When practice ends, I hang back while the other guys head to the locker room. I pretend to organize my gear, taking my time with my water bottle and towel until the ice is empty.
The equipment room is in the basement, away from the main locker areas. It’s where they store extra gear, broken sticks, things that need repair.
Zane’s already there when I pull open the door, standing between rows of hockey equipment. The overhead lights cast shadows across his face, and I can see the tension stiffening his shoulders.
“You came,” he says.
“You asked me to.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
I close the door. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
“But we shouldn’t be doing this,” I say.
“I know.”
“This is kind of crazy.”
“Yeah.”
“So why are we here?” I try to control my voice but my dick tingles with the thought of his hands and mouth on me, and it’s hard to concentrate on talking when I want to be doing so much more.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The honesty in his voice hits me hard. Because I can’t stop thinking about him either.
“This is a bad idea,” I say.
“Yes, but this place is safe. I checked the schedule. Everyone’s in meetings for the next hour.”
“You checked the schedule?”
He nods.
I stare at him, this man who’s planned this encounter down to the minute, and something tightens in my chest.
“What do you want, Zane?”
“I want to touch you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“We said this was a one-time thing,” I say.
“We said a lot of things.”
“And?”
“And I’m tired of pretending they were true.”
He moves closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. When he reaches out to graze the side of my face, I don’t pull away.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
