Page 31 of Next Season
Vinnie’s brows shot to his hairline. “He is?”
“Yeah, he played in the minors for Quebec for a few years.”
“What?” Vinnie gaped. “Are you serious? Why didn’t I know that?”
Why didn’tIknow that?
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago.” Nolan nodded a greeting to someone behind us. “The kids are trickling in. Let’s get ready, Coach. Good to see you, Trunk.”
“You too. And thanks for the ice time. I needed it.”
“Let’s do it again tomorrow, man.”
I bumped Vinnie’s fist and skated to the bench, my head buzzing in twenty directions at once and every thought was about Jean-Claude. Not the wonder of being on ice for the first time in a month or my religious moment, or my admiration of Vinnie and Nolan and the life they’d made here.
Nope.
My secret male lover was a former pro hockey player.What the actual fuck?
6
JEAN-CLAUDE
“It was a long time ago. Chop a little finer. Like this.”
Riley narrowed his eyes as he set his knife down. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to make zee soup. We’re almost finished. Just zee carrots to add and zee spices, and voilà.”Calisse.My zees were out of control. Any second now, I’d forget how to speak English, and that would be an awkward end to what had started out as a very nice evening.
I’d stopped by Riley’s house on my way home from the diner. I brought him the chicken cordon bleu I’d made for the party and ingredients to make a soup tomorrow, but we’d come together in our usual frenzy and the food had taken a back seat to immediate sexual gratification.
Greedy kisses had led to furtive grinding, and hurried unbuttoning and unzipping. The next thing I knew, his mouth was on my cock. And that was new. Riley had never given a blowjob in his life. Yet he’d dropped to his knees without hesitation. He’d breathed me in, stroking me experimentally with his lips hovering at the tip. Then, oh so very slowly, he’d licked a path along my shaft, opened wide, and swallowed as much as he could.
My eyeballs had rolled in my skull as he’d worked some kind of magic on me. He’d been tentative yet determined, as if he’d given this some thought and decided tonight was the night he’d burst his blowjob cherry. Who was I to argue?
I’d leaned against the counter with my trousers and briefs around my ankles, my fingers sliding through Riley’s hair as he’d pleasured me. He was good. So very good. His gaze had flitted to mine as though he’d needed my praise and that was enough to summon a powerful orgasm. I’d pulled away to finish myself off and ordered him to do the same. He’d obeyed, but his mouth was still too close. I couldn’t hold back, and he wouldn’t move, so…I’d painted his lips and his chin, shivering when he came a moment later.
He’d sat on his heels, chest heaving and a bewildered expression on his gorgeous face, and said something completely odd and adorable, like, “Why did I wait so long to do that? That was fucking amazing.”
Yes, it was. My knees still felt weak from that orgasm.
I’d had visions of sharing chicken cordon bleu with a glass of Pinot Blanc before making our way upstairs to shower, falling in bed naked, and doing a little BJ reciprocation…until he’d asked why I hadn’t told him that once upon a time I’d played hockey.
Now that was a tough one.
Suddenly, making soup had seemed like a good idea. I’d set him up with a knife and the vegetables I thought he’d do the least amount of damage to, and given a soliloquy on the perfect way to julienne basil. In other words, I’d ruined the evening.
I didn’t know how to fix it without tearing bandages off old wounds and showing scars I’d never wanted anyone to see. Especially not Riley.
“Can I ask what position you played?”
I gave a quick sideways glance. “Defense.”
“I thought so. You’re a big dude.”
“Yes.” I pointed at the neglected carrots on his cutting board. “Are you going to finish those?”
“Nope. My eyes are tired andI’mtired.” He slinked around me and stole my wine, taking a generous sip. “Also…it’s almost eleven o’clock, and I don’t want to make soup. I don’t think you do either.”