Page 18
Seventeen
Knox
I slip into the owner’s box following Harlowe and her brood of children, carrying her three-year-old, Hana. I almost canceled after the thing with Ryder in the kitchen, but Harlowe doesn’t take last-minute changes well, and I don't like letting people down.
“Axel, I swear to God, if you throw that cup over the railing, you will be in timeout the rest of the game,” Harlowe says, following her toddler son to the outer seating area and pulling a sippy cup from his hand before he can launch it into the crowd below. I set Hana down and she runs to play with her toys in a corner of the suite.
“Give me the baby. Your hands are full with the warmonger,” I say, holding my hands out for Everly, Harlowe’s youngest. She gratefully passes the one-year-old girl my way, and I prop the easiest baby in the world in my arms. “Hey, little love, I missed you,” I coo to her to get a smile. She giggles and tucks her head into my neck in the cutest way. Damn, I love babies so much. I’ve held Harlowe’s three youngest like this and it never gets old.
“The Hydras have won six of their ten games,” Hendricks tells me. “But don’t worry, they play eighty-two games, so they have a lot of time to make it up.” This kid is way too smart at seven, but he’s always been that way. At four, he was explaining math concepts to me.
“Good to know,” I say.
“You only play twenty games in football, if you include preseason,” he points out, looking at me like he’s disappointed. “Hockey players are tougher than football players.”
“That’s rough, little man. I thought we were friends,” I say, ruffling his hair and pushing him toward our seats. He blinks his serious gray eyes at me before laughing and running for his seat with Hana and Axel.
“Lolo, your kid is roasting me. I don’t want to play anymore,” I tell her with a laugh, checking out the plush seats on the balcony portion of the owner’s box overlooking Olympus Arena.
“What can I say? I trained him well,” she quips, bringing a tray of chicken tenders and fries out with her. In a quiet, conspiratorial voice she says to me, “I cook gourmet shit from scratch every day, and my kids go crazy for the damn concessions stand chicken strips and fries.”
“Ah, your life is so hard,” I tease, taking the tray and passing out the baskets to Hendricks and Hana before cautiously giving Axel a basket. I anticipate the hellion immediately throwing it, so I catch the basket and preserve his dinner before handing it back to him. “I know you want to eat these, you silly goose. Don’t throw food, please.” I pop a fry in his laughing mouth, and he munches happily, taking the basket from me and holding it this time.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to come with me tonight. Zander had to fly to New York at the last minute with the boys for work, and I told the nanny she could have the night off. I’d already committed to showing up, and I did not want to do all four kids on my own.” Harlowe looks meaningfully at Axel. She could easily handle Hendricks, Hana, and Everly, but Axel on his own is hard enough, let alone putting him with the others.
“Of course. I love your kids, even that one,” I say, meaning every word.
Harlowe is a fantastic mother who has raised incredible children that I adore. I love spending time with her whenever I can, with the kids or without.
We have an interesting history, Harlowe and I. We dated for a few months about three years ago when I wanted to play up the straight card for people around me. She was a single mom, had a huge social media following as an influencer and chef, and was so fun to hang out with, even if I didn’t want to be with her romantically. While it was good for my image to be seen with her, I enjoyed our time together because I liked her as a person more than anything. I’ve always had more female friends, given some of the shit I’ve been through, so it was natural to fall into that sort of thing with Harlowe. But I felt horrible for leading her on to hide my truth. I finally came clean and told her I was gay when Zander, her baby daddy, came back into the picture and was pushing for them to try something again. She has been incredibly supportive of me ever since and guards my secret with her life. And she gives me all the good book recommendations, knowing we both enjoy smutty romances. I told her no more hockey romance after that kitchen debacle, though.
“Oh, this is my favorite part,” Harlowe says, waving her soda cup toward the ice.
I look down where she’s indicating and see both teams on the ice warming up. Growing up with Ryder, I went to many hockey games with him, so this isn’t new. I spot the Hydras' big goalie easily. He’s at center ice in front of the home bench, wearing the special Pride Night jersey. It’s navy with a rainbow shield featuring a stylized neon green H with serpent heads at the tops and bottoms of the legs of the H. The big number one under Kingston on his back stands out and draws my eyes as he turns.
He pushes off one skate, gliding around in a circle and smoothly down onto his knees, stretching out one leg and leaning toward it before centering himself and moving to the other side. Is he in a full split? Holy shit, he is. He’s incredibly flexible. His feet windshield-wipers behind him before moving back up to his hands and knees, pressing his hips up and down on the ice to get a groin stretch. This isn’t good for my obscene imagination, picturing Ryder in that position, driving into someone, or in front of me as I drive into him.
Whoa. Uh, no, I can't even go there. He’s been making me crazy with his insistence on getting under my skin any way he can. It was nearly too much today. My football field of a line felt shorter than ever, that end zone rushing toward me faster than my restraint could keep up.
I almost snapped and turned to call his bluff. Instead, I barely held it together with the tiniest hope that maybe he was doing it because he wanted to. I let him touch me, grind on me, control me, and bite me hard enough to leave a mark I had to hide with a collared shirt. He knew exactly what to do to me to have my cock painfully hard in seconds. Wantonly, I'd pushed my ass back for his use because I liked how he handled me too damn much. I wanted to be used, and wasn’t surprised when he’d come against my ass. I was so close to believing he wanted me until he opened his stupid mouth and didn’t know what to say for himself. He fucking bro’d me.
I should have stopped him, but I liked how he touched me, that he wanted to, at least a little bit, even if his motivations were wrong. That didn’t keep me from jacking off violently in the bathroom immediately after, using my cum-soaked shorts wrapped around my cock, with the feel of him still thrusting against my ass to get off to. Am I proud of my actions? Fuck no. But it was better than turning around in the kitchen and mauling the confused man who got me so worked up I resorted to that depraved act in the first place.
I look up and catch Harlowe watching me. My cheeks heat, but not for the reason I’m sure she thinks when she waggles her eyebrows at me and laughs. “They don’t wear tight football pants, but I’m a big hockey fan now. Owning a boy aquarium is the best thing ever.”
I shake my head at her, stifling a chuckle at her silly phrase, and try not to watch Ryder too closely for the rest of warm-ups.
The game itself is great. It’s fast-paced, and Minnesota is playing clean. The arena is electric, energy pulsing through the building as the Hydras push to the final buzzer with a three-one lead in the final period. I love the camaraderie fans have. The chants are fun. The energy is electric. I like how the game is played. I like watching Ryder in the net, sprawling out and filling the crease to block shots.
I’d like to fill his crease . The unbidden thought sounds a hell of a lot like something Ryder himself would say and makes me chuckle at the inappropriateness of it before my eyes are once again drawn to the man himself. He’s always been magnetic, my eyes locked on his fluidity and grace on the ice despite the bulky pads and gear. He moves effortlessly, his eyes tracking the puck and blocking shots faster than I can see them taken. When the final horn sounds and the Hydras win, it feels like I have, too. That’s the kind of excitement that courses through the arena.
Everly and Axel have fallen asleep inside the suite, and Harlowe isn’t in a hurry to wake them up in order to leave. I relax in my seat, chatting with Hendricks as the stands clear long after the teams have left the ice.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a new text.
Lilah: Word is some guys from the team are going to a gay club to celebrate the Pride Night win. Ryder agreed to go. Wanna join me?
Knox: Ryder?! You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s the last person I’d expect to voluntarily go to a gay club.
Lilah: Pfft, right? Maybe PR said he has to? I don't know, but he was part of the post-game media and said he’s celebrating the win with Outlanta and they’re going to Luscious. He’s really leaned into this one.
Knox: I’m shocked. Send me the details. I’ll meet you there.
Lilah: Deal! Can’t wait to dance. It’s been too long.
I look up when Harlowe calls Hendricks. “Hey, kiddo, time for us to go home.”
“I’ll carry Axel and Everly for you,” I say, standing and holding my arms out for her.
“I love having your big, strong arms around,” Harlowe says, no shame in her game.
I scoop up Axel in one arm, resting his head against my shoulder, and she puts Everly on my other side. I have two of the most beautiful babies in the world resting comfortably in my arms, and it feels better than I could have imagined.
Growing up knowing I was gay, I knew I wouldn't get the traditional wife and kids, so I didn’t make any plans for myself. Hell, I’m in my thirties now and haven't even come out, so who knows if I’ll ever get the happily ever after I want so badly. But I have a big family, and among all my siblings, twelve nieces and nephews, so I have plenty of kids around to know I love them. Holding Harlowe’s babies like this now, though? It’s made me want something I never expected—a family of my own.
That desire springs up fiercely, like it’s been hiding in my soul, waiting to be acknowledged, and now that I have, it's all I can think about. My rational side is quick to contain the hope and longing without crushing my own spirit. The logistics are ridiculous.
There’s so much that needs to happen before I can even think about adding kids to my life. I carefully tuck the idea back in my heart, safeguarding it for when the time is right.
I feel a new glow, a sense of peace that warms me and gives me a vision for the future that I was lacking. It also gives me the courage to embrace what I want and accept myself so I can achieve that future. Now I have to start letting the world know who I am, one small step at a time, to get there.
When I arrive at Luscious, I find Lilah waiting for me.
“There you are! Took you long enough. Did you go home to change or something?” she says, looking me up and down.
I laugh. “I always look this good.” I run a hand down my fitted button-down shirt tucked into slacks. I dressed up for the game when I had to hide the mark on my neck. It’s a good thing, too, because I wouldn't have wanted to show up here looking casual. Not after I just decided I’m going to be more open about who I am, and that means living out loud a bit more.
“You really do,” she says appreciatively. “You dance, right?”
I rock my hips with one hand on my stomach and the other hand up, throwing my ass around in a bachata kind of move for her benefit. “Yes, girl, I dance.”
“Shake it, baby!” someone calls from the line along the side of the building.
“Save me a dance, sexy!” I hear from another high male voice. My face heats, but I grin, for once feeling like I’m getting the kind of attention I want.
“Looks like I’m going to have competition,” Lilah says, laughing. “Come on, Outlanta put us on a list, and we don’t have to wait in line.” She takes my hand, and we walk up to the door, giving our names to a man with a clipboard who lets us inside.
The club is loud, the pop music remixed and pulsing through the speakers by a live DJ with a dance floor full of people, well, men mostly, dancing with abandon. It’s a beautiful gay buffet of men in all states of dress—from twinks in colorful shorts and mesh shirts, to bears in tight pants with suspenders and no shirts, to himbo guys in tight shirts and jeans, to others who are dressed like me, and more who look like they stepped out of a neon rave all blending seamlessly on the dance floor.
But the one thing they have in common is their joy and freedom to be who they are right out in the open without judgment. It’s so beautiful my eyes prick with tears, and I have to blink rapidly to keep them back. I’ve never allowed myself to go to a club like this for fear of someone finding out my secret.
Lilah and I wander past the bar toward a roped-off VIP area where we’re allowed in by someone from Outlanta when we give our names again. It’s a bit quieter over here, around the corner from the main dance floor, with booths flanking the walls and low tables with buckets of iced-down bottles of champagne, liquors, and mixers. Several groups of large men stand around talking with glasses in their hands, and I imagine those must be the players who were brave enough to come out to a gay club. I look at Lilah, glad to have her with me in this awkward situation. I don't know anyone here, and these are a bunch of straight, mostly white, hockey players who wouldn't normally go to a gay club.
Suddenly, the crowd parts, and my eyes meet Ryder’s. I can’t look away. He’s staring so intently, and when he starts toward me, it’s like my legs lock up, too. I don't know what to say to him, or how to act after what happened this afternoon, and the way we left things. He kind of used me while trying to push my buttons and then felt weird about it. That doesn't feel good, and I’m tired of him making excuses for his bad behavior when he should know better. I finally blink and look away just as he stops in front of us.
“You came. Let me get you some drinks. What do you want?” he asks.
“Rum and Coke,” Lilah says quickly, easier in the interaction than I am.
“Same,” I say because I can barely think when he’s so close and smells so good, all freshly showered, his hair still damp, and his cologne fresh in his black game-day suit. He looks incredible in a burgundy shirt that sets off his tan skin and does unholy things to his hazel-green eyes, turning them into a shade that looks like the forest at golden hour, with sunlight slanting through the trees.
He nods and turns away to get our drinks. Lilah and I move to one of the booths and sit while we wait. I try to breathe past the knot in my chest. This all feels so foreign, being at a gay club, with Ryder present, no less.
“You’re wound so tightly. You okay?” Lilah asks.
“Yeah, just in my head,” I tell her.
“Sounds like you need to dance and let it all go,” she tells me, just as Ryder returns with our drinks and a few guys.
“Knox, Lilah, this is Westin, Rook, Campbell, and Nico. They play with me on the Hydras. Boys, this is my friend Knox, from the Atlanta Condors football team, and you know Lilah, from the Atlanta Free Press,” he says, introducing me to his teammates. He called me his friend . That’s something I haven't heard from him in a long time.
I say hey to the guys and take a sip of the drink Ryder brought me, hoping this won't be awkward.
“Man, you were amazing in the game last Sunday. That catch and run you made in the fourth quarter for a touchdown blew my mind. I didn't think you were going to hold on to the ball,” the guy with slick black hair and sparkling brown eyes says as he smiles. Nico, I think is his name.
“Thanks,” I say, amused. “You watch football?” I ask the group.
Two of them nod. “When I can,” Rook says. “I’m a Minnesota fan by birth, but I’m acclimating to Atlanta and starting to warm to the Condors. You’re not bad out there.”
“They may watch football, but I bet you don’t watch hockey,” Campbell challenges.
“Not true. I grew up on it. I’m a lifelong Detroit fan, but I’ve caught all the Hydras games this season, whether on TV or a recording, and I was at the game tonight,” I say with gusto to prove him wrong. It’s easy enough to talk about neutral subjects like our sports.
“You were at the game tonight?” Ryder asks, looking shocked, then pleased.
“Yeah, it was a great game,” I say, looking down so I don't have to think too hard about his smile and the way his shoulders drew back, making him look impossibly broader.
I get to know Ryder’s teammates for a while as we drink and chat until Lilah finally stands up from the booth with an exaggerated sigh. “Y’all can keep talking, but I came here to dance. Anyone joining one of the only single, straight women in the building?” She looks around the group, popping her hip out. Rook and Nico jostle each other as they stand, fighting to get out of the booth area first.
“I’m a Puerto Rican from South Florida, chica. I have better rhythm than all these white boys, so I’m your best bet,” Nico says, taking Lilah’s hand.
“But I have a twin brother and know how to share, so let me join you anyway,” Rook says, sliding in behind Lilah and taking her other hand as she follows Nico.
Standing, I know this is a chance to enjoy myself, too. I feel Ryder’s presence behind me as I make my way to the dance floor. Ignoring him, I focus on Lilah with the two big hockey players she’s captured for the evening. She throws her hands up and circles her hips to the song’s beat as Nico and Rook sandwich her in and dance with her. Knowing her stance on not dating within her city, she’s probably just having fun. I purposefully don't look for Ryder as I nod my head to the beat and get a feel for the rhythm, my body moving as I loosen up.
I drift through the crowd, away from Lilah and her guys. I want some anonymity to feel the press of bodies and know what it’s like to have a man’s hands on me for the first time in public. Dancing along with the music as Ariana Grande and Zedd’s “Break Free” plays, feeling myself and loving how everyone else is in the moment with me.
The men here are so free with their touches, hands move across my chest and squeeze my biceps as I pass. Smiles are sent my way like butterfly kisses as I glide across the floor. Hips bump mine as I find my groove in a group of sweaty men who make space for me to join them.
A stunning blond, built twink of a man in rainbow booty shorts and face glitter looks up and smiles. His pretty blue eyes sparkle in the colorful strobe lights winking over the dance floor. He spins into my arms and pulls me close as my hips grind against his incredible ass to the beat. I’ve never purposefully been this close and personal with a man who I can be reasonably sure finds me attractive before. It’s fucking incredible. He leans his head back against my chest, looking up at me with a beautiful smile. I cup his delicate face, running a thumb along the high cheekbone dotted with gemstones in wonder at how free he is with his self-expression. He’s ethereal and having the best time dancing, smiling, and singing along to the song with me .
“Knox, don’t dance with him,” a deep voice says in my ear as hands pull me back and away from the blond man in my arms.
Annoyance fills me. I turn my head and find Ryder standing stock still as men dance all around us. “You’re not even dancing,” I say, moving out of his grip. I don't want to put up with his button-pushing tonight. I just want to be free and have fun for once.
I hear a groan of frustration, but sure enough, a moment later, Ryder is at my back, his hips moving stiffly along with mine as his arm loops around my waist to hold me close. “Is this what you want, someone rubbing their cock against you? Because I already proved I have no problem doing that,” he bites out against my ear.
The blond in front of me looks at Ryder like this is the best thing he’s seen and pets the arm around my waist. “Hey, hockey hottie,” he yells, his voice high and pretty even over the music. Clearly, he recognizes Ryder, which I’m sure is going to go over so well for him.
I hear a growl. This fucker growled and probably bared his teeth at a poor twink in a gay club. The blond raises his hands, fingers splayed, and takes a step back. “Oh, yaasss queen, you got yourself a possessive man,” he says with a smile at me. “You can have this big beautiful man, hockey daddy. There’s plenty to go around tonight.” He blows a kiss at me and sashays away into the crowd in his sparkly rainbow shorts that look oh so tempting.
I step out of Ryder’s hold and turn around. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You cannot growl at people, you Neanderthal. What would Goldie think?” I shout over the music. Admittedly, it was pretty hot, but he doesn't need to know I liked it even a little bit.
Ryder doesn't look ashamed. “He was too close.”
“ We were dancing ,” I say in exasperation. “I’m allowed to be close to someone I'm dancing with.” I turn and move through the throng of bodies, hoping to be swallowed up again and lose myself in the music and freedom I’ve finally embraced.
A handsome as hell man with pretty brown eyes grabs my wrist and pulls me close. I follow willingly, dancing to a remix of “Love Myself” by Hailee Steinfeld. The man is built, his unbuttoned shirt showing off a broad, well-defined chest and abs I could do laundry on. I run my fingers up his abs to his chest just to try it out, and hell, does it feel good to touch someone because I want to. Mr. Muscles tips his head back and loops an arm around my waist as we move to the beat. I’m a good six inches taller than him, but that’s not unusual, so he’s looking up at me like I’m the prettiest thing he’s seen all night, and it sets me on fire to be the object of someone’s desire for once. He runs his fingers down my chest and over my abs, my muscles jumping under his touch. It has my breath coming in hot pants. I’m attention starved, and this night feels like a buffet after being on a diet for too long.
A big arm slides between me and Mr. Muscles, the giant hand pushing my dance partner away as Ryder steps between us. “He’s here with someone. Get your fucking hands off of him.”
“The fuck are you doing now?” I say, grabbing Ryder’s shoulder.
“It’s a club. We were dancing,” Mr. Muscles says, not put off by Ryder’s aggression. Actually, he seems to like it. “You want to join us? I wouldn’t mind being the meat in your big Manwich.”
“I don’t share,” Ryder and I say in unison before looking at each other. Well, that was fucking awkward.
“It’s not like you were dancing with him,” Mr. Muscles points out to Ryder.
I push Ryder away from Mr. Muscles before he can respond. “Why won't you let me have this, Ryder? You’re not even dancing with me the way I want to dance. Why can’t I dance with someone else? Is it because you want me?” I ask as a club remix of Rihanna’s “We Found Love” plays.
I’m done with his tantrums. Done with being pushed to my limit by this man-child who won’t admit what he wants. Done with being the bigger person and not rising to his bait. If he wants to push me, he can see what happens.
Turning, I pull Ryder into my body, scissoring our thighs together, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning back to roll my hips into his like I’m fucking him. I gyrate down and sway my way back up his thigh, holding a hand on my head, biting my lip and getting into it. I’m really giving him everything I have so he knows what it feels like to be pushed the way he’s been pushing me for months. When I’m chest-to-chest with him, I slip my arms around his waist and put my hands on his fucking amazing ass. Pulling him tight, I grind even harder, circling our hips sinfully, and put my face close to his. There’s no mistaking his hard cock when mine is smashed against his and I’m rocking our hips together. Goddamn it feels good even if I’m fucking with him, so I try to memorize every stolen second so I can recall it later when I’m alone. I drag my nose along his cheek until my lips are a breath away from his.
“What’re you going to do about it, Reckless?” I taunt as I lick my lips, letting my tongue brush over his.
Ryder’s hands come up lightning fast and latch around my throat and the back of my head, holding me in place as his lips crash into mine. He’s demanding and insistent, and I go pliant immediately, my mouth opening for him to plunder and take what he wants. I grip his shirt like a lifeline as the dangerous whitewater rapids of Ryder Kingston wash over me and pull me into his undertow. Even his still waters disguise deadly drop-offs and jagged rocks. I’m swept into the current of his rushing river eyes as his tongue tangles with mine, and I taste the astringent whiskey and sweet Coke he was drinking along with the incredible taste of him . Holy fuck, can this man kiss. He moans against me and my cock goes rigid at the needy sound, my tongue working furiously against his, wanting everything he’ll give me before he realizes his mistake. But it’s him who takes everything from me, stealing my breath and leaving me gasping as he finally slows the kiss and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.
He rests his forehead against mine, his hands gripping my shoulders tightly, like he doesn't want to let go. My heart jackhammers in my chest as my hips rub shamelessly against him in search of friction and relief for the ache he’s put in me. I’ve been so good, keeping to myself, not reacting to him when it would have been so easy, but now I can’t stop my body’s urge to touch and be touched. My eyes flutter open, the club lights strobing and flashing around us in pinks, greens, and blues, lighting up the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen as he stares in wide-eyed shock back at me. It breaks my damn heart to see that look on his face. That was the best fucking kiss of my life and it was with a guy who is so caught up in his identity he probably didn't even know what he was doing.