“Glad to hear it, but there’s a new variety of Plum in town, and this one is less concerned with the emotions clogging that giant muscle in your head, and more with oxygenating it. Now, let’s get to work.”
It’s the last day of development camp in Montreal and I still can’t believe I’m here, training my childhood dream team. It should have registered by now. I mean, I’m almost twenty-one, and I was drafted just before I turned eighteen. But nope. My future with the Mounties is as unbelievable to me as it was the day they called my name and slid that red and white that jersey over my head.
Since I head home tomorrow, I’ve arrived at the stadium a little early, and am just chilling in my stall, soaking it all in. Oh, and sneaking around, taking photos for my sister, Cherry. As many twins are, we’re super close—when we’re not fighting or trying to humiliate the other and have both loved the Mounties since the first game we watched together, huddled up on our living room floor in Boston—AKA Mounties Enemy Territory.
Scrolling through my phone, I send her a shot of the hockey sticks lining the property manager walls, and wait for the reply.
I don’t have to wait long.
*Holy shit!Just think how much money is sitting in that room. How many do you thinkyoucanfit in your bag?
Smiling like a fool, I’m typing my reply, when my fellow rookies begin piling in.
“Hey,Cubby. Who’s got you grinning like that? Got a hot girl waiting for you back home?”
Cubby? For the love of Mary Jane.
I thought I made it. After two blissful weeks of no jeering, minimal patronizing ‘little guy’ quips, and pretty much nothing but hockey, someone’s blabbed. I ignore the hot-girl mention, and go straight to the nickname.
“Who told you!” I demand, pointing toward Dylan Prescott, the Cubby-caller. After laughing for a solid minute, he and the rest of the Montreal rookie brains trust—White, Coleman and McKinney—unfold themselves and regain enough motor-control to speak.
“My buddy Jax has a girlfriend who hooked up with some guy who knows your sister. She told him, he told her and she … no he … wait.”
Fucking, Cherry.
Sighing, I rub my hand over my face to hide my blush. “Not sure I needed that detail, but thanks.”
“I still like Mr. Ripley,” Coleman, a hulking redhead from Georgia chimes in with the name he christened me with on day one. “You really do look like baby Matt Damon.” He considers me, then holds out his hand and with his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “But then again, Cubby suits ‘cause you’re so tiny.”
I should just ignore this, too. After all, feeding a beast only serves to make it hungrier. But I can’t.
“I’m not tiny, I’m five feet, eight and a bit inches.” Of course, this sees their laughter become hysteria. Way to go, Dickhead.
“See,” Coleman wheezes. “Like I said, tiny.”
“Kind of cute, too.” That’s McKinney. NOT checking him out has been the hardest thing about camp.Cutefrom him is intriguing.Cutefrom him has me preening. “And hairy,” he adds.
Hairy? Silently, I look down to the three hairs on my chest.
“On your head.” He sweetly taps his own to demonstrate. “Your hair. It’s lush, and all soft and fluffy looking.”
Lush? Hmm. Maybe I’m not the only one NOT checking teammates out.
No one else seems to notice the way he’s licking his lip as he studies my locks, then mouth. And that’s a good thing. I’m a baby gay, and I haven’t known these guys long enough to ascertain how safe a space this is. Still, I know what I want, and it’s all about the D.
And I don’t mean defense.
All in high spirits for our last session, the boys wrap up their taunting, kit up, and leave the room en masse. But it’s Nate McKinney who waits for me. Nate who looks over his shoulder and shoots me a wink that has my dick twitching uncomfortably in my cup.
Yeah. I know what I want.
“Why didI wait ‘til the last night? And where have you been hiding those glasses?” McKinney’s voice cracks as I lick the pre-cum from his glistening pink tip.
Conversation is not what I’m here for, so I shrug, then splay one hand over his toned abs. With the other, I grip his ass and pull until his dark, mass of curly hair tickles my face, and his dick hits the back of my throat.
Fuck I love this.
The smell. The feel. The taste.
