I take the time to get a bag of ice for my knee, and spend a few lazy minutes chatting with the guys as we change out. Leaving the locker room, I say a quick goodnight to Coach and sneak out the exit the players use.
Pausing, I arch my back in a small stretch. I need to go home and put a heating pad on every inch of my body.Definitely eat something for dinner, and call Marcos. I’ve started calling him every night before I go to bed, wanting to end the day with his voice in my ear. Even better if it’s a day when I can convince him to come over in person.
“Nate.”
Surprised, I turn. Marcos unfolds himself from where he was waiting by the exit, leaned against the wall. I laugh in surprise.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming.” I move toward him right as he takes a step into me, pulling me into a hug. Mood soaring, I return it and take it one step further by leaning down and kissing the side of his head. I keep it quick—barely a brush of my lips against his temple—just in case he’s not wanting a lot of contact today.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure.” He steps away and I drop my arms, taking a second to look at him. Jeans and a T-shirt have never looked so good. “Max already headed home.”
“He practically sprinted out of the locker room,” I confide and Marcos grins. He starts walking across the grass, and I fall into step beside him.
“Luke is at our apartment. He didn’t come to the game, though. He wasn’t feeling very good.”
“You want to come to my place?” I ask, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in my voice. I’m taking it as a good sign that he waited for me. Ialwaysask him to spend the night when we hang out. I’ve got a pretty good success rate so far, but I won’t be happy until it’s a yes every time I ask.
“Yeah.”
I beam. God, what a great fucking night this is turning out to be. A double win—hockey, and time with Marcos.
When I park in front of my shared house, Marcos pulls in behind me. He slings a bag over his shoulder beforefollowing me up the drive. I wish we were at the point in our relationship where I could ask him to leave stuff at my place. I feel so right about him, it doesn’t feel strange at all to be considering what it might be like to live together. In my mind, Marcos and I are already endgame. I keep this to myself, though, cognizant of the need to pace myself where Marcos is concerned. Max warned me about going slow and I mean to heed the advice. Going slow or going fast doesn’t mean anything to me, as long as we end up at the same place in the end.
My roommates are all in the main room when we walk in the door, which is an uncommon enough occurrence that it makes me pause. Even Atlas is there, which probably means the world is ending. He so rarely socializes with us, sometimes I forget he lives here at all until he bangs on our shared wall.
“What’s going on?” I ask, letting Marcos in before shutting the door behind him.
“Bros playing Super Smash Bros!” Clint shouts without taking his eyes off the TV. Indeed, the screen is currently filled with Link beating the shit out of Donkey Kong.
“Want to join?” John asks, looking away from the screen and doing a double take when he sees Marcos with me. “Atlas is out anyway.”
Marcos stays silent beside me, but I already know it’s going to be a pass from him. There’re too many people involved, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know any of them. I shake my head.
“Nah, we’re going to do our own thing. Thanks, though.”
Putting a hand on his upper back, I steer Marcos gently toward the kitchen. Before we pass by, I see Atlas slip away up the stairs. The moment we’re out of sight of the room, I dropmy hand and pull open the refrigerator. Peering in, I ascertain that the food hasn’t somehow multiplied since I last looked. My cupboard, I know, is similarly bare.
“All right, new plan,” I tell Marcos. “Order in?”
He snorts. “Forgot you don’t have groceries?”
Slinging an arm over his shoulder, I pull him into my side. We walk up the stairs that way, but it’s not until we reach the top—out of sight of my roommates—that he slips his own around my waist.
“Here we are, my beautiful man.” I sweep an arm toward my open doorway and let him walk in before me. Following him in, I close the door and walk over to pound a fist on the wall I share with Atlas. It’s our version of Morse code, and even though he knows I’ve got company, he knocks gently back.
“Beautiful man? Seriously?”
Dropping his bag on the floor, Marcos kicks off his shoes and immediately bends to slip off his socks. He’s only been over a handful of times, but the first thing he always does is get comfortable. It makes my chest burn with happiness to see it, the small display of domesticity. He doesn’t care at all that we’ve only been dating a few weeks. There’s no concern about impressing me, he just is the way he is. He glances up to see me watching him and pauses.
“What?”
“You take your socks off when you come over,” I explain, which apparently doesn’t explain anything at all based on Marcos’ expression. I tug my own shirt off and toss it to the floor before reaching for a clean one. “I just mean that it’s nice you’re comfortable, that’s all.”
“Well, you’ve seen me naked,” he comments dryly. “AndI’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone else, so.” A shrug. “Showing you my feet seems like a logical step.”
I laugh, sniffing my pajama bottoms before deeming them clean enough and slipping them on. Marcos hugged me at the game and hasn’t told me not to touch him yet tonight, but it’s always best to assume there won’t be any sexy time with him. He’s spending the night, too, which means I’ll be sleeping fully clothed instead of in boxers only, which is usually what I do. He didn’t tell me so, but I know it bothered him, on the first night we spent together, that our legs and arms brushed up against one another. I’ll sleep in a damn hazmat suit if that’s what it takes to keep him next to me.
“You do have nice feet,” I compliment, which earns me a shake of the head. “Beautiful man, beautiful feet.”
