“I wasn’t going to drive.” He glares. “I was going to pout in my car.”
I laugh.
“I want to stay with you tonight.” I don’t know why, but my mind goes to Felix. I realize now that I was going to ask him to sleep in bed with me again, but my friend needs me.
“Yeah, of course. I’m overdue for a cuddle anyway.” That makes him smile. I hug him and he latches onto me the way I knew he would. “I promise I’ll get better... better is just going to look different. No matter what, I’m always here for you.”
He pulls back, wiping under his eyes. “Oli said you’re going to come to a game soon?” He smiles.
He watches me for a moment, and finally, I nod. Unsure. I promised my friends, and I need to do this for me too. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Am I wearing yours, Oli’s, or Andre’s jersey?”
“You’re wearing my jersey, you dick.” I smile, pulling him in for one more hug. His arms snake around my body, hugging me tight, and I kiss the side of his head, just happy he’s calmed down some. “I love you. You got it? Nothing is changing.”
He pulls back, shaking his head. “Only everything.
SIXTEEN
Felix
I walk into silence when I step into the kitchen. It’s almost nine now. I usually don’t sleep this late, but I didn’t sleep much at all last night. I’m still worried about Steven, although with not one but two giant hockey players currently in this house, I don’t think he’d get very far.
Grey must still be in his room.
With Atlas.
I hate how I feel. My lungs feel tight. I’m pathetic. I have no right to feel jealous. Grey isn’t my boyfriend, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. I’m still legally married. While living here has been amazing, I know it won’t last.
Nothing good ever does for me.
What happened yesterday was nothing, it was just fun—so much fun. I’ve always had a weird relationship with sex. For the longest time I thought it was me. I just don’t enjoy it. It makes me feel broken. I’ve tried hard to like it in the past. I just don’t. Sex has always felt like something Ishouldbe doing and notsomething Iwantto do. I’ve waited years to feel that drive, but it’s never come. Not even in the beginning with Steven.
It’s just something that was expected. Steven provided so I could stay home and not work. Therefore, I owed him. That’s how it’s always been. Just another chore on my list. I want to say it wasn’t always like that, but nothing I’ve ever felt compares to the other morning with Grey.
Yesterday, I wanted to touch someone for the first time. I needed to. Felt like I might die if I didn’t. It took me by surprise. Grey’s gorgeous body sprawled out just for me, offering himself to me. I barely touched him, but he acted like I was killing him.
He was killing me a little too.
I hear footsteps and I look up expecting to see Grey, but instead Atlas walks in with just sweats on. Jesus, are all hockey players built like gods? Is that the requirement? His six pack is so defined, I don’t even think he knows the word body fat. Black hair covers his chest and runs down his abs, and those sweats are hanging so low a soft breeze could pull them down.
I turn away, back to the stove, and focus on prepping breakfast. I noticed the first week I was here that Grey didn’t eat much, so I’ve made it a habit to have breakfast made for him. He shouldn’t be skipping meals while his body is healing, especially with the medicines he has to take.
So I’m making French toast and bacon. “Morning,” I say, with a smile I have to force onto my face. “Sleep well?”
“I slept great.” He smirks, folding his arms over his chest to watch me. Then he reaches into the cabinet for a mug to make himself a cup of coffee. He seems at home here. Is this what they do? How often does Atlas stay the night?
As I drench each thick piece of bread I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to watch Grey limping into thekitchen. I’ve noticed this last week the limping isn’t as prominent. He hates the cane. He’d told me it makes him feel old, which I find funny. The hockey age mentality is real. Thirty-three isn’t old at all. In fact, since he’s cut his hair and beard, he looks years younger.
Just like Atlas, he wears a pair of soft plaid pajamas slung low on his hips, because apparently that’s the hockey leisure standard. I mean, if I had abs like that, maybe I’d do it too. I do not, therefore I will not. Am I drooling? Maybe. I better stop looking before I make a mess on the kitchen floor. They’re both a few inches taller than I am with bulk I’ve only seen on TV.
“Morning.” He smiles warmly at me. “Sleep well?”
I nod, unable to find my voice. “You?” I squeak out.
“If by well you mean slept next to someone tossing and turning while mumbling in their sleep, then yeah. Slept great.”
