He disappears through an open doorway while I plop on to the ridiculously soft couch, dropping my elbows to my knees and burying my face into my hands. I can hear the rustle of the sushi being put away in the refrigerator, then feel the dip of the cushion as Alex settles in next to me.
“It’s okay, you know,” he says quietly, his knee brushing up against mine.
“What’s okay?”
“If you don’t want to do this. If you’re going to say we made a mistake the other night and weshould just be friends. I’ll understand. It’s not fair of me to ask you to be my good luck charm and my gay sex guru all at once. Let’s forget I ever said anything, okay? You don’t even have to send me exes and ohs before my games anymore. I’ll swallow down the superstition and we can go back to being buddies.”
Lifting my head from my hands, I look at Alex, take in the soft sadness in his face, the glow of the ambient low lighting reflecting in his amber eyes, the patchy stubble on his chin that makes me want to rub my lips all over him.
Every time I look at Alex, the overwhelming realization slaps me upside the head once more.
I am in so over my head with this man.
“Baby,” I reach out and cup his cheek, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his mostly smooth skin. “I don’t want to forget about anything. I’m sorry if my being nervous is making you feel uncertain, but I’ve thought about you—about us—a lot, and I want to do this. I want to be your good luck charm and your—what did you call it? Your gay sex guru? I’m just…overwhelmed with how much I want you right now.”
Not a lie—my dick has been weeping for days every time I think of Alex, his tight body, his sweet smile, the way he cried out when he came all over himself for me on the phone.
But not the truth, either. I am overwhelmed with how much I want him, but it's more than just my dick. I’m like a seventeen year old with an all consuming crush again. Except unlike when I was an actual seventeen year old, this time I’m old enough to know that this is going to hurt like hell when it's over. And yet, I can’t stop myself from taking this leap. I don’t even want to try.
“But,” I say, needing to put up some kind of wall around my heart. Even if it feels like it's made of toothpicks and wads of chewed bubblegum fighting for their lives to keep it together. “We need to have some rules.”
“Rules. I can follow the rules.” Alex bobs his head like a chihuahua on a dashboard, and I want to scream for how fucking adorable he is.
“This is just for the season. Your season, or until I stop being your good luck charm. I don’t want to become something you hate because we couldn’t keep it in our pants and suddenly I’m the big gray cloud that ruined your career.”
“That would never happen because I could never hate you, but I get your point. I can agree to that.”
“Should we keep this a secret? I mean, I know you’re not out. Not that you need to come out, or if you’re just curious or whatever?—”
“Not just curious. I’m definitely bi, or pan, orsomewhere to the right of “straight” on the scale. And no, no secrets. I don’t think we need to go blabbing on socials or anything like that. The public doesn’t need to know about our situation. I don’t want the fans to find out about the whole superstition side of things and then turn on you and the Redwoods if I start playing like shit and losing games. But I don’t mind if you talk to your friends or your mom about us. I’m not ashamed of this season of life I’ve found myself in.”
I blow out a low whistle.
“That’s deep, man. I don’t know if that’s the beauty of discovering facets of your sexuality later in life or what, but when I was ten and knew for sure that I was gay, you couldn’t have pried that information out of me with the jaws of life.”
Alex just shrugs, a laid back grin spreading across his face.
“You were a kid. I’m an adult, and I’m confident to a fault.”
I don’t know that I’d say to a fault, but he’s certainly confident. And fuck me, but that confidence is the sexiest thing about him. He’s so damn sure of himself, it’s intoxicating.
Alex leans into the palm of my hand, nuzzling against me until his lips meet my skin. He kisses my hand, soft and repetitive, and I swear I could liveright here in this moment for the rest of my life and die a happy man.
“El?” he murmurs against my palm.
“Yeah, Goat?”
“Can we please make out now?”
RIP me, I am never going to survive this.
“Give me those lips, Alex. I’m fucking dying for them.”
But he doesn’t just give me his lips. My Alex doesn’t do anything half-assed. He launches his entire body at me, wiggling around until he manages to land on top of me with his thighs straddling mine and his hands in the hair at the nape of my neck. I groan when his weight collapses on my lap, but it's swallowed up by his eagerness—and my determination to taste his mouth. Alex’s lips come down to meet mine, hard and hungry. It's more of a smush than a kiss and it's not particularly sexy, but when my hands find his hips and I start to massage him with my fingertips, he lets up on the pressure and we melt into each other.
He licks at me, sucking and nibbling at my bottom lip, but I don’t let him in yet. The part of me that already knows how much it's going to hurt to let him go is desperate to drag this out as long as possible. Instead, I moan against his mouth, letting my hands start to roam until they’re pushing at the hemof his t-shirt, fingers brushing against hot, bare skin. Alex sighs, trying again to coax my lips open with his tongue, and when I don’t budge, he whines and grinds his ass against my thighs.
“I want you so bad, El,” he says between frantic kisses. “Please.”
