Page 141 of Offside Angle

This is fine. This is completely fine. You’re a grown man. You own this house. You’ve faced down 220-pound forwards without blinking. You can open a door for your boyfriend’s parents.

My brain immediately supplies the follow-up thought:

Your boyfriend’s parents who have known you since you were a sweaty little kid with a gap in his teeth. The same parents whose son has had you tied to a headboard and begging. Multiple times.

I almost trip over the edge of the rug.

By the time I reach the front door, my palms are damp and I’m pretty sure I look like I’m about to throw up. I can already hear muffled voices on the other side — Santi’s low murmur and a woman’s lighter tone that I instantly recognize as his mom’s.

I rest my hand on the handle and close my eyes for half a second.

Don’t be weird. Don’t be obvious. Don’t think about the fact that their son has seen you completely wrecked and crying from an orgasm.

I open the door.

Santi is standing there with his parents just behind him. He takes one look at my face and his mouth twitches with barely contained amusement.

“Hey,” he says, soft and far too entertained.

I somehow manage to step aside and gesture them in. “Hi. Come in. Welcome. To my house.”

I sound robotic. Painfully, embarrassingly robotic.

Santi’s mom pulls me into a warm hug before I can panic further, and all I can think is: She has no idea what her son did to me two nights ago.

Lucía Vega doesn’t even wait for a proper hello. The second she’s through the door, she reaches up, pats my cheek with warm, familiar hands, and winks at me. There’s far too much knowing amusement in that wink, enough to make me wonder exactly what Santi has told her and whether she can somehow see every filthy thought currently setting my brain on fire.

I nearly black out.

“Matteo,” she says. “Look at you. Still so handsome. And so tense.”

I make a strangled sound that might have been a greeting. Behind her, Alejandro gives me a quieter, warmer smile and a firm handshake, dry humor already flickering in his eyes as he graciously chooses not to comment on whatever disaster is currently happening on my face.

Santi is watching the entire thing with far too much amusement.

“You’re going to break him, Mamá,” he says lightly, stepping in close. Before I can react, he produces a small flower from somewhere — I have no idea where — and reaches up to tuck it behind my ear.

I stand frozen in my own entryway, staring at my reflection in the hallway mirror. There’s a flower behind my ear. A real one. Put there by Santiago Vega in front of both of our parents.

My brain has officially left the building.

Santi leans in just enough that only I can hear him. “Breathe, cariño. You’re turning the same color as the petals.”

I cannot breathe. I cannot move. I am a 6'1" NHL defenseman with a flower behind his ear and the overwhelming knowledge that the woman who just patted my cheek has no idea her son had his dick down my throat.

Or maybe she does.

Nope. That’s worse.

Santi’s hand settles at the small of my back. He gently steers me out of the entryway and into the living room while the others move ahead. “You’re doing fine,” he murmurs under his breath, clearly entertained. “Although the flower really completes the look. Very soft. Very approachable.”

“I will kill you,” I whisper back.

In the living room my dad is already talking to Alejandro and Lucía like they’ve been friends for years — which, to be fair, they kind of have. His voice is loud and warm as he launches into some story about the last time they all saw each other in Miami. I catch the words “barbecue” and “perfect timing” and realize with fresh horror that my father has, of course, made an entire BBQ dinner for this occasion.

Santi’s hand stays on my back as we stop near the edge of the room. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. It’s ridiculous. I’ve played in front of twenty thousand people without blinking, and right now I’m one polite question away from short-circuiting completely.

I lean closer to Santi. “Why did you let me agree to this?” I hiss.