Page 13 of Goalie interference

He shifted uncomfortably, taking a slow, controlled breath. “I meant to tell you, Jordy, and Tommy, when we first met, just to clear the air, but in the showers seemed wrong, and then I needed you to let me help you and not take it weird, but uhm.”

“I’m gay, Ash,” he finally got out, letting out a breath like it was a relief.

It may have been a relief to him, but I now had a very different perspective on his reaction to my reaction last week. He was so controlled and poised–like he was restraining himself–oh, god!

Was he like…into me?

No–that was insane.

He wasn’t into me, and he was just telling me this to be professional–he was right. I would have found out on my own eventually and would have had some feelings about him not telling me, especially if we were forming a trusting bond.

Just because he was gay didn’t mean he was into me–that was like thinking every straight man was into every woman they ever met.

“Okay?” I finally asked, covering my face again. “Can you tell me about this while you work? It really hurts.”

Chapter 6

Thayer

“Ash, this is important–”

“Are you into me?” he asked simply, half sitting up on his elbows in frustration.

“No!” I said firmly–too quickly–widening my eyes at him and his sudden outburst.

“Cool–problem solved,” he huffed, dropping back down flat on the ground. “Unless this is some roundabout way of telling me you were getting off from last week, then all that matters to me is if you can help with this. Gay, straight, furry–whatever–doesn’t matter to me.”

It couldn’t be that simple for him.

I was willing to accept that times had changed and tolerances had shifted in some ways, especially for college kids, but not this much.

This was a seemingly very straight man, acting far too cool about that information–he was just in pain.

He wanted the pain to stop.

I could make the pain stop–my value outweighed his discomfort.

Ash settled uncomfortably, wincing a little when my hands made tentative contact with his knee. I moved slowly, carefully, massaging the muscles along his thigh.

My thoughts needed to stay clinical and technical, focused on the way my hands moved and which muscles were being worked. I tuned out any noises he made, ignored the tension forming in his shorts, and just massaged away all the pain he was in.

“You said this will–mm–heal, right?” he panted out, his body flinching and arching slightly while I worked.

“Eventually,” I hummed, laser-focused on my own hands and not his sweaty skin or damn-near pornographic moans between words. “The problem is it gets overworked, even when you’re not playing–you’re walking on it, standing with it. It’s a hard one to heal. It’s storing up tension–this just forces it to release.”

“It’s good,” he breathed, head tilted back and eyes shut again.

I was done.

The massage was done–I could stop touching him now…

But I didn’t.

I was screaming at myself to stop and just take a step back from the kid, but my hands kept working–they started again. They went back down to his knee, making their way up again, and working more of those pretty sounds from him–nope.

My hands quickly released him, earning a soft whine from Ash in protest, but acceptance as he sat up, slowly. I sat back on my feet, hands on my legs again, breathing through whatever lack of control I was facing when it came to this kid.

Because that was what he was–a kid.