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Chapter Thirty-Three

Jordan

Asking Alex to stay here was a mistake. He’s a fucking menace. He’s always around, and always in my space. I haven’t lived with someone since college, except for a short time after graduating when I had to live with my mother.

There’s a reason I don’t spend time with Maggie at my house. I don’t like people in my space.

Why the fuck did I think letting Alex into it would be okay?

He’s loud, annoying, and needs way too much attention.

Alex is like a fucking puppy, and there’s a reason I don’ t have a damn dog.

“So, how’s everything with Alex?” Maggie asks, grabbing a carrot from her plate, dragging it through the ranch, then taking a bite.

“Awful.”

“Jordan, seriously? It hasn’t even been two weeks.”

I shake my head, taking the last bite of my burger and washing it down with my Coke.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that he needs more support than he was getting. You were being a good person.” She offers me a soft smile. “You were being a good friend.”

Friend. The word feels strange. I’ve known Alex since I was a teenager, but friend doesn’t seem like the right word for us.

“You know you can stay with me,” she offers.

“Thanks, but I think the more I’m with him, the more I can help him, the sooner he can go.”

“Right,” she says. Her tone tells me she knows that isn’t the only reason I’m declining. Of course I don’t comment on it though, because it’s not something I want to talk about.

“I should get going.” I pull out my wallet and put cash on the table to pay for our meal.

When Maggie asked if I wanted to grab lunch, I’d never agreed so fast. I needed to get the fuck away from Alex.

I wish I could say it was only because he’s annoying me.

The problem is he’s starting to grow on me, and I wish I could say I hated it.

Not that I would admit liking his presence to anyone. I’ll take it to my fucking grave.

“Call me later?” Maggie says once we’re at her car.

“Of course.” I kiss her cheek, then walk to my truck.

Alex’s car looks so out of place in my dirt driveway. It’s shiny and expensive, while my house looks like it’s about to be condemned. It is solid though, and I have no worries about it falling down. It’s not weak, it’s just not really pretty.

I sit in my truck for a while, just breathing and talking myself up to going inside and seeing Alex.

He’s happy all the time, it’s fucking weird and exhausting.

The other day he was dancing around, singing some stupid song under his breath as he pulled back all the curtains to let the light in like some kind of Disney princess.

Had he opened the windows and birds flew in, I’d have had to kill him.

With a sigh, I shut my truck off and head inside. Can’t stay out here forever as much as I’d like to.

“Hey, roomie!” Alex calls out from the kitchen. “How was your date?”

“Fine,” I grunt, hanging my keys up on the hook.

When I step further into the house, something feels off.

I turn to face him, noting the way he’s leaning across my counter.

His shirt sleeves pull tight, making the muscles in his forearms stand out.

His green eyes are brighter with his wide grin.

He shouldn’t look this good in just a T-shirt with a grin.

It’s unsettling. I can’t deny the years have done him well, though.

All the ice time and hockey play has put him in better shape and I don’t think he’s ever looked hotter. It’s dangerous.

“See, and I thought it would take you longer to notice,” he says.

“What the fuck did you do now?” I ask, staring at my cabinets that are sanded down to the natural shade of wood.

“Preparing to paint,” he says.

I shake my head, then wave him off and walk to the couch to sit.

He’s been doing shit like this since he showed up here.

Changing all my lightbulbs to LED. Replacing the tile in my bathroom that I’d been meaning to do but hadn’t found the energy.

Now the cabinets? I don’t get it. My kitchen was fine how it was.

“I promise it’ll look amazing when it’s done!” he says excitedly. “And it will raise the value.”

“Don’t care,” I say, grabbing the remote. “Did you do the exercises?”

“Yep,” he says, plopping down beside me.

The couch cushions shift and his arm brushes mine. I get the heaviest whiff of oranges and cinnamon with a hint of bourbon. I try not to notice how good he smells. Everything about Alex is noticeable and impossible to ignore—which is the damn problem.

“Even recorded myself doing them so you could watch.”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” I gripe.

“So you know I did them, obviously.” He rolls his eyes.

“Alex, I don’t fucking care if you do them or not. It’s not for me; it’s for you.”

His smile falls and his gaze goes to his hands in his lap.

Puppy indeed.

Also confusing as hell. Sometimes he gets all giddy when I’m mean to him. Other times, his feelings get hurt. And when I’m nice, it’s like he’s bursting at the seams with excitement.

I have to say, though, he’s been well-behaved when it comes to the sexual stuff at least, and for that I am grateful. Because my dick has not been cooperating with me since he showed up, and I can’t be sure I’d turn him down if he came on to me, which is so fucking dangerous, it’s not even funny.

But that’s always been the problem with Alex. My body wants him in the worst way. He’s hot as hell, and knowing just how good his mouth feels or the sounds he makes for me, doesn’t help matters. The worst part is knowing he can get me off, something no one else can do …

And I know without a doubt, he wants me. He’s been more than upfront about that. I have wondered on a few occasions what he would do if I offered.

Would he be so willing? I’m sure he would. But also, could I use it to my benefit somehow?

Pretty sure I’m just trying to come up with excuses to make my dick happy, since nothing seems to do that but him.

Honestly, this whole thing with Alex is confusing. I have no idea why I care about his recovery so much. I am getting nothing out of this arrangement, other than annoyed.

He’s been doing shit around my house, he’s smiling all the time, he makes dinner, and he’s happy to see me when I get home.

It’s all fucking weird, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Some days I find myself wondering how long it’ll be until he’s gone.

Other days, I get a tight feeling in my chest when I think about him leaving.

But that’s the end goal, right? He’s not going to stay here forever.

He belongs in PA. He’s got a whole fucking life there.

“So, who are we rooting for tonight?” he asks, leaning back against the cushions, pulling me from my thoughts.

I raise a brow. “What?”

“The game. I know you’re going to put it on. Oh! I have an idea. Let’s make wings and nachos. Fuck yes. ”

He gets up before I can tell him the game doesn’t come on for another five hours and he should chill the fuck out. It’s not worth it, so I let him do his thing. Only I guess I underestimated him, because all he did was prepare everything, and said he’ll pop it in the oven before the game.

So, this is what we’re doing now, I guess.

For someone who plays hockey, he sure seems to hate anything to do with it outside of playing it.

“I’m going to shower,” I say, getting up from the couch.

“You want some help?” he calls after me. I hear the teasing in his voice. While he hasn’t outright made any advances, he still runs his mouth.

I give him the middle finger. “You wish.”

Honestly, I kind of do too.

As I’m in the shower, washing up, I think of calling him in here.

It would be a tight fit in my shower. I barely fit in here, and though Alex isn’t as big as me, he’s not small, either.

My mind wanders, imagining him in this space with water dripping down his face and those hard abs he’s always showing off because I swear the man’s allergic to clothes.

I groan, annoyed with myself, because this is not what I came in here for.

Being with Maggie is easy because it’s what people expect.

I know how to play the part. Holding her hand, throwing my arm around her, kissing her.

It’s what people are used to seeing. Thinking of being with Alex out in public, doing those same things, it makes me sick.

Not just because it’s different, but because he’s Alex Brewer, defensemen for the Reading Rioters.

My stomach twists and I run my hands through my hair, letting out a breath. People would stare, ask questions, point fingers… I can’t handle that. And maybe it makes me a shitty person, but oh well. I am not okay with people knowing that shit about me.

If I told him to come in here and get on his knees for me, he would, and he’d never say a word about it after.

But that’s fucked up on so many levels, and I know that .

Not only is it cheating, but it’s awful to treat Alex that way.

Only… something makes me think he’d be okay with it.

But how okay? Really okay? Or okay on the outside until he has another breakdown like the other night?

I glance down at my dick that’s hard as a rock, telling me he thinks it’s worth the risk.

Well, he can fuck right off.

I finish up in the shower and get dressed, then make my way back to the living room and sit on the couch beside Alex.

“Hypothetically,” I start, turning to face him. He raises a brow. “Had I wanted your help, would you have given it? ”

He stares at me, blinking, and I regret asking him immediately, but my dick is still hard and I’m not thinking clearly.

“Are you fucking joking?” he says.

“Hypothetically,” I repeat, this time really annunciating the word.

His eyes narrow, and he holds my gaze. “In what sense?”

“What would you be willing to give?” I ask, ignoring the way my dick aches.

I shouldn’t be asking him this stuff because it’s a dangerous game. Not just for Alex, but for me, too. I shouldn’t care what the answer is, but I’m curious, and it’s been a while since my dick has seen any action that it thoroughly enjoyed.

“Don’t ask me shit like that, Jordan,” he says, getting up from the couch and giving me his back. I grab his wrist and yank him toward me. He falls onto my lap, groaning—probably in pain because of his knee. Whoops.

“Why not?” I ask, my voice huskier than it was seconds ago.

Without thinking, my hand finds his knee, fingers sliding along his skin. I lightly rub, careful not to apply pressure. He’s so close I can smell his minty breath. His gaze flicks to my mouth.

“Because it’s not fair,” he whispers .

“Is it fair if I let you suck my dick?”

He whines as he turns away from me. “Stop.” The word is weak, and I know he doesn’t mean it. I am curious as to why he’s telling me no, though. That is not what I expected him to say.

“Okay,” I say, letting go of his hand and pushing him off me. “It was all hypothetical, anyway.”

I don’t miss the bulge in his pants as he adjusts himself before he walks away. And I know it won’t be much longer before things with Alex and I get out of control.

My life is already shit, so what’s the harm in fucking it up a little more? At least it’ll be good.

Once he’s recovered, he’s leaving. So maybe messing around with him a few times won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done…

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Out,” he says, slipping on his white Nikes. “I’ll be back before the game, don’t worry.” He gives me one of his trademark grins, like that little exchange between us didn’t happen, and then he walks out the door.