Page 22 of Overtime Goal (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #4)

riley

That evening, we wound our way down to Viale Pasitea, a narrow street twisting along the cliffside.

Cobblestones shifted under our feet, and centuries-old buildings leaned in from either side.

Every few steps, we passed a restaurant with a chalkboard menu in loopy Italian, or a boutique selling handmade sandals and overpriced linen.

Once, we stopped at a shop window packed with hand-painted ceramic lemons.

Most were normal enough, but a few had faces. One was winking and wearing a smirk.

“That one knows too much,” I said, pointing at the grinning lemon.

Logan snorted. “And he’s not telling a soul. Think he’s judging us?”

“You, maybe.”

He gave me a sidelong glance and a slight grin. “One of them definitely has your eyebrows.”

We laughed as we continued walking. The smells of garlic, wood smoke, tomato sauce, and seafood filled the air, and it wasn’t long before my stomach growled loudly enough to echo off the stones. Logan smiled but said nothing.

“You hungry?” I asked.

His mouth pulled into a crooked grin that made my brain short-circuit.

We’d spent the afternoon in and out of the pool, where I’d gotten hard from studying the curve of his shoulder and how water dripped down his chest. This wasn’t just messing with my head; it hit at a much deeper level.

I couldn’t remember a woman ever having this effect on me.

“Can we wait another hour?” he asked, then pointed at me and laughed. “You should see your face. I’m hungry, and the last place we passed smelled amazing. Let’s go there.”

We ordered pasta, wine, and the sea bass the server recommended.

While we ate, I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the warm air and gentle wash of the waves nearby.

Logan mentioned something one of his nephews had done at Christmas.

He’d told the story a few times before, but since he was crazy about his nephews, I let him talk.

I tried to listen, but my focus drifted and then landed elsewhere.

A few tables over, seated with two other people, was a woman so hot it was borderline rude.

Dark wavy hair cascaded down her back, her olive skin glowed, and her eyes were so sharp she should probably register them as weapons.

Her sundress barely covered her tits, and she was sitting sideways in her chair with her legs crossed.

Just then, she laughed. When I noticed the tilt of her head and the way her hair moved, I knew exactly how she’d look gasping underneath me.

She caught me watching and smiled. It wasn’t quite an invitation, but she sure as hell wasn’t telling me to fuck off, either.

My thoughts took off in ten directions, all of them tangled.

She was a stunner, and she’d given me an opening.

Would I fuck her? Yes. But did I want to?

Not really. I’d come to Positano with Logan, and I wanted to be with him.

What the fuck? I’m supposed to be Riley the Man-Slut, the guy who jumps at any female. Instead, I’m one giant contradiction.

Truthfully, I’d never been quite the womanizer everyone made me out to be, but I let them think I was.

Hell, I worked hard to maintain that image.

Ever since juniors, when I arrived in Oshawa and pulled on a Paladins jersey, I’d developed the persona of cocky, confident Riley, the guy women couldn’t get enough of.

I’d felt like it was the only part of my identity I could control.

I grew up in a chaotic version of hell where my folks treated me like I was nobody.

When I figured out girls liked me, it became something to hold on to.

So, big talk, wild stories, and locker room bravado became a way of life.

I talked about sex more than I had it, but most guys did.

They just didn’t make it their entire personality the way I had.

My teammates in Oshawa were great, but I never got too close to any of them.

As soon as I got to Buffalo, I’d been drawn to Logan, but it was an emotional attraction.

Sexually, I doubled down on the bachelor routine, the strip clubs, and the parade of women.

Holky and I turned it into a lifestyle, two dudes determined to fuck every female in Western New York.

We probably looked ridiculous to our teammates, but no one could ever say we weren’t straight.

It had floored all of us when Holky met Mad Dog and changed overnight.

One minute, Holky was my partner in crime, the king of straight-guy antics, and the next, he was looking at Dog like the sun rose out of his jockstrap.

It didn’t take long to realize they’d found the real thing.

Seeing it made me wonder if I’d ever find mine.

Since I became a Warrior, I’d been closer to Logan than to anyone else in my life. He kept me grounded, made me feel special, and called me on my shit without putting me on the defensive. He was my best friend. Since I was straight, it was nothing more than that.

So why the hell was I drawn to him like a moth to a fucking flame?

Before the team went to LA, I’d thought about him in ways I didn’t want to admit, wondering what it would feel like to touch him and have his big hands on me.

In the dark of night, I’d fantasize about all kinds of things and then do my best to forget them the next morning.

I was a fucking wreck by the time we’d made it to LA, stunned by how much I wanted Logan even though I was straight. The walk on the beach changed everything. We kissed, we had sex, and I panicked. But even when I flipped out, he didn’t walk away.

Now we were in Positano, and I was pretending everything was fine even though nothing felt fine.

Was I losing my mind? I glanced at Logan, mid-story about his nephews, and knew there was no one else like him.

Then I looked back at the woman. She caught my eye and gave me another maybe-yes, maybe-no smile.

She was gorgeous, but I wasn’t interested. My heart was wrapped up in Logan.

Holy fucking shit. What does that make me?

Logan cleared his throat, and the sharp sound cut through the noise in my mind. I snapped my head around to look at him.

“Want me to ask if she’d like to switch tables?” His mouth was set in a firm line, and he’d clenched his fingers around his wineglass. When our eyes met, he tilted his head.

“What?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow, but his expression was unreadable. “You’ve been looking at that woman since I started talking.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it and settled into a sheepish grin. “Um… she’s very symmetrical.”

He looked at his plate and stabbed a bite of pasta. “Right. Symmetry’s important.”

My chest tightened. “Don’t make that face. You know I’m an idiot sometimes.”

He didn’t look up. “Oh really?”

“I mean it,” I said. “You’re the one I want to be with.”

He raised his head, and his lips trembled before he spoke. “I know you like women. None of us can help who we’re attracted to. You’re young, and you don’t owe me anything, so if you want?—”

“I don’t.” I paused long enough for that to sink in. “There’s a big difference between looking and touching. I don’t want…” I shook my head. “I don’t care how symmetrical she is, I don’t want her. And you’re pretty damn symmetrical yourself, in case you haven’t noticed.”

His expression changed, still guarded but warmer. “You trying to say I’m pretty?”

I rolled my eyes. “If you call a stubbly cheek, hairy chest, and big dick pretty, then you’re way past that. Plus, you read poetry out loud without making it sound like a funeral.”

“Fuck you,” he said, snickering. He took a slow sip of wine, and when he looked at me again, his smile had disappeared. “I know you can’t control what you want, but I… I guess I was hoping you’d want me tonight.”

The guilt hit hard. All I’d done wrong was make him feel insecure, but I hated it. “I thought I said that a minute ago. I do want you, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t. Like I said, I’m an idiot sometimes.”

“Don’t, Riles. I’m the one who should apologize. When I said you don’t owe me anything, I meant it. Will you promise me something though?”

“What?”

“Be honest with me. If you have to be with someone else, say so. I’ll deal with it.”

What the fuck is going on in my head? And in his? I should want to be with a sexy woman, but I don’t. Why won’t he believe me?

I nodded. “I’ll be honest, but I promise I came here to be with you.”

“Thanks. I promise I’ll be honest too.”

My stomach clenched into a knot. What the fuck did that mean? Was it some kind of test? A warning? Was he saying he might want to hook up with someone else? Fuck. I thought he’d asked me along so he could be with me.

Jesus. Apparently, I really had gone nuts. If I was straight, why did the thought of Logan with another guy make me so upset? We both had needs. I’d felt drawn to the woman, so why wouldn’t he be attracted to other men? But being attracted didn’t mean you had to act on it.

Fuck me. I didn’t want Logan to be with anyone else, but I was the one who’d said I couldn’t make promises. If he wanted to sleep with another man, I’d have to suck it up and keep my mouth shut.

The walk back up the mountain was quiet. We’d eased back into friendly conversation at the restaurant, but the air between us had felt full. It still did, like there was too much to talk about.

Logan’s hand brushed mine now and then, and though I didn’t reach for it, I wanted to.

The street was lit by warm lamps and strings of twinkle lights.

Salt air and lemon blossoms scented the air, and somewhere in the distance, music was playing.

The occasional barking of a dog reminded me that this was a place where people lived.