Adam is no Layton, though. Not even close. It may have taken him a little longer than me to get there, but he’s not afraid to be an openly queer man, in an openly same-sex relationship.
And even though he hasn’t said the words yet either, I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me as I do about him. He shows me every day in the little things he does for me, like remembering my new favorite order at the Green Bean—a soy mocha latte with extra foam—and bringing one to class for me. Or hanging out at V and V after practice waiting for my shift to end when he could be hanging out with the team or catching up on his sleep.
He shows me almost every night, too, in the way he takes care of me in bed. Adventurous but not demanding, focused on foreplay as much as penetration, and as enthusiastic about giving as he is about receiving.
Oh, and the guy’s a total cuddle monster. Even after the deed is done, he likes to stay connected, wrapping his big body around mine and burying his face in the back of my neck, holding me all night in his strong, warm embrace. If that’s not a sign he’s as deep in this relationship as I am, I don’t know what is.
Which is why tonight, after Moo U destroys Hartfield and we’ve celebrated at the Biscuit and Adam and I are finally alone, preferably in a naked, sweaty, post-sex haze, I’m going to do it. I’m going to say those three little words I’ve been terrified to say to anyone since all the stuff that went down with Layton and my parents and the church.
I. Love. You.
I know it’s fast. We just met at the start of the semester, and we’ve only officially been a couple for a few weeks. But I also know that it’s right, that I’ve found my person. Adam is mine, and I’m tired of letting my messed-up past dictate my future.
So I’m going to tell him. Tonight.
“Hey, guys.” Ian comes down the aisle toward us, a red-and-white bucket in each hand and his stupid foam finger tucked under one arm. “I got us some popcorn.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Thanks.” I stand and take one of the buckets, letting him go past me to his seat on the other side of my sister.
“Did I miss anything?” he asks, plunking himself down next to Hannah.
She grabs a handful of popcorn from his bucket and pops a piece in her mouth. “The game hasn’t started yet, but there are some pretty nice hockey butts out there. Check out number twenty-three.”
“Ours or theirs?” he asks.
“Ours, of course,” she huffs indignantly. “I’m not going to ogle the enemy.”
“That’s Lex,” I say. “He’s very straight. And very in love with his girlfriend, who also happens to be the team’s equipment manager.”
The first part is addressed to Ian, the second to my sister. I knew I never should have introduced them. It’s scary how quickly they’ve bonded, mostly over their mutual appreciation for the male form, especially the gluteus maximus. Something she could just as easily discuss with, say, her gay big brother. Not that I’m jealous. Much.
I suppose I’ll have to get used to it, seeing as she’s going to be in Burlington for the foreseeable future. Harrison and Finn were more than happy to have her at the farm. She’s been there for about a week, and it’s working out great so far, much to our parents’ dismay. She finally broke down and called them last night from my dorm room, so I could be with her for moral support. I didn’t speak with them, but I could hear their disappointment loud and clear through the phone.
“I can still look, can’t I?” Hannah asks, munching on another piece of popcorn. “There’s no law against that.”
“Here.” Ian pulls a pair of binoculars from his coat pocket and hands them to Hannah. “Try these. But I want them back when you’re done so I can ogle, too.”
“Of course.”
“Hey.” I give my sister’s arm a playful smack to get her attention. “What about me?”
She smacks me right back. “You already have a hockey butt to ogle.”
“Up close and personal, whenever you want,” Ian adds, shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth before sticking his buttery, salty hand into the foam finger.
Gross.
The announcer asks us to stand for the national anthem, which fortunately shuts the two of them up, and the teams line up for the face-off. I’ve been to a couple of games since that first one, and I’m always a nervous wreck. I swear, I hold my breath almost the entire time and cross my fingers that the Bulls win and my boyfriend ends the game in one piece.
But I’m even more on edge tonight because Moo U is playing Hartfield, our biggest rival. And Adam’s old team. One of those guys out there in the blue-and-gray jerseys is his ex, the fart nozzle who almost got him arrested.
It’s probably a good thing I don’t know which one he is, or I’d be tempted to track him down after the game and make my fist acquainted with his face. Although from the looks of the Hartfield team, he’s probably got a good thirty pounds on me, so the odds of that actually happening are slim to none. The most I’d be able to do is give him a good, stern talking to. Not nearly the same impact.
The puck drops, and I notice almost right from the start that something about this game is different. Hockey is always rough. It’s a physical sport with lots of contact. Players checking each other, slamming into the boards, falling onto the hard, unforgiving ice. But tonight, the opposing team seems to be targeting Adam. Every time his line takes the ice, he’s hit almost immediately by one of the Hartfield players.
Ian lets out a low whistle after one particularly brutal check that has Adam struggling to get to his feet and me struggling not to run down the stairs to the edge of the rink, vault over the boards, and rush to his side. “Damn. I knew this game was going to be savage, but they really have it in for him tonight.”
“You mean they don’t always go after Adam like that?” Hannah asks.
