Page 12 of Edging Coach
I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. As I grabbed the towel, a memory of flicking one against a guy’s ass assailed me.
Carson?
Carl?
No…Cary. Some guy I’d hooked up with a couple of times. First names only. That first night I hadn’t brought any of my gear. My improvised dragon’s tongue had been the seam of the towel, whipped against the back of his upper thigh. Yeah, that’d made him yelp. And dance. Until I’d ordered him to stand still. Jesus, I could still remember the tears. How they streamed down his face. How they tasted when I kissed him. He’d wanted aftercare once I’d thoroughly undone him. Fine by me. He’d turned into a cuddly mass of goo as I’d stroked his hair and told him what agood boyhe’d been.
I towel-dried my hair and applied a bit of gel.
How would Jack react? If I tore him down to the studs?Complete demolition? Would he let me hold him? Let me take care of him? Let me build him back up?Hard to say. Something lay beneath his craving to be dominated. I hadn’t had many partners, but I could honestly say none came to submission as naturally as Jack did. Which left me with about a million questions.
Jesus. Enough already. You can’t have him. You shouldn’t obsess about him. You’re here for hockey.
I wasthisfucking close to being called up. Vancouver needed an offensive D-man with my skills. I could put them into Cup contention.
Okay, that’s a lot of ego for seven am.
Just keeping it real.
I dressed in jeans and a henley. I eyed the room-service menu.I don’t need any more time alone this morning. Holy fuck, did we really have to stroll down memory lane?
Well, run like hell into it.
Or away from it.
Most of the time, I tried to keep Mom out of my mind—but sometimes she crept in. All I ever wanted was to make her proud.
And until just a moment ago, I’d succeeded in keeping Coachoutof my mind.
Which was why, when I arrived at the hotel breakfast buffet at the exact same moment he did, I groaned.
Inwardly, at least. For him, I gave him a wary smile.
Don’t think about the fucking hot kiss last night. Don’t think about his mouth around your cock.Right, like I was ever going to get that image out of my mind. “Coach.”
“Jarvis. Nice shower?”
I met his intense brown eyes, noting his steel-gray hair was also damp. “I went for a run first. Needed to warm up.”
He glanced past me to the restaurantwindow where the wind lashed the rain against the pane. He pivoted his gaze back to me.
“I swear the wind wasn’t that bad when I was out running.” Or, hell, maybe it had been. I’d only encountered the one intrepid dog walker the entire length of my trip. “Well, I don’t remember it being that bad.”
“You were focused elsewhere?” He turned his attention back to the serving tray of scrambled eggs. He forked some onto his plate, then gestured to me—clearly asking if I was going to have some of it, or if he should put the lid back on it.
I took the spoon from him and heaped eggs onto the plate I’d grabbed. Then I followed him, adding sausages, bacon—nectar of the gods and everything a good Canadian loved—as well as some pancakes and toast with peanut butter. Not enough protein on my plate, but I’d have a shake before practice. Right now, comfort food felt like the way to go. We held each other’s gaze at the fruit platter.
He arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t like grapefruit.” Because, seriously, gross.
“Well, I don’t like red grapes.”
“My favorite.”
“So we can make a trade.”
I shrugged. “Sure. Here or…?”
