Page 15

“Does it matter?” He realized he’d confirmed half of her guess.

“It’s about their personality, right?” Rusty was plenty serious.

If anything, Cross wanted to lighten his load, make him smile more.

“It’s just hard sometimes, having all the money and the success and…

like a power imbalance, right? And then age?

Perhaps I should date someone who’s forty, to even that out. ”

“Perhaps you should date whoever appeals to you.” Marie spoke softly. “You’re a good guy. I can’t ever see you using your money against someone. Hell, I know you still send funds to Willow’s favorite charity even though you haven’t been together for three years.”

He frowned. “How’d you know that?” He’d felt guilty about the breakup even though it was Willow’s idea. His lack of passion and enthusiasm when they were in bed wasn’t her fault, and he clearly hadn’t hidden it well enough. Plus feeding kids overseas was a good cause.

“Our accountants do your taxes, little bro. You approved my oversight.”

“Oh. Sure.” He didn’t have anything to hide, really.

“Just, speaking as someone who’s been the older and richer person, make sure you don’t overwhelm her by accident.

Not even if you’re trying to smooth her way.

A woman might be less bothered about that than a man is, but I’ve had a couple of guys over the years get mad when I wanted to pay for something they couldn’t afford, like that was diminishing their masculinity.

So, especially if she’s young and not wealthy, be careful. ”

“I hear you.”

“Was that the movie-watching friend?”

“That was a hockey player,” he misdirected.

“Oh. Well, I hope you have luck with your date. By the way, I’ll be flying out to Portland in two weeks. I want to come to a game.”

“Absolutely. Tell me which one. I’ll reserve you a ticket.” These days, his family rarely came to watch him play, especially in the regular season. It would be great to see Marie. Although maybe he wouldn’t let her meet Rusty. Her intuition might give her the wrong idea. Or the right one.

“Pick a game you’re going to win. I want to cheer real loud.” She laughed.

“Any team can beat any other team on a given day,” he recited pompously, then thought about their next homestand.

“April sixth. Fargo.” The Fargo Wolverines had been dropping in the standings and while this would only be their third meeting of the season, they’d seriously outplayed Fargo the last two.

“I’ll put it in my calendar.” Marie paused, then added, “And don’t be a stranger. I worry about you and this summer didn’t help.”

“Sorry.” She and his parents had flown out to see him after the aborted kidnapping thing.

He’d had a terrible time persuading them he was safe staying on Scott’s ranch, and he didn’t need a bodyguard, and he wasn’t in personal danger, and he didn’t need a renowned therapist. They’d wanted to fly him back to Connecticut and lock him in the family mansion.

“I do feel better knowing Amy’s running your security personally.”

“Amy’s great,” he agreed.

“Well, it’s late out here. I should head to bed. Remember, you can call and text even when you’re not having a personal crisis.”

“This wasn’t a crisis. Just a question.”

“I hope I helped.”

He wasn’t sure he was any closer to figuring out where he stood with Rusty after talking to her, but it was good to be reminded she was on his side. “Yeah, you did.”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you on the sixth.”

“You, too.”

After putting his phone in his pocket, he hung out on the couch, letting the TV play some stupid reality show in the background.

Marie had dated a guy who was twenty-two.

That wasn’t much older than nineteen, and she was four years older than he was.

Although she hadn’t said how long ago the fuckathon guy was.

Still, she hadn’t laughed at the idea of him and an age gap, at least when she thought it was a woman.

Not that he wanted to date Rusty for real.

They couldn’t exactly go out places, at least not in Portland where Cross got recognized all the time.

Maybe down in Eugene, if they stayed away from where sports fans hung out.

Cross wasn’t ready to come out publicly.

Not yet, not without a partner at his side, someone to make it worth stepping into that spotlight.

One kiss didn’t mean Rusty fit that bill.

Cross realized he was rubbing his fingertips on his lips at the memory of that kiss.

Damn. Willow had been more sweet than sexy, even when she was trying hard, and their kisses had held more affection than heat.

The few guys he’d blown over the years rarely kissed.

And yet Cross wasn’t sorry Rusty had taken his shot tonight.

No more wondering whether he was imagining the attraction between them. No more doubting his own senses.

He hoped Rusty wasn’t regretting it. Had to be hard for a young guy to get up the nerve to kiss someone older and closeted. It was admirable that he tried.

Rusty would still be on the road home, but Cross didn’t want him to worry. He texted, ~I hope you got home safe and didn’t spend too much time parked on the 5.

That was friendly, right? He didn’t want to mention the kiss in texts, but maybe he should be a bit more specific, make sure Rusty knew he was okay with it. ~Was a good evening. Next time, bring your full gear and we’ll get in some body checking.

Of course, after he sent the words, he worried if Rusty would take them as euphemisms. Would he assume gear meant lube and condoms, and body checking meant naked in bed? Probably not, right?

~You drop your shoulder when you deke. We’ll work on that. There, that was clearly hockey-focused.

And he was obviously not thinking right tonight. He set his phone aside and tipped his head back on the cushions, his eyes half-closed, ignoring the TV in the background.

He was drifting, still lolled back on his couch an hour later— because he was so much fun in the evenings— when his phone chirped. He snatched it up, eager for Rusty’s response, and saw a thumbs up emoji. What did that even mean? The emoji was positive but minimal. Was Rusty tired of him?

He forced a laugh. You chump, he drove four freeway hours today, maybe five, on top of two practices. No doubt, Rusty was just beat and ready to hit the sack.

There was no good response to the emoji that wouldn’t make Cross seem weird, so he left it on read and headed to bed.

His shower was warm comfort, and he let his mind drift untethered.

He realized as he stood under the spray that his hand had drifted to his dick, rubbing softly.

He waited to see if anything would arise— hah — but he never got more than half-hard.

Deliberately, he didn’t let his thoughts drift to Rusty.

That would’ve felt a bit creepy, secretly jerking off to the guy.

And honestly, he was afraid nothing would come of it.

That hot kiss but soft dick, even with Rusty right there under his hands, had shown his demi side wasn’t ready yet. Better to wait.

In bed, he tossed and turned. He used to fall asleep the moment he hit the pillow, a talent some of his teammates had envied. Ever since the kidnapping, he’d had a hard time relaxing into sleep, even now that his nightmares had become less frequent.

He turned on his white-noise machine which helped a bit.

A little buzz of arousal still simmered under his skin from the shower.

Cross slid his hand into his sleep pants and fumbled down under his balls.

Pressing against his taint send a low throb through him, prostate stimulation echoing in his groin.

He rubbed again rhythmically, relaxing into the pulses of electric warmth that never quite got him hard.

Some time later, his hand still in his pants, he drifted off.