Did he ever.I swallowed, fighting to keep my face blank. “I’ll find something that appeals to both of us.”
“Sounds good. I’m gonna hit the shower.”
Time to do some research.
We spent the day doing laundry, cleaning our suite, getting some simple groceries, and making a study plan for the upcoming week. Bash needed more time for our assignments than I did, so we were learning to schedule accordingly.
Dinner was a simple affair with mushroom soup and a healthy serving from the salad bar in the dining hall. As we walked back to our dorm, the nerves, which had receded for a merciful break, came back in full force. I had to keep it cool, had to appear normal or Bash would pick up on something being off.
“You okay?” Bash asked, as if reading my mind.
“Yes, yes. Looking forward to our movie night.”
“You didn’t tell me which movie you picked.”
That was deliberate, because I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to look up what I had picked and suggest an alternative, but he didn’t need to know that. “I picked a TV show, actually. We won’t be able to finish it, but we may get two episodes in. It comes highly recommended. It’s about hockey.”
“Hockey?” Bash frowned as he shot me a sideways look. “That doesn’t sound like something you’d enjoy.”
“Oh, I think I’ll be fine.”
I’d found the absolute perfect show. Two male hockey players, an intense rivalry that becomes something more, and according to the reviews,scorching chemistry that will leave you breathless. If I was going to test the waters, I might as well do it properly.
But would he be fine too? What if he hated the series? What if he felt ambushed by how sexual it was? I’d seen some trailers and they were definitely rated R.
“But if you don’t like it, just say the word, and we’ll watch something else,” I added.
“Okay.”
We settled on the couch with mint tea for Eddie and a Coke for me, plus a bowl of pretzels—which I had become somewhat addicted to. I’d debated how close to sit—too far would defeat the purpose, too close would be obvious—and settled on a respectable distance that could be closed gradually as the evening progressed.
The opening credits ofHeated Rivalrybegan, and I tried to focus on the telly while being hyperaware of Bash beside me. The show started with the two young rivals meeting: Ilya, a Russian hockey talent, and Shane, his Canadian counterpart. The chemistry between them was immediate and obvious. Sharp dialogue, lingering looks, the kind of tension that crackled even through the screen.
“Oh,” Bash said, drawling the sound out like only he could. “I’ve heard about this show. It’s a romance between those two, right?”
“Yes. That okay?” I held my breath.
“Sure, let’s see where it goes.”
Where it went was hot and heavy… and fast. Within minutes, the two were hooking up, and the sounds of kissing filled the room, followed by Shane sinking to his knees and…
“Jesus,” Bash said, his voice rough and low. “They’re showing the sex too.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It’s rated R.”
“No shit.”
The two actors moved onto the bed and we were treated to a thorough shot of Shane’s ass, which was rather spectacular. Bash made a low sound that shot straight to my cock, and I was half-hard in seconds. Where normally, I would’ve fought to get it to settle down asap, I now let it happen, allowed myself to feel what I felt.
I inched closer to Bash as we kept watching, drawn by a combination of the show’s intensity and my own growing boldness. When our shoulders touched, he didn’t pull away. When I shifted again and our thighs pressed together, I felt him tense but still he didn’t move.
On screen, Shane and Ilya were hooking up, their kisses urgent and desperate. The camera lingered on Ilya holding Shane’s face, on Shane arching into Ilya’s touch, on their expressions of pure pleasure.
Bash’s breathing changed, and I could sense the tension radiating from him. When I glanced sideways, his eyes were fixed on the screen but his jaw was tight, his hands clenched in his lap.
That was when I knew.
Whatever was happening between us, it wasn’t one-sided. The way he was responding to the show, to my presence beside him, to the charged atmosphere we’d created was the same way I was responding. Floris had been right. The signals were there.
