It’s still amazing. The shirt is exactly what I need. Adding Kane’s lavender to the mix changes everything. No more touch-starved longing for me.
Well… at least for tonight.
I curve my spine, the beans crinkling and shifting as every deep breath of them relaxes me. With the duvet over my head, I create a cocoon, and their scents grow thicker as it warms up.
Bunching the shirt in my hand, and I lift it to my nose. With a deep inhale and a whine, a smile spreads across my face.
I’m finally settled for the first time since I met them both. My eyes flutter closed, and I drift away, imagining all the things we could do together.
I want to go on dates. Proper dates, not those parties I used to go to with grungy boyfriends, where we’d get high and talk about music. But the kinds of dates I only see in movies. Like visiting an arcade or a funfair. Maybe we could go to the beach, or I could take them to a concert to see my favorite band. We coulddo all that cutesy shit like get ice creams together, huddle up in a photobooth, and share stories with take-out pizza as we flirt and laugh over beers.
I’m meant to be rocking against my hand or tearing my suitcase apart looking for my trusty dildo, not fantasizing about all the cliché stuff I avoid like the plague. But I quickly realize that being their scent match is way more than me being horny all the time.
I’m purring away on my beanbag, sniffing at a sweaty T-shirt and wondering what it would be like to be loved by Timber and Kane.
This is way worse than coming while watching Timber jerk off over oatmeal. Or letting Kane go down on me in a hospital.
Because if I let this kind of thing go on, it won’t be a case of riding this wave of lust until they discover my lie and hope it all works out well in the end.
If I keep going like this, I could end up doing something really stupid. Like how I rub the shirt around my neck as if they’ve scent marked me while I imagine how good it would feel if they gave me their bites.
Kane
Ikeep having the same dream since I met Ollie.
I’ve had it occasionally for years, but now it’s playing on repeat every night.
It never changes. It’s fixed in my mind as a permanent reminder of how screwed up I am.
It was back when I was twenty, the year after I’d broken Timber’s nose.
The dream always starts with a distant laugh, echoing down a straight road as I stumble out of a bar into a brightly lit street at 2 a.m. We're already sweating in the thick Nashville summer air. I’m tipsy as hell, holding up one of the other guys on the team who’s flat out drunk.
My teammate grins as he throws his arm around my neck, dragging us both toward a cab. “So. Right. What I said… the way we won is, okay, it’s…Fuck!” He bursts out laughing as we topple over, and I grab the lamppost before we fall. Hitting hard concrete in shorts is a hundred times worse than hitting the ice in padding.
Besides, I’m not paying attention to him.
Music beats out from both sides of the street. There are bars facing each other and gaggles of people on either side. But the beauty of it is that most of them are so drunk that they don’t care that two whole hockey teams are out laughing and dancing with them.
We’d played and beaten the Scented Scorpions earlier that day. And all I wanted to do was get close to Timber.
I tracked him on the ice throughout the whole game, and he straight-up ignored me. But since the teams came out to party together afterward, I thought it was my chance.
I tried to visit him in the hospital after the accident last year, and whenever we were in Tennessee, but I could never reach him.
I'd been his fan my whole life, and the first time I met him, I ruined everything.
Seeing him again was so rough, because he looked like a shell. I knew he had to take a year off from hockey, but the shock is still hounding me.
I just want the opportunity to say sorry. But five other guys circled him the whole night and wouldn’t let anyone near him.
My blurry vision hops back and forth along the street looking for him. I can’t concentrate with my teammate rambling about the game.
There’s a groan from behind us and a crash. We both spin around to find Timber with his hand against an industrial waste bin, his mouth open as he breathes too heavily.
My heart skips as he turns, his face highlighted in the streetlight. He’s definitely too drunk. Drunker than us. And we’re drunk off our asses.
“Hey, take him, would you?” I say to one of my teammates who’s finishing up a cigarette.
