Page 41 of Hard Check
“Hey.” Leo kept his hand on Dawson’s chest. Could feel his heart hammering under his palm. “We don’t have to rush this.”
Dawson blinked. He looked like a man who’d been ready to talk himself into something and had the rug pulled out before he could.
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting more than you’re ready to give,” Leo said. “I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret once you’re in your truck on the way home.”
Dawson stared at him. Something shifted behind his eyes, something Leo couldn’t name but could feel—a weight rearranging itself, settling into a different shape.
“Okay,” Dawson said. His voice was rough. “Thank you.”
They stood there a beat longer than they needed to. Then Dawson stepped back, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and sat on the edge of the couch to pull his boots on. Didn’t lace them. He paused at the door, his hand on the frame, and looked back at Leo in the kitchen light.
“Thanks for dinner,” Dawson said. He held Leo’s eyes for a second, then dropped his gaze to Leo’s mouth and back up. “Cook for me again when you’re back from Duluth?”
Leo leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Dawson nodded once. Then he turned and took the stairs, and Leo listened to his boots all the way down.
The apartment was quiet after the door closed. Leo locked it, turned off the kitchen light, and dropped onto the couch. He could still taste Dawson on his mouth.
He picked up the remote and scrolled through channels without seeing any of them. He landed on a rerun of something, let it play, didn’t watch it.
His phone buzzed.
Dawson
Thanks again for dinner.
Then, a minute later…
Go kick some ass in Duluth.
Leo stared at the screen. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had anyone other than his parents and a few buddies text him about his games. He might not know what he and Dawson were doing, but they sure as hell weren’t buddies.
Plan on it. Don’t miss me too much.
Pretty sure I should be the one saying that to you.
Perhaps, but I’m sure I will.
Should he have kept his cards closer to this chest? Perhaps. But he really didn’t care about maintaining his chill when it came to Dawson.
He set the phone on his chest and stared at the ceiling. The taste of Dawson’s mouth. The press of his hands against Leo’s hips, pulling in, then the effort of letting go.
Not yet. But not no.
As he stared blankly at the TV, he was already thinking about what he wanted to make for Dawson when he got back from his road trip.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawson checked his phone between jobs, standing behind a Tahoe where Ethan couldn’t see the screen. He’d gotten good at this. Angle the body, cup the phone low, read fast. Put it away before his nosy ass brothers asked who he was talking to.
The current thread had started last night, after the Stags’ game in Duluth, a four-to-two win that Dawson knew about because he’d been tracking the score at The Penalty Box, his book open on the bar untouched for two periods.
Leo
Pretty sure the heat’s not working in this room. If I freeze to death, it’s been nice knowing you.
You’re not going to freeze to death. I still don’t understand how a hockey player can be such a wimp about the cold.
