“The one and only!” I shriek, wrapping my arms around his neck. Leaning in, I pant against his left ear, “or rather, Troye Baby to you,Antoine.” An outdrawn groan leaves Cody’s chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. Shit, he’s shivering. I got my man all hot and bothered.
“Antoine?” he asks, a puzzled brow raised in question.
“Oui, mon cheri,” I pile it on thick for good measure and Cody’s lashes flutter like the wings of tiny butterflies as he sucks in a clipped breath.
“Fuck, babe,” he shakes his head, biting his bottom lip. The blush of all blushes spreads across his cheeks and I’m taking a mental picture of how he looks right now and keeping it forever. Just like I’m keeping him forever. It’s already been decided like some universal truth. Like fucking gravity or Pythagoras’ Law or whatever. That I’m his and he’s mine. Troye and Antoine forever and ever. It’s written in the stars. Damn, I’m cheesy.
“You like?” I smile, taking a step back out of his grasp, doing a twirl, sticking my ass out as much as possible for good measure. Cody burst into the most carefree laughter I’ve heard in ages, a wet sheen to his eyes. I love how easily he shows his emotions in front of me now, knowing that I’ve got him. That it’s safe. He’s such a sensitive guy, his laughter easily spilling into tears. Not because he’s sad—I’ve realized that by now—but because he gets all teary-eyed when something moves him.
“I fucking love it,” he positively glows, licking his lips. “Shit, babe, you look hot.” He shakes his head again. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” I lie because I haven’t told him yet. “Just for you,” I wink.
“For me?” He breathes like he still can’t believe this is real. Him and me.
Nodding furiously, I say, “Yeah, just for you, baby,” as I reach for my phone on the island and pull up Spotify. Scrolling my playlist, I find the song that I want. Putting it on, the beat spills from the Sonos speakers, Troye’s soft voice teasing the melody. Cody’s granite eyes glimmer, his gaze sweeping along the lace hem of the corset, as he drinks me in. Reaching out, he sweeps his fingers through the blond wig, an appreciative grunt leaving his mouth. “You into blonds, Mitchell?” I tease, unable to stay in character.
“Just into you,” he whispers. Pulling me in by the hem of the corset, his index finger dipping between my pecs, he has me flush against his chest. His heart beats steadily, his gaze heated, his freckles sparkling. Or maybe I’m just making shit up at this point because to me Cody always fucking sparkles and glows, this small miracle in my life.
I’m so into him, too, that it’s ridiculous. I never thought I could be into someone like this. We’ve reached a place in our relationship that is so safe and secure. Our boundaries are well-defined, and we know each other’s needs and limits. I never thought that it could be so fulfilling to know another person’s boundaries. To know how to move within those limits, to reach them and respect them, and to see in that person’s eyes what it means to them. Cody knows I see him and that I accept him. Because accepting someone’s boundaries means accepting them and who they are at their very core.
But what really blows my mind? How amazing it feels to finally know myselfandfeel good about who I am. Cody has taught me this. That I’m asexual. That I can still be attracted to someone without wanting a sexual relationship. That I can still cravecloseness and intimacy without needing sexual gratification. The emotional bond we share is what defines us. I have his back like he has mine. Cody is going through one of the most challenging times in his life, and he’s so unbelievably strong. I’m in awe of my man. It’s our strength, along with our deep-seated friendship, the trust, and the connection we share.
Leaning in, he buries his face against my neck, pressing a soft kiss to my naked skin, breathing me in. Blowing in his ear, I join Troye and Charli XCX in their sultry plea.
“‘Talk to me in French. Talk to me in Spanish. Talk to me in your own made-up language.’” I pant the words against Cody’s ear, his body vibrating. It takes him a few seconds to come up for air, his expression all wrecked and love drunk. Then the right corner of his mouth curls, a curious frown building between his brows. And I know that look. He’s so on to me.
“What aren’t you telling me,Troye?” he demands, squeezing my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting my head, the choker tightening around my neck as it bends backward. And now I’m the one who’s gulping becausedayummy baby’s hot when he’s all bossy. Clearing my throat, my eyes fixed on his, I come clean and squeak, “So, remember when…”
Katie’s apartment is filled to the brim like she’s playing a game calledHow many pro hockey players can you fit into a three-bedroom? The air is humid, music blasting from the loudspeakers, bodies swaying on the interim dance floor in the living room. Apparently, it was Greta and Virtanen’s idea to dress up as your celebrity crush.And bring your celebrity dream date, I added. Shit, I always thought it was Antoine, butnow I know he was just a placeholder until the real deal came along. Sorry, Antoine, not sorry.
Wild cheers erupted when we arrived a couple of hours ago; our teammates, for the most part, were nothing but supportive of our new status as boyfriends. Yeah, we’re officially out now. We kind of had to be after Chatty Cathy and what is now commonly referred to asjersey-gateon the team happened.Riley already called dibs on best man. I smiled so fucking hard when he stood, shifting on his feet, in front of me, murmuring,‘I’m so happy for you, Luke. Truly.’ Nowak—because he’s Nowak and he goes through life like it’s an endless playlist—of course, announced that he was going to oversee finding the perfect song for Cody and me. ‘Everyone needs a song!’ he proclaimed when I remarked it was, perhaps, a little premature. Although, I was preening on the inside because I already know I’m going to marry my guy. One of these days, I’m going to fucking marry him. You know, written in the stars and all that.
Even Crane took me by surprise the other day after practice when he came up next to me in the locker room and showed me an online article about the importance ofoutathletes in professional sports, referring to Cody and me as the latest couple to join a small but growing list of queer role models.
‘Good for you, Carrington,’ he rasped, shifting on his feet nervously. ‘I mean,’ he continued hesitantly. ‘I think it’s cool that you guys, you know. That you’re open about… you know. Maybe it’ll get young kids to be… you know.’ He shrugged.
‘Thanks, man,’ I bumped his shoulder. ‘Appreciate it.’
‘Sure,’ he mumbled, and then, the moment was gone, and he was back to being an asshole. ‘You were slagging today, though. I wouldn’t have missed that shot in the 2nd.’
‘Whatever, dude,’ I grinned, because nothing gets to me these days. I’m fucking untouchable. ‘You keep tellin’ yourself that.’
Crane, the kiss-ass, is dressed as Coach whereas Virtanen has stayed true to his previous proclamation that his celebrity crush is Buckhammer. Dressed like a cowboy, Virtanen looks ridiculous, his broad thighs stretching the denim material like nobody’s business, the white cowboy hat way too small for his big head. He even wears a pair of cowboy boots, size canoe.
‘Dude, you know I’m from Austin, right?’ Buckhammer blurted earlier when Virtanen beamed at him, making a dismal attempt at a line dance move.
‘So?’ Virtanen boomed.
‘I’m not a cowboy. I’m a city boy. Not every Texan is a cowboy,’ he sighed.
‘What do you mean?’ Virtanen growled in his no-bullshit fashion.
‘Nothing, Finland,’ Buckhammer shook his head in resignation. ‘You look good, man.’ For a second, the huge Texan got a little misty-eyed, and who could blame him?
‘Of course, I do,’ Virtanen beamed. ‘I look like you!’
And he’s not the only one. Who looks good, that is. The best-looking guy in the room is my man, who’s currently engulfed in a passionate conversation with Greta. His blond locks are flying all over the place as he gesticulates wildly, Greta giggling, dressed as Pikachu.
