“Good,” she says. “It was supposed to hurt. Stop heckling the boys and let them have their rom-com moment.”
“That’s enough out of both of you.” Professor Frost—wait for it—claps his hands and refocuses his attention on Adam and me. “Nice work. You both made some—interesting choices.”
You could say that again.
A laugh bubbles up and out of me, and I catch Adam’s eye to see if he’s as amused by all this as I am. But it’s apprehension, not amusement, I see in those chocolate depths, and suddenly it hits me. I never answered his question. I totally left him hanging. My heart may be happy, but he’s sitting there, swimming in doubt, wondering if we’re okay or not.
It’s my turn to cradle his face in my hands, prefacing with actions what I’m about to say with words. “Don’t worry, Puck Boy. That was more than good enough.”
15
Adam
“You realize what you just did, right?” Kolby asks as we walk across the quad in the direction of the hockey house. “It’s probably all over campus by now that Adam Serrano kissed a dude.”
“And liked it.” I playfully bump his shoulder with my mine.
Class is over, and we’ve got a few hours before I have practice and Kolby has to be at V and V. Which, if I have anything to say about it, we’ll be spending between my sheets. Or on top of them. I’m not picky, as long as we’re both naked.
“What I’m trying to tell you is there’s no going back. Everyone is going to know you’re into guys. There’s no shoving that genie back in the bottle.”
“I’m all for shoving something somewhere.” I give him another shoulder bump. “But it’s not a genie into a bottle.”
He huffs a stray lock of rust-brown hair off his forehead. “Joke all you want, but I’m serious, Adam.”
I am too. If I had any idea how easy kissing him in front of all those people was going to be, I would have done it weeks ago. I thought outing myself would be more—I don’t know. Difficult, I guess. That I’d feel more conflicted. Instead, all I feel is joy and relief that I don’t have to hide who I am anymore.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not kidding myself. I know it won’t always be this way. That there will be people who judge me. Who view me as a symbol or a token, especially once I get to the NHL. Who expect me to answer all their questions about being bisexual, as if that means the same thing for every person who identifies as bi. But right now, in this moment, there’s only the sweet freedom of being me and being with Kolby in the middle of the Moo U campus, unashamed and unafraid.
We’re approaching one of the wrought iron benches scattered around the quad, and I make a snap decision, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward it. When we get there, I plop my butt on the bench, yanking him down with me, and drop my backpack on the ground between my legs.
“I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward. With you. That’s why I kissed you in front of a classroom full of witnesses. And why we’re going to the hockey house instead of hiding out in your dorm room.”
“Yeah, about that.” He sucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites down on it in a move that’s so unconsciously—or consciously—sexy that it has my dick twitching in my boxers. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to meet your teammates? Or that they’re ready to meet me?”
I frown at him. “You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
“No, but I meant what I said at the Biscuit. You have to decide when and how you come out, not me.”
“If it makes you feel better, I already told them.”
“You did?” His words are only a hair above a whisper.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
I reach out and ruffle his hair, which earns me some strange looks from a group of passing guys. I recognize a couple of them as members of the soccer team. I wait for the sharp pang of panic to hit me in the chest, but to my relief, it doesn’t come.
“I’m not surprised you told your teammates,” Kolby insists unconvincingly. “I mean, I am, but not for the reason you think.”
“Then why?”
He does that sexy lip biting thing again. I swear, much more of that and I’m going to drag him to my bedroom, lock the door, and fuck him until we’re both sweaty and exhausted.
“I don’t like the idea that I pushed you into this,” he says finally.
“You didn’t force me to do anything I wasn’t going to do on my own eventually,” I assure him. Since the hair ruffling thing didn’t faze him, I get a little bolder, putting a hand on his thigh, inches from his dick, and squeezing. “Maybe just moved the timeline up a little.”
He stares at my hand for a second, then covers it with his, twining our fingers together, his softer, smaller ones dwarfed by mine, rough and calloused from years of hockey. It’s a simple gesture. Nowhere near as intimate as the stuff we’ve done behind closed doors in his dorm room.
