“Do we… do you have anyTylenol? I took my last earlier.” He shifts on his feet, clenching his jaw. So, it definitely wasn’t something I imagined earlier today. Hedidhurt himself. Pain is written all over his face as much as he tries to bite it back.
“Sure. We have some in the bathroom.” I move past him, my shoulder brushing up against his. “Go sit down and I’ll get ’em for you,” I throw over my shoulder.
“Okay. Thanks, man,” he murmurs, heading for the living room, where he practically falls onto the couch, a small groan falling from his lips.
After getting the Tylenol from the bathroom, I add an ice pack from the freezer and a bottle of water from the fridge and head for the living area. He sits sprawled in the middle of the couch, his head tipped back, resting against the back, eyes closed. I sit down carefully next to him, placing the ice pack on the table. His left leg is reclined, resting on the coffee table. He’s wearing a pair of gray gym shorts, the fabric stretched across his muscular thighs. As my gaze coasts along his leg and lands on his knee, I can tell that it’s swollen. Nothing too bad, but still.
“Gimme your hand,” I say, unscrewing the cap on the bottle of water. Opening his eyes, he blinks a few times before turning his head toward me. A few drops of sweat remain across his forehead, and he still looks pale like this morning at the rink. As he reaches out his right hand with the palm up, I notice that it’s trembling slightly. I drop two Tylenol into his palm and hand him the water. “What happened?” I ask carefully.
Most of us have our battle wounds by now, but it isn’t necessarily something that you share with the other players. My first year on the team, I suffered a moderate concussion that kept me off the ice for a couple of weeks, but aside from that, Ilive up to my name,Lucky Luke,dodging any serious injuries so far.Knock on wood.
“Old knee injury,” Cody mumbles as he throws his head back, swallowing the pills down with half a bottle of water. He spills a few drops and as they slide down his scruffy chin and further down his neck, my eyes zero in on his Adam’s apple as it moves smoothly behind his skin. His neck is corded, a bluish vein protruding, pulsing as he swallows, chucking down the water. My mouth suddenly feels dry as I fight to pull my gaze away from him. The last thing you want is to find your roomie ogling you while you’re vulnerable and in pain. Or maybe just ogling you, period.
Pulling the bottle away from his mouth, he swipes the back of his hand across his lips and chin. “Thanks, man,” he sighs, offering me an attempt at a smile. “I injured my knee a couple of years back. It doesn’t bother me too much, but sometimes… when I twist it the wrong way… it acts up, you know?” His gray eyes linger on mine, uncertainty painted across his face, and I nod. Of course, I know. The primal fear of any professional athlete: an injury that will put an end to everything all too soon.
“What kind of injury?” I ask, my eyes not leaving his.
“Meniscus,” he rasps.
“Did you have surgery?” Losing myself in Cody’s eyes, it occurs to me out of nowhere that I didn’t know that there are so many shades of gray. I bet there are even more than fifty. From the lightest, bordering on white, to the darkest of grays, so close to black that it feels like being sucked into space.
“No, conservative treatment,” he pauses. “It wasn’t a full tear,” he pauses, his eyelashes fluttering with fatigue. “Thanks again, Carrington.” He smiles half-heartedly, but even that small, weak gesture combined with my name on his plush lips does something to my insides, small sparks igniting some weird shitin my chest that I’ve never felt before. I better not be coming down with something. We have a road trip coming up.
“No worries,” I gulp, quickly averting my eyes. “I brought an ice pack, too,” I offer lamely, pointing at the coffee table. Cody nods and I reach for it, carefully placing it on top of his knee. He winces, shifting his leg. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just… I landed a bit awkward during that last save.” He sighs, rubbing his hand along his left thigh, the muscles flexing beneath his fingers, and my gaze follows behind, counting the freckles above his knee. Seven. I think there are seven. No, wait. Eight.Eight.“It flares up occasionally. Some ice and painkillers usually do the trick, though.”
“Will you be okay for the game tomorrow?” I swallow, my eyes transfixed by the small cluster of light brown freckles against the paleness of his skin, my stupid mind counting them again and again, making eight my new favorite number.
“Yeah, I should be fine,” he smiles weakly, the smile not reaching his eyes. Worrying his bottom lip, a dark shadow moves across his face. “Will you…” he trails off, swallowing audibly. “Please don’t say anything to Coach and—”
“Of course not!” I interrupt him. “I’d never do that. It’s not for me to share. Not with anyone,” I stress, squeezing his thigh without even realizing it, my fingers just barely brushing his freckles, then quickly pulling my hand away like I burned myself. The physical reaction that Cody brings out in me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I’d been with random guys in college, the odd hand job or blow job, but it never felt anything like this—like more than just going through the motions. Doing something that everyone was talking about but never making my entire being buzz remotely like this. And all just from sitting next to him, feeling the warmth from his body against mine, seeping into me, his scent of sweat and soap and…guy… so potent that it makes my mouth water.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” his voice shakes as he nearly squeezes the life out of the water bottle. “I just…shit,” he groans, his chin wobbling. “I finally get to the League and then I’m reminded why I shouldn’t even be here in the first place.” I’m not sure he realizes that he’s talking out loud since his eyes are closed again. His chin continues to tremble, and his right leg has started bobbing up and down, his hand still squeezing the bottle.
“Hey, hey…” I placed my hand on his shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly. “You’ll be fine,” I add, which is stupid, really, because I don’t know the extent of his old injury. But I feel I have to say something, with Cody shaking next to me, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again. “And of course, you belong here. You saved our asses last night, man. Every night, basically, since you got here.” I continue to massage his shoulder, and after a while, his breathing seems to even out, that frantic edge to it gone, and I feel him relax into my touch. He isn’t shaking anymore and perhaps the pills started working, too, because he almost melts into the couch. Finally, he blinks his eyes open, brushing his hand across his face.
“Shit,” he sighs. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to go all emo on you there.” He offers me a crooked smile as he sits up straighter, a dimple I hadn’t noticed before popping at the right corner of his mouth. It gives him an even more boyish look than before and, combined with the vulnerability in his eyes, I just feel like hugging him. Holding him close and breathing him in. Feeling his heart beating against mine, the quietthump-thump-thumpmerging with mine. But that would be kind of weird since we’ve known each other for all of a few weeks. Even though it feels like I’ve known him my entire life. Like some part of me has always knownofhim, just waiting for him to come along.
“No worries. You’re good.”Jesus, what a lame thing to say. Suddenly, I’m too aware of how close I’ve moved next to him and that my hand is still resting on his shoulder. Removing itreluctantly, I get up, heading for the kitchen. “You hungry?” I ask with my back to him as I open the top drawer of the kitchen counter, going through the stack of takeout folders. My stomach still hasn’t forgiven me for skipping snack number two and I fear it’ll soon start eating itself if I don’t get some carbs.
“I could eat,” his mellow voice wafts toward me. “Iam, after all, a hockey player.” There’s a lilt to his voice, and even with my back to him, I can tell that he’s attempting a smile. My stomach does that weird flutter again that I now recognize for what it is.I like Cody.Ilike himlike him.Fuck. Earth to Carrington. Mission not confirmed. I repeat, missionnotconfirmed.The image of that small fox flashes before my eyes, a blur of blacks, grays, whites, and purples mixing, as I suck in a deep breath.
“Pizza?” I squeak pathetically. Clearing my throat, I add, “It’s a little late to cook now.” Turning around, I hold up a folder from the closest pizza place, The Crust.
“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs. “It’ll be our little secret,” he smiles carefully, his cheeks slightly flushed.Secret,my stupid head echoes.Tell me all your secrets, I want to say. I want to know everything about him. What makes him laugh or cry? What he dreams of aside from hockey. If he thinks as much about me as I think about him. “I’m good at keeping secrets,” he continues. His voice sounds drowsy, his eyes hooded. I nod, moving toward him and throwing the folder at him. It lands on his chest, and he jolts back awake.
“Pick something,” I say as I nod at the bathroom. “I just gotta take a leak.”And splash some water on my face, then search my cabinet for a chill pill to get a grip.Isoneed to get a fucking grip.
“Sure,” he picks up the folder, apparently oblivious to my inner forest fire, while pulling his phone from his shorts pocket. “What do you want?” he bites his bottom lip absentmindedly, turning the folder over.
I wanna know what your lips taste like and if you moan when I kiss you. Shit. He just looks so cute and sweet as he sits there, all fucking vulnerable, with that ice pack on his knee, his huge wary eyes resting on my face, damp, shaggy locks spilling onto his face.
Until now, being gay has mostly been something I’ve been in theory. Like reading about a foreign country that you’ve never visited. You have this idea of what it’s like, but you can’t know for sure until you’re actually there. I think I’m there now, watching Cody studying the menu. I think I finally know what everyone has been raving about.
“Luke?” I shake my head, rubbing a hand across my T-shirt-covered chest.Pull yourself together, dude.Now is not the time to be… whatever it is I’m doing over my roomie and teammate. Thank God I’m not drooling, but I need to get a grip and work on not ogling him compulsively. Especially not in public.
“Yeah, sorry. Uhm, Hawaiian for me,” I manage to articulate, theHawaiiancoming out a little too heavy for my taste. Like it’s code for something else. Cody doesn’t seem to notice, though, a smile blossoming on his lips.
