Page 36 of Next Season

It wasn’t healthy to want someone this badly. It was the sort of deep craving that came with an inevitable crash. Yes, I’d happily go along for the ride, but this…this wouldn’t end well for me.

7

RILEY

Walking had become my main mode of transportation since my concussion, but Elmwood’s streets seemed longer than ever this afternoon. Far too long. I felt like a live wire tied by an invisible string to the bear of a man striding beside me.

I was ultrasensitive to every move he made—from the brush of his arm against mine to his taciturn expression as he shot daggers at the crosswalk signal at the corner of Main and Blossom.

“This is a silly place for a light,” Jean-Claude grumbled. “Why is there traffic? There’s never traffic in Elmwood. Why today?”

“You in a hurry?” I drawled.

“You could say that. My dick is very anxious, anyway. Yours?”

Damn, that sultry side-eye fucking melted me. I’d never wanted anyone like this. I was less freaked out about being sexually attracted to a man than anyone might have guessed. But I couldn’t help wondering: Why now? Why him? And why was this pull between us so strong?

Jean-Claude was rough around the edges with a sharp wit and a biting tongue. He could be generous and kind, and unexpectedly thoughtful, but he spoke his mind and made no apologies. He wasn’t traditionally handsome and while he was obviously athletic, he wasn’t exactly in shape. I liked him just the way he was.

He was so fucking…real.

So perfectly real.

He’d lived a full life—played hockey, partied and had fun, gotten engaged, come out, become a chef, moved to the States, and was thriving in this tiny town.

And me? All I knew was hockey. My focus was so singular, it was almost embarrassing. What did I have besides hockey? Not a lot. I didn’t have a hobby or any interests outside of my sport. My family lived thousands of miles away, my friends were all hockey players, and the one I was closest to had retired a couple of years ago. No wonder I was ready to get back on the ice. I had nothing else.

Except…now I had this cranky French-Canadian who’d taken a few hours on his day off to hang out with me at a skating rink to “help” me train or maybe just to be with me, and geez, that was really fucking nice. I was grateful for his company and this gratitude had morphed into affection that collided with desire, and it all made me feel—happy and…hopeful.

And horny.

Current situation: In spite of the autumnal chill in the air, I tied my sweatshirt around my waist and strategically positioned my workout bag in front of my crotch to hide my semi. It was safe to say my dick was anxious too.

“Same. We could always jog,” I suggested. Jean-Claude’s deadpan stare made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants. “Just kidding.”

He didn’t bother responding. He shot a quick glance at the diner when the light turned green, then tugged at my elbow and made a right on Maple. Two blocks in, I veered toward my street.

“No, no. This way. I’m closer.”

He led me along a path lined with low hedges to a two-story brick colonial with topiaries flanking either side of the wide black door. He fiddled with the lock as I gazed at the orange and yellow leaves falling from the majestic maple tree in his front yard, lost in tranquil thoughts in this idyllic corner of New England.

I’d been here for well over a month and I loved it. I loved the old lamplights throughout the neighborhood, the cracked sidewalks, the stately trees, and well-kept homes. I loved the smell of bonfires and wet leaves, and…I loved feeling like I belonged here. If only for a little while.

We tumbled into the foyer, dropping our bags as we slammed the door shut, and crashed into each other. He caged me between his arms and pushed his tongue into my mouth. I moaned, hooking my fingers under the elastic of his workout pants as I pulled him close.

I squeezed his ass, grinding my aching dick against his. Fuck, that was good. And it only got better.

Jean-Claude angled his hips and joined in until we were humping like animals, clutching and clawing at skin, rattling picture frames on the white walls.

We broke the greedy kiss with a gasp when one fell onto a bench and hit the hardwood floor.

“Oops.”

He bit my bottom lip and smacked my ass. “You’re breaking my house.”

“Sorry about that.” I snickered as I cupped his rigid cock through a couple of layers of cotton. “This is what I want.”

He dragged his mouth over mine and growled. “Upstairs.”