"We should probably clean up,” he says quietly, and there's a vulnerability in his voice that wasn't there before.
I nod, expecting him to roll off and retreat to his own space, but instead he stands and offers me his hand.
Together we walk into the bathroom and Griffin wets a washcloth to use for us. He takes his time running it over my soft cock and I can feel my body wanting to go a second round.
“We need to talk about what this means,” he says.
And boom. There it is.
I turn away and clear my throat. I knew, of course, that this was going to be a one time thing. I’m not completely naive in how hookups work. Plus, as far as I know, Griff isn’t gay or bisexual and this was probably just experimenting.
“You’re the one who made out with me at the party and then ghosted me for a week,” I say, and I keep my voice cool. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about. We hooked up. It’s no big deal.”
It’s bitter and low. The issue is that to me this was a massive deal and I knew better. Hooking up is one thing but then sleeping together in the same bed? Snuggling and holding each other? It caused a lot of emotions to run through me. But so did being kissed like that only to be treated like a radioactive mistake the next day.
“That’s not fair,” he snaps.
I wrap a towel around myself because having this discussion while soft and naked feels really fucking awkward.
“Can we just… talk after the game?” he asks, voice doing this soft, guilty thing.
I nod but I don’t look at him. I can’t.
He says my name in this soft hesitant tone and I cut him off before he makes it worse.
“You should go,” I mutter. “Team meeting before your game. I’ve got the training room.”
He hovers. I feel him still standing there like he might argue. But eventually, I hear him moving. Clothes rustling. A zipper. The creak of the door.
Then it shuts.
And I just stand there wondering how I went from kissing Griffin Thatcher in a hotel room to feeling like I just got dumped after a one-night stand I wasn’t even supposed to want.
20
Jacob
“What the fuckis going on with you?”
Hughie’s question is a direct hit to my chest and I can’t even bring myself to look at him.
Not because I don’t trust him. I definitely trust him…but I amso fucking embarrassed.
Last night and this morning were both the hottest, most goddamn delicious moments of my life and the absolute most confusing.
And now I’m convinced it was a mistake.
It’s not that I don’t want it because I absolutely want it. It’s just that once you let your body do that thing with someone, and then your brain remembers it, and then your heart adds its own commentary track on top of that, you’re basically screwed for normal life ever again.
I don’t regret it because holy shit, being with Griffin was hot as fuck. I have absolutely made out with and ground against men before. I’ve just never….done more. Like touched a bare dick or pressed one to mine….hell, the idea of frotting was a foreign concept that was enticing. Except now I know its way better than just fucking enticing and I want to do it again.
But I can’t do that because it was likely a bad idea in the first fucking place.
“Nothing,” I say, attempting to keep my voice natural. “I’m fine.”
Which is about as true as saying a tornado was “just a breeze.”
Hughie doesn’t press right away. That’s his thing. He waits. He lets the silence settle and make me uncomfortable until I just fucking explode. I won’t fucking do it this time.
