Page 42 of One-Time Shot

“Hold up, Maloney. You’re using a lot of big words, and I’m not operating on all cylinders yet.” I stood slowly, mindful of my achy knee. “But I don’t see the problem. We’re consenting adults. We can do what we want.”

He stepped into his khakis, eyeing me warily over the rim of his glasses. “And you want to sneak around, having illicit relations with your hockey student?”

“Fuck yes, I do.”

Malcolm released a bubble of laughter. “I—really?”

“Really.” I skirted the bed we’d wrecked, tugging his wrist so we sat next to each other on the mattress. “I’m not officially out, and I have no plans to come out for a while. I’ve got one last shot at the pros, and I need to stay out of the spotlight. The only thing I want a prospective team talking about are my stats, not my sex life. If that’s an issue, I get it. I do. If it’s not, we can…study hockey.”

“Study hockey,” he repeated. “But I don’t need any more data.”

“So we’ll do it for fun.” I probably should have been insulted by his furrowed brow and dubious expression, but it made me chuckle. “Hey, it gives us an excuse to see each other. My friends know about you, my coach and my agent know about you…your roommate knows, too. We’ve been seen together at the Depot and around campus. We don’t have to hide. We can hang out whenever we want, and if we happen to end up naked in my bed…that’s our thing. Not theirs.”

Malcolm darted a cautious glance my way. “You make it sound simple.”

“It could be,” I insisted. “I like you, and I feel kind of fucking lucky I get to touch you, Malcolm. I don’t want to stop. Not now. But it’s your call.”

Say yes. Say yes.

He nodded. “You raise a few good points, and my moral compass has already been compromised.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Malcolm’s lips twitched. “You’re a terrible influence.”

I shrugged. “I resemble that remark.”

“Hmph. Well, okay…yes, but I think we can drop the hockey lessons in a true sense. I’ve learned all I need to know.”

“Oh, really?” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s a hat trick? How many players are on the ice per team during a game? How many minutes are in each period?”

Malcolm’s brow creased in concentration. “One player scoring three goals in a game, six players per team—one goalie, two defenders, three forwards, and each period lasts an eternity, especially if your team is losing.”

“Nice try, Maloney. How long is a period?”

“Um…thirty minutes?”

I set a hand on his knee and slid it toward his crotch. “Sounds like someone needs some tutoring.”

He lowered his face, but I spotted his sly grin. The little fucker was toying with me. Teasing me. This was geek-speak for “Hell, yes, let’s fuck our brains out. YOLO, baby.” He wanted this too. He wanted me.

“I don’t need tutoring,” he argued without heat.

“What do you need?” I rubbed my thumb along his fly, tilting my hips suggestively as I pecked his cheek. “A kiss?”

“Mmm.”

I slipped a hand between us and gripped his cock. “A hand job.”

“Ungh…”

“Do you want my dick? It’s right here.” I tapped my length against his. “All you have to do is ask.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened and his voice sounded like gravel and honey. “I want.”

“I’ll give it to you…any way you want it,” I rasped. “I’m hoping you let me fuck you too, ’cause I really want to be inside your tight hole.”

“I…”