“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m just going to be a healthy scratch again.”
“What does that mean?” All I can think about is the scars on his back as soon as he says “scratch.”
He adjusts the guitar case in his hand and we continue down the street. The store is only a short walk from my place, but it’s blustery out so it won’t be a leisurely stroll. “It’s what you call it when the coach doesn’t let a guy play even though he’s not injured.”
“Why would he do that to you?”
We turn the corner onto my street. “Because he’s trying to make me do this fucking TV thing and I keep blowing off the producers when they call. I don’t want to do it.”
“Can’t you just tell him that?” I ask. “Instead of wasting everyone’s time.”
“I tried, but he’s insisting. I thought if I blew off the producers long enough they’d give up and go for someone else, but instead they complained to management,” he explains. “Coach said I either give them the segment or I can kiss my ice time good-bye, which makes him an asshole because I’ve been playing really well lately.”
“Why don’t you want to do it?”
“The same reason I wouldn’t let you put my name on your auction flyer,” he replies and shifts the guitar case to his other hand, then takes mine with his free one. “I don’t want to have my personal crap out there. This show profiled Devin a couple of years ago when he was married to his first wife. They filmed his house, his kid, his wife cooking dinner. They asked him like a thousand questions about growing up and his family and even interviewed his parents for the segment.”
Oh. I get it now. I hold his hand a little tighter. “Is there any way you can set the rules? Like tell them it has to be about the present and not the past? Or that you only want to focus on hockey and not your family?”
“I doubt it, which is why I’m just avoiding the calls and am about to end up in the press box.” Another scowl darkens his face but he fights it this time and tries to smile at me. “Tell me something good from your day to get my mind off this.”
The memories of my day come filtering back and I frown. “My day was beyond shitty. There was a leak in one of the bathrooms upstairs at Daphne’s House and it turns out we have a burst pipe in the ceiling and the plumber swears we need to replace everything. Before it really starts to freeze outside or will have pipes bursting every five seconds.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“He quoted me eight grand.” I get the heavy leaden feeling in my belly like I did when the plumber first told me. “I’m getting a second opinion tomorrow, but if it’s true and I have to replumb the place I’m in serious financial trouble. I have to raise our profile and get in some more donations as fast as I can.”
The setting sun softens his face, but the worry painted across is still visible. “I can make a donation.”
“You already do. Your time,” I remind him firmly as we start to climb the stairs to my place. “And I know you made a hefty donation at the fund-raiser.”
I slip my key into the lock and open the door. “You mean the Barons tickets and the false promise of sex to the winner?”
I turn and look up at him, giving him a hard glare and he bats his eyelashes at me innocently and tries to pretend that wasn’t a comment meant to tease the hell out of me. He lives off his sex appeal. I bet he’s gotten out of more traffic tickets with just a wink and a smile. “I mean the check you wrote. Len showed it to me. It was more than generous and I can’t ask you for more.”
“You aren’t asking. I’m offering,” he replies as we step into the hallway and I close the door.
“I appreciate it and I may have to take you up on it, but what I really need is media coverage,” I explain. “I did get an email fromThe Timesasking me a few more questions about a press release I sent a while ago, so fingers crossed they write a story.”
We kick off our shoes and coats and head straight for the bedroom. I help him tuck the guitar case under the bed making sure the big bow they put on it doesn’t get squashed. As soon as I stand back up, his lips are on mine.
I still want to ask him about his foster home and maybe share my suspicions. But after the day we both had and how good this kiss feels, I decide to wait. Mac will be back sooner rather than later and I want some adult time with him before then. So when he deepens the kiss and starts to undress me, I not only let him but I return the favor.
This time the first orgasm he gives me is with his perfect mouth. Without even letting me lie down, he kneels before me, tugging my pants down my legs along with my underwear and he starts kissing me. First my thighs, then my clit and then I feel his tongue and I shudder and sigh at the incredible sensations. My hands curl into his thick, soft hair and he murmurs something I don’t catch, but I don’t care. I’m too consumed by the way his mouth is moving over me. His hands slip around my thighs and he grabs my ass tight.
I’m still standing, but I can’t feel my legs. My whole body is quaking and my neck snaps back and stars shoot across my closed eyes as I come harder than I’ve ever come before. My knees are suddenly made of Jell-O and I start to drop vaguely hoping I land on the bed, but I’m too spent to care either way. He’s on his feet, his arm around my lower back, holding me up as he buries his face in my neck and lowers me onto the bed. “You’re going to wreck me,” he whispers into the crook of my neck. “And I’m going to let you.”
My eyes flutter open and our eyes connect, and I’m breathless at the pain in his face. Oh my God, what the hell happened to him. I slide my hand down his cheek. “Alex…”
He silences me with a kiss. His lips never leave mine long enough for me to speak—to tell him I would never hurt him—and I think that’s intentional on his part. The sex is incredible. He’s this mix of rough and gentle, fast and slow and he knows exactly how to hit a G-spot. He gently sucks on my neck and tells me confidently, “I’m going to make you come again now,” and then moves his hips a different way and it’s like he tapping a button and my whole body detonates. I fight off the wave of oblivion long enough to clench down on his dick and he swears in French and the vein in his neck throbs and he comes with me.
He gets up to remove the condom and then lies back down next to me, pulling me into his chest. We don’t bother with blankets because we’re both still sweaty and panting. I listen to the thump of his heartbeat against my cheek as he runs his fingertips up and down my back. “This is nice,” I confess softly.
“Mmm…” he responds, his voice heavy and deep.
I blink, take a breath and tell him what he wouldn’t let me tell him earlier. “I’m not going to wreck you.”
He doesn’t say anything for so long that I worry he didn’t hear my words. But I can’t bring myself to look up at him. I don’t want to see his face because I’m worried he’ll look pained again or worse, angry. “I’ve had my share of empty promises in my life and I don’t want to add you to that pile. So just don’t make any promises okay?”
