Page 27 of Forbidden Hockey

But right now doesn’t feel like any of those times. My heart pulses, veins sizzling as I follow behind him, all the woodsy scents of his apartment filling my lungs.

“Sit. Put your arm on the table,” he demands, setting the box on the counter. He’s all business now, enough that I’d be questioning what happened in the kitchen if I didn’t know Travso well. But I can’t anymore. We’re so fucking obvious. I should kick my own ass for being in denial.

“Dash said you’re into dudes,” I blurt out. He freezes, fingers clenched around the gauze he’s pulled out of the kit.

He grunts, which I think is supposed to mean yes, reanimating, unwrapping my totally fine arm. He inspects it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He’s gonna have to look hard to find something wrong with it. Using some antiseptic, he cleans it.

“You’re too young,” he murmurs.

I pull in a sharp inhale. “I can … get older.”

We laugh, and it dissolves some of the tension. Don’t know why that’s so fucking funny, but it is. It’s a fact, though. Maybe the answer is we wait it out—wait until I’m older, and it’s socially more acceptable, or wait until this feeling wears out. It’s gotta wear off at some point.

Eventually, the laughter disappears with the wind, leaving a hollow in my chest. Silence fills it in as he takes care of my arm like it fell off. It’s pretty clear by now that it didn’t need his attention; I just wanted his attention.

A lot of the things I don’t let myself think about swirl through my insides. I just feel made for Travis; I feel like someone made him for me.

But we’re too many years apart.

I wipe something warm and wet from my cheek—a hot tear. Trav sniffles, using the back of his arm to do the same on his own face.

“There,” he says, voice raspy. “All done.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna live?”

“Mhm.” He can’t tear his eyes from me, and this might be the first time, the first intimate moment where my dick isn’t hard, but I’d tear off my own skin to hear him call me his. “You, ah … you staying? I could use someone on the line.”

The same line he left without a second thought? He doesn’t need me on the line; he wants me to stay, but he can’t say that out loud.

“Yeah, but I don’t have my kitchen jacket.”

“Oh, uh, here.” He fumbles with the buttons, shedding the black cotton. He’s not wearing anything underneath other than his tattoos. Remember my dick? The one that wasn’t hard? Yeah, well, it’s about to be, blood filling it so fast I might pass out. He helps me into the jacket, all while being shirtless. He attempts the buttons. I bat his hands away, doing them up over the top of my t-shirt.

“You need to put a shirt on, Trav.”

“Fuck. I wasn’t thinking. Shit,” he mutters, heading for the bedroom.

Catching my breath isn’t easy. Why does being with him make me feel like I’m running sprints?

He’s dressed in red plaid with the sleeves rolled up when he saunters out of the bedroom several minutes later. It doesn’t take that long to put on a shirt. Sure as fuck, he was collecting himself.

It dawns on me that I just said I’d work on my day off. “How long do you need me for?”

Trav shrugs. “Don’t know yet.”

All day. The real answer was all day.

Dirk, Age 22

Every off-season, I pray to fucking Cupid to remove whatever arrow he struck me with. Or maybe it was a switch flipped courtesy of some bored prankster God. Whatever it was, it’s unrelenting. At least the hockey season is a short reprieve from the longing and the wanting, and then I’m back, hit with the full force of Trav like I’ve never left as soon as we’re in proximity.

It gets worse every year, not better.

Maybe I should be grateful for that much relief. I’d be a goddamn wreck without hockey to bury myself in.

There’s always a ton of new staff when I return from the season. I hate Sophia on sight. She’s a gorgeous redhead, and totally Trav’s type. She even wears leather, drives a motorcycle, and is covered in tattoos. She’s the one thing I can never be, close enough in age that Trav won’t feel like a monster. But I end up working with her a lot, and she’s kinda cool. Fuck, if she and Trav aren’t dating, maybe I should set them up—she’s awesome.

Oh, yeah, fuck no, but I have to admit I like her. She’s a struggling actress, trying to catch her big break, early thirties, and’s a single mom who lives with her sister, who helps her with childcare.