sacrifices we made. And if you want your sister to go to college too, then you’ll help us get these stupid ideas about hockey out of her head.”

“Sam’s a smart kid,”

I say, “she knows she can’t play hockey, and she’ll go to college regardless.”

“You don’t have a clue,”

Dad says, “do you? If these scouts don’t pick you up, it’ll all be for nothing. All the money we spent, down the drain, any hopes for a career…”

“I get it, you don’t have to remind me every time you see me, I’m a dumbass, you’re not the only one who says it, far from it. Don’t you think I’m trying? I put everything into it on the ice, how do you think I got this?”

I flash my teeth, but it’s definitely not a smile.

“A chipped tooth,”

Dad starts slow clapping and if he wasn’t my dad, I swear to god I would have punched him by now.

I open my mouth and I don’t even know what’s going to come out when mom rushes in.

“Boys!”

she says, “how about some desert?”

I eat desert at the table with my family, for my mom, and then I help her clean the dishes before going up to bed. This was not a good start to the weekend, but it’s Sam’s birthday tomorrow and all the attention will be on her, thank fuck.

I text Nate saying ‘Family = stressful.’

‘Tell me about it!’ he replies.

‘Everything okay with your mom and dad?’

‘Oh yeah, they’re just acting like nothing happened, as usual.’

‘That’s parents, I don’t know why they do that. I feel like a teenager again every time I come back home.’

All this rapid texting is annoying, I send another message, one that people my age don’t usually send;

‘Can you talk?’

It’s a few beats before he replies and I mentally prepare myself for him to shut me down.

But then his reply comes, ‘sure.’

I hit the call button before I can change my mind.

When he answers, I’m so nervous, I can’t speak for a second and he has to say hello three times before I reply.

“Can you hear me now?” I ask.

“Yeah, I can hear you now.”

“So, family…” I say.

Nate laughs and my whole body melts into the bed.

I have to go downstairs when my parents come up to bed and talk quietly in the basement where no one’s bedroom is directly above me. It’s freezing down there, but there’s a pull-out bed and a ratty blanket I can wrap around myself.

“?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something, and you have to be honest?”

“Sure.”

My mouth gets dry and in the back of my head I’m thinking I’ll lie if it’s something I really don’t want to answer.

“I promise I won’t be mad at you for being honest, I just really want to know.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really find me attractive?”

I laugh, because – “obviously.”

“I mean… why?”

Oh Nate. “What do you mean why? You’re…”

the word that comes to mind is ‘beautiful’, but I can’t say beautiful, don’t say beautiful…

“Beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah, like… I don’t know, you have great lips and pretty eyes and your hair…”

“but, you don’t think I’m too skinny, I’m not like, a fetish?”

“A fetish?”

“Yeah…”

I’m sure I can hear him squirming. “Other guys I’ve been talking to in the past have talked about the way I look and my body like it’s a fetish, they just kept going on about loving how bony I am.”

“Well fuck those guys, or actually, don’t fuck those guys, they don’t deserve it.”

Nate laughs. I’d go and fuck those guys up if I didn’t think Sam would give me shit for it and call me John Wick again.

“I like you, I think you’re hot. I loved making out with you and doing hand stuff with you and sucking you off, that was really hot.”

I think I hear him swallow.

“?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you wearing?”

I grin, “I’m still wearing my sweats from skating with Sam, want me to make something up?”

“No, sweats are good.”

“What are you wearing?”

“My pyjamas.”

“Those pyjamas you were wearing that day on your couch?”

“Yup, I’ve washed them since then though, obviously.”

He’s so bad at this, I can’t stop smiling. I shuffle down on the pull-out bed so my sweats are a bit looser around my hardening cock.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to suck you off again?”

Swallow. Pause. “Yes.”

I rub my hand over my cock through my sweats and heat rushes through me.

“And I want to do it to you too.”

I slide my hand under the waistband and stroke my cock, thinking about Nate’s head between my legs. My hand in his hair. His big eyes looking up at me.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

I pull my waistband down, my bare ass cold against the pull-out bed, but I don’t give a fuck. I imagine Nate here in it with me, his pyjamas pulled down to his knees.

“I am too.”

Fuck.

“Want me to get you off?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I’ve had plenty of practise doing shit like this with guys I meet on apps, but this is Nate. Every dirty thing I’ve said to guys to get them off dies on the tip of my tongue.

“Tell me what you want.”

He freezes like I knew he would.

“Don’t be shy Nate, trust me. Tell me what you want, and when I get back home, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to… take all my clothes off and kiss my chest and stomach and thighs..."

"yeah?"

"and then I want you to lick me...”

“where?”

“Everywhere.”

A groan escapes me as I rub my thumb over the head of my cock.

“What else?”

“I want to suck you. I want to know what you taste like. I want to make you feel good, like you make me feel good.”

Every time he pauses too long, I encourage him.

“I want you to fuck me.”

I have to stop moving my hand, because that nearly tips me over the edge.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve watched it in porn and it looks like it feels amazing and I want you to do it to me.”

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Okay, so maybe I was expecting too much there.

“Wanna know how I want to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“I wanna climb between your legs and slide my fingers inside until you’re open for me.”

Nate groans.

“And lick you, take my time while I taste you, put your legs around my neck and watch you while I slide my cock inside…”

His breathing speeds up and by the way he’s talking, I know he’s getting to the home stretch, “Do you want me to do that to you?”

“Yes… fuck yes please. What else?”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, come so hard…”

“oh fuck, …”

I bite my lip as I tip over the edge with him and he moans my name as he comes.

We stay on the phone breathing heavily together and then he laughs.

“That was…”

“yeah?”

“Fun.”

I laugh, “yeah, it was fun. Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah. I need to go to sleep now, well… first I need to clean up.”

He laughs.

“Fuck, me too.”

I’ve made a mess of the pull-out bed and this ratty blanket I don’t know how I’m going to clean without my mom noticing.

“Goodnight .”

The way he says my name, fuck I love it. And I love saying his, “goodnight Nate.”