Page 15 of Puck the Coach's Son
He gets his mouth on my neck. I put my hand in his hair.
I see the back of Theo's head leaving the showers.
I am in a bathroom with a very good-looking man who wants me and who I have never had a problem with, and I am seeing the back of a twenty-year-old's wet hair.
Dominic notices the half-second I go still. He pulls back an inch and looks up at my face with a mild curiosity I do not deserve.
“You with me?”
“Yeah.”
He runs his thumb along my jaw, testing.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He waits. He does not kiss me. He is a man who has picked up a lot of signals over a lot of years and he has picked one up now.
He kisses me again anyway because I told him I was fine. I kiss him back. I put my hand on his belt. I stop.
I stop with my hand on his belt and I know, with a clarity I was not ready for at nine-forty on a Saturday night, that I am not going to do this.
“Fuck.”
“Creed.”
“I can't.”
He steps back. He looks at my face. Whatever he sees on it makes him not angry.
“Someone?”
I don't answer.
He tips his head a fraction. He is waiting for me to work it out.
“Creed. Someone?”
“I don't know what it is. I can't. I'm sorry. Not tonight.”
He buttons the one button he'd opened on his shirt. I have always liked the steadiness of his hands. They are steady now.
“Okay.”
I pull out my wallet before I know what I'm doing.
“I'll pay for the drinks.”
“I got the drinks.”
“I owe you drinks.”
He laughs, once, at my expense.
“You owe me an honest answer next time I ask you what's up.”
“Okay.”
