“Who is this friend?” Harper asks curiously, bending around me to watch the stream of freshly showered hockey players leave the room.
“Liam Walsh.”
Harper’s eyes widen comically. “The one who’s on the cover of every sports magazine ever? The one who just married a guy?”
“Well, sure.” I shrug nonchalantly. “He’s just my friend Liam, though.”
“Absolutely bonkers,” Harper mutters, seemingly annoyed.
“Jackson!” My shouted name rents through the air, startling numerous people in the crowded hallway. Liam pushes through the scattered people and tugs me into his arms with a deep laugh. “It’s beenyears.”
“Sorry, dude, I’m kind of a busy guy.”
Liam pats my back hard, then pulls away with a wide grin. “I’d offer to hang out, but the team is on a flight in a few hours. We’ve got another game a few states away tomorrow. You look good!”
Liam has always been an overgrown puppy. His wide grin, disheveled dark hair, and one single dimple popping with his grin seemingly has Harper frozen beside me. All of this was worth it just for the starstruck look on Harper’s face. Actually, it’s less starstruck and more fanboy. I’m not sure how I feel about my future husband crushing on one of my college friends, who incidentally is one of the most famous queer hockey stars of all time.
I wrap my arm around Harper and tug him against my side. “This is my boyfriend, Harper.”
Liam grins again, holding out his hand to Harper. “Nice to meet you.”
Harper shakes his hand in a daze, mouth pinched in a straight line. I am going to give him shit about this forever.
“Walsh! Media time!” a coach shouts from down the hallway.
Liam impatiently looks over his shoulder, then aims a grimace towards us. “Sorry, man. Duty calls. But the next time you’re in Boston, let me know! The four of us can get dinner.”
Liam disappears in a blur down the hallway. Harper lets out a sound that’s a mix of a squawk and a whimper. He glances down at his hand; then his gaze pings back up to me.
“I think I’ll never wash my hand again,” Harper says reverently.
Liam Walsh is going to die by my hands. “Tonight, you’re definitely wearing one of my jerseys.”
Harper’s tinkling laugh follows us on our way out of the arena. The minute we get back to my house, I hustle a laughing Harper to the bedroom. Grabbing a jersey from my closet, I throw it at him, pointing at him in an order.
“Put that on while I take care of Honey.”
I disappear down the stairs before he can even attempt to argue. Honey, being the perfect girl she is, does her business in record time. After feeding her dinner and giving her a few hard pats on the side, I take the stairs two by two to my bedroom. The sight that greets me is worth all the hustle. Harper in my jersey is worth everything, all my gold, all the breath in my lungs, and years of my life.
The jersey is three times too big for him, landing to mid-thigh, and the arm holes gape to show off the perfect creaminess of his skin. His hair is up in a messy bun with just a few tendrils framing his face. He is every single one of my teenage fantasies come true. I fall to my knees in front of him, holding back a wince as my knee aches with the force of the fall.
“Harper,” I whisper in awe.
“It’s just a jersey,” Harper murmurs, obviously a little self-conscious.
I reverently glide my hands up the back of his knees, up his thighs, finally coming to rest them on the warm, bare globes of his ass. A smirk tilts the corner of one lip up as he stares down at me in the soft light of the bedroom. I want to worship him and show him exactly what he means to me. Everything. I want to tell him I love him, scream it from the fucking rooftops of every skyscraper on the planet.
“Can you do me a favor?” My voice is low and gravelly.
“Depends,” Harper hedges, eyeing me warily.
“Turn around.”
Harper waffles for just a second but decides to not argue, shrugging his shoulders and turning around to show me his back. My name across his shoulder blades lights me up inside. If I don’t have him right now, I’m going to die. But I also know that last night was a lot for him, so he’s probably still tender. The last thing I’ll ever do is cause him pain. So, I’ll have to settle for eating his ass. It’s my burden to bear.
“I want to eat you out until you cry,” I whisper against the small of his back.
“Fuck,” Harper whimpers and clumsily reaches back to heavily rest the palm of his hand atop my head. “I took a shower while you were with Honey. That’s why my hair is up.”
