His handsome profile nods thoughtfully. I wasn’t joking when I told him he was my type. I like ’em pretty and willing, and he’s the whole package. And that was before I watched him demolish the Plague. So sexy.
“So, you’re…bi?” he asks.
“Yup. Married too young. Water under the bridge, though. My wife and I are still friends.” Most of the time anyway.
“You are full of surprises.” He shoots me a smile, and, fuck, that dimple might be my undoing.
“Not lately,” I mumble. “Being responsible is really boring. But that’s where I’m at.”
Another thoughtful nod. “Well, let me tell you where I’m at—besides getting tailgated by this mofo on 25.” He lifts a finger to flip off another driver. “I’m a closeted gay athlete in a big slump, with like, zero friends and a roommate whose entire personality is just vaping and Fortnite.”
I bark out a laugh.
“So, I hear you about trust. Because I’m really bad at talking to people, so mostly I just don’t try. Then I found this bar called Sportsballs. I didn’t even know such a thing could exist—a queer sports bar. The first time I drove there I was too afraid to even get out of my car. I just sat there watching other guys go inside. Like it was so easy.”
Oh, kid. I swallow roughly, because so many of us have been there.
“A week later I tried again. My balls were sweating, because I’d cranked up the heat and I had on some tight jeans that make my ass look fantastic…”
“That’s all of your jeans,” I murmur. “But do go on.”
He shoots me a grateful look. “You know how this story ends, though. I opened the door, and I might actually have been shaking. I don’t know what I was so afraid of—a lightning strike, maybe. Or just someone looking at me too close.
“But I walked in anyway, and there you were behind the bar, looking like every fantasy I’d never let myself have. Big guy. Deep voice. Nice eyes. And you treated me like I belonged there. Just put the coaster down and said, ‘What can I pour you, kid?’”
Oh, Beck.
“And then you and Scully started talking smack about the playoffs. You said you didn’t think L.A.’s second line could mop up the floor together, let alone make any scoring opportunities. And I’d had that exact same thought the night before. Their coach should put down his clipboard and yeet himself directly into the sun.”
“He should,” I agree.
“Right. Of course. But here’s my walking wet dream giving great hockey commentary like it’s no big deal. Like you can sit at a gay bar and love all the same things I do. Like hockey and beer, but also cocks. I spent my whole life thinking I was some kind of frankendude who didn’t belong anywhere. But I’m not, because you exist.”
I swallow roughly. “Wow. Not sure what to say. I’m honored.”
“You should be. But I swear it’s not like I imprinted on you like a baby duck.” He shrugs. “After that, I spent months watching you make drinks and break up fights and take care of everyone in the bar. Sportsballs is my safe place because of you.”
Okay. Weird. My eyes are stinging all of a sudden.
“So, yeah, that’s why I trust you. You’re not a stranger to me. And I’m sorry some fuckface ruined hookups for you. I’d like to crosscheck his ass into next Tuesday. Because you should have all the fun, Seth Forrester. You deserve it.”
I take a slow breath in through my nose as the GPS tells Beck to exit the highway.
Beck focuses on the next few turns, while I try to regroup. I’ve heard Beck claim that he’s terrible with people, but it doesn’t seem to be true, because I’m over here in the passenger seat with my soul turned inside out.
You deserve it, he’d said. But I’ve been living like a hermit. I’ve been living scared. My sex drive has been zero.
Well, until right now. I’m all too aware of his lean body, and how close together we are, and of the way his long fingers wrap around the steering wheel.
I take a breath, and my body remembers, suddenly, what wanting feels like. There’s this hum low in my gut, like someone flipped a breaker I didn’t know was shut off. It’s like waking from a long winter. I feel alive in my own skin again.
Come on, Forrester, I coach myself. He’s the least creepy guy you’ve ever met. Maybe it’s time to get back on the horse. “Beck?”
“Hmm?” He’s focusing on the street numbers.
“It’s that one. With the ugly truck in the driveway.” He pulls up in front of my house, and I take a breath. “And I think maybe you should come inside.”
His hands grip the steering wheel. “Like…” He swallows. “Inside, inside? I’m not great with contextual cues.”
