“God, the height you get on your jumps is acrobatic,” he said, grinning up at me.
“I guess I can join the circus if figure skating doesn’t work out.”
His split lip was fully healed and his bruising had faded but he’d kept the short dark beard. I’d spent weeks dreaming about this face—about touching it, pressing my mouth to every inch of it without a screen in the way. The beard made him look a little dangerous. A little less golden boy, a little moredaddy.
I cupped his cheeks in my hands and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. Just a brush of lips.
It took everything I had to keep it chaste. My whole body was screaming at me to climb him like a tree and never come down.
“I missed you,” I murmured against his mouth. “But I also made lunch so put me down.”
He made a disgruntled noise but lowered me to the floor, hands lingering on my hips. “We are definitely revisiting this position.”
“Okay, Mr. Caveman.” I rolled my eyes and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Food first. You need to keep your strength up.”
“For what?”
I just smiled lasciviously and handed him a plate.
We ate at the counter, knees bumping together, trading bites and catching up on the last two days. He told me about drinks with Sabrina and how she had warned him off. I had fallen asleep after an intense training session that day and they’d had a late game the next night, so I hadn’t gotten a chance to call him. I told him about the new spin sequence I was working on with Coach Miller and about how Aspen might have a new girlfriend—a golden retriever that lived three doors down.
It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of mundane intimacy I hadn’t known I was starving for until I had it.
Derek finished his last bite of salmon, set his fork down, and looked at me with an expression that made my stomach flip.
“That was delicious,” he said.
“Thank you. I’ve been practicing my—”
He picked up both our plates, dumped them in the sink with zero ceremony, and turned back to me with intent written all over his face.
“Derek, what are you—”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing—which, to be fair, to him I probably didn’t—and threw me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Derek!” I yelped, laughing despite myself. The blood rushed to my head as he started walking toward the bedroom. “Oh my God, you absolute Neanderthal, put me down, I have to clean up—”
“Nope.” He punctuated the word with a firm squeeze to my ass. “I’ve been thinking about this for fucking weeks. The dishes can wait.”
Aspen lifted his head as we passed, gave us a long suffering look, and dropped back down with a sigh.
When we reached his bedroom, Derek kicked the door shut behind us.
43. Derek
I tossed Théo onto the bed and watched him bounce once before I was on him, covering that slim body with mine. The weight of him beneath me—solid and warm and real—made something in my chest loosen. Some tension I hadn’t realized I had been holding until it was released.
It felt like forever since I’d touched him properly. First his mom’s visit. Then our road trip. Then the call about Nico, the flight to Toronto, the night he’d come to me broken and shaking and we’d just held each other until the sun came up. One night. That was all we’d had before I had to leave town again—one night of him crying in my arms, too raw for anything but comfort.
And then another road trip. Phone calls and video chats and jerking off in the shower like a teenager. Too many nights of lying awake in hotel rooms thinking about the curve of his spine, the sounds he made, the way he tasted.
Now he was here. Under me. Looking up at me with dark eyes and parted lips and I was done waiting.
“Hi,” Théo breathed.
“Hi.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. I dragged my nose along the column of his throat, inhaling deeply. It was clean and crisp and reminded me of a sunlit winter’s day when the air was cold but the sun was shining. “Fuck, I missed the way you smell.”
“Is that all you missed?”
