“Obviously,” he repeats, and it’s soft and careful, not rude or mocking. Our eyes meet and his lose that hardness for just a second. Of course he has sympathy for the fact that my mom was killed by a drunk driver when I was fourteen. Justin wouldn’t have been friends with him for a minute, let alone years, if he didn’t get the seriousness of that. But then Luke lets out a quick puff of air through his mouth and stands up. “I mean, do I like an audience when I’m getting head? Not really. I especially don’t want a young, impressionable kid watching.”
“I was… I am only two years younger than you,” I remind him, but damn if he doesn’t make me feel like a child.
He brushes past me to walk over to the other side of the room. He grabs a half finished Gatorade off the night table and twists it open. It’s the purple one, which is also my favorite. “Whatever. Look, if you don’t feel bad about being a homophobe, then I don’t feel bad about treating you like you don’t exist. I don’t have to like you, or even pretend to, to be your Captain. We’ll do just fine if you stay out of my way and keep your mouth closed.”
He starts towards the door and for a second I’m almost too stunned to move. But I regain my senses and dart toward the door, my hand landing on the handle before his so his hand is on top of mine. We’re inches apart and we’re staring right into each other’s eyes. My hazel ones are filled with shock and his dark brown ones are filled with anger.
“You think I’m a homophobe?” I can barely say that last word. It’s so fucking foreign to who I am.
He pulls his hand off the handle, fast, like my skin under his palm suddenly turned to lava. I don’t miss the way he kind of wipes it across the side of his joggers, like he’s wiping me off of him. Well, that’s offensive. Yeah. I’m getting offended. I cross my arms and block the door so he can’t open it again. “Why the fuck do you think I’m a homophobe. You don’t even know me. You spent five days in my house and didn’t even say more than a few fucking words like, ‘pass the gravy’ or ‘Merry Christmas kid’ and you haven’t been back. Justin goes on vacations with you. I’ve only ever seen you on opposite sides of the ice until this month and you’ve never given me more than a grunt.”
“Because you acted like I was a fucking leper!” Luke snaps, his tanned skin growing darker with the flush of anger. “After you walked in on me and what’s-his-face you avoided me like the plague. You barely spoke. You didn’t make eye contact. You would leave the fucking room if you brother and dad left us alone together. Because you were that fucking grossed out.”
“I wasn’t grossed out!” I almost laugh at that. “I was shocked and…”
“And grossed out. Repulsed. Offended,” Luke starts throwing out all the wrong adjectives. “I get it. Not everyone can handle dudes liking dudes. And straight men who can handle it ‘don’t want to see it’. Yeah. I know.”
He rolls his eyes dismissively and motions at the door with one of his big hands. “I don’t care. I don’t have the energy or the need to open anyone’s closed mind. You do you, but I’m not going to pretend we’re friends. I’m not friends with homophobes, even though I may have to play with them.”
“I am not a fucking homophobe,” I bark out and move to stand directly in front of him. We’re toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest. If this was on the ice, a fan would think that we’re about to toss our gloves and start throwing haymakers. But it’s not and as offended as I am, that feeling of arousal is back full-force. And for the first time, I speak my truth about that night. “And yeah, I was shocked, but I wasn’t grossed out, or repulsed. I was turned on and that confused the fuck out of me. And I won’t apologize for that. I was only seventeen. I had barely gotten my dick wet with a girl and then I stumble upon that and it made my dick hard and my brain… melted. Okay? Does that make me a fucking homophobe?”
I watch the cold fury on Luke’s face melt. It just falls right off and the expression that replaces it is… well, it’s probably the same amount of shock and confusion I had on mine in that dining room years ago. “You’re gay?”
His question is such a hoarse whisper I almost don’t hear him. I take a long slow breath. “I don’t know what I am, but I know that I have spent years fantasizing about what it would be like to be the guy giving you head under the mistletoe.”
And then there’s a knock on the hotel room door.
CHAPTER 3
LUKE
This fucking guy and his goddamn timing. First, he walks in on me getting head when I’m nineteen and now… he’s cock-blocking me from getting it again. Jesus. Who sent this kid into my world? The devil himself?
Noah turns toward the door, and I whisper, “Don’t open that.”
His head swivels so he’s looking over his shoulder at me. His eyes, which are this indescribable color I’ve never forgotten, even in the years I stopped seeing them on a regular basis, bore into mine. “Why not?”
“Shh!” His voice is too loud. Garrett, who I know is behind the door, could hear him. So I step forward and cover his mouth with my hand, wrapping my other hand around the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away.
His breath dances over my pinkie, his eyelashes flutter. I feel my cock start to come to life and then there’s another knock on the door. Noah and I keep staring at each other. I lean closer, so I can whisper in his ear, but now my whole body is pressed against his whole body and oh, fuck. Lust is zipping down my spine and through my veins. “I don’t want to see the guy on the other side of the door.”
“Why?” It’s a muffled sound against my palm.
“Because he’s here to let me fuck him and I don’t want to fuck him anymore,” I murmur, enjoying the feel of the shell of his ear against my lips.
Noah stands perfectly still, taking a moment to absorb that information. My phone buzzes from where it’s plugged in on the nightstand. It’s likely Garrett wondering why I’m not answering the damn door. I step back, press a finger to my lips, and reach for my phone. But Noah is apparently not in to following directions from a guy who called him a homophobe. I grab my phone and he grabs the door handle and flings it open.
Mother fucker. If he wasn’t on my team, I would punch him. I still might.
Garrett is standing there smiling expectantly, until he realizes it’s a stranger who opened the door and not me. Then he blinks in confusion and turns his gaze to me. “What’s up?”
“I was just leaving.”
Noah starts to storm out and now I really want to punch him. Why the hell does he get to drop a bomb like that on me and then just leave? What a selfish jackass. I start to follow him, but Garrett catches my arm. “Hey. Where they hell are you going? I haven’t seen you in months and you said you only had an hour. I drove all this way.”
“You live forty minutes from here,” I reply, unimpressed with his plea because my dick still wants to chase Noah down the hall.
But he’s gone. He got in the elevator without even looking back. Fucking hell. I step back into my room, and Garrett follows, closing the door behind him. I toss my phone on the bed and subtly readjust my rapidly shrinking cock. “So…”
