Page 23 of You, Again
In my mind, my hand was on his cock, not mine. I picked up the pace, biting his bottom lip and sucking it better while I rubbed him like a genie in a bottle. And when my orgasm tripped along my spine, it was his too. I painted my abs with jizz and grunted through an epic round of full-body shivers.
I wiped sweat from my brow with my free hand and stared up at the ceiling.
Holy fuck.This was some fucked-up kind of torture. Leave it to me to have a bisexuality awakening moment with my best friend’s brother…who at best, tolerated me.
Could I actually survive a summer of this?
* * *
My biggest fearabout retirement was having too much time on my hands, which was especially dangerous in a place like Elmwood. But I’d done a decent job of keeping busy so far. I wiled away hours chatting with locals at the diner, the bakery, the coffee shop, and of course, at the rink. I’d also met up with Ronnie and some old high school buddies for drinks and a game of pool at the Black Horse Inn. And it was…nice.
I’d stumbled through an awkward apology to Ronnie at the bar while our friends argued over stripes and solids, and it had gone pretty much as Nolan had predicted.
Ronnie had given me a confused look, then punched my shoulder and laughed. “Don’t do that, Vin. We’re good, man. And you’re here now. Cheers.”
That was it.
It should have felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest, but guilt was a stubborn bitch. It clung to me in ways it never had before. I didn’t get it. Ronnie didn’t like negativity of any kind, and he didn’t want to talk about regrets. Nolan had cleared every proverbial cobweb out of the closet the other day. He didn’t hate me for our teenage fumbling and once he’d blasted me for being a bad friend to his brother, he’d been sincere about moving on. The past was the past.
I could be here in this tiny town on the outskirts of nowhere and just…be.
Except I was having a hard time relaxing.
Sunshine drenched the swath of lawn leading to the pond behind my house, sparkling like diamonds strewn on a sheet of glass. It was so peaceful. No traffic, no airplane noise…only quacking ducks and twittering birds.
Like the sparrow that had landed on my deck railing, eyeing the crumbs of peanut butter toast on the plate balanced on the armrest of my Adirondack chair. I went as still as possible, fascinated by the bird’s daring. The little fucker wanted that bread badly.
I found myself watching for blue jays and cardinals and grinning like a fool when one perched on the branches of the beech tree beside the deck. The riot of colors enchanted me. Blue skies, majestic green trees, red wings. Things I noticed as a kid and hadn’t in a while. I cradled my coffee mug, soaking in the natural beauty and wondering if it would be weird to get my binoculars out. Thirty-six was too young to become a serious birdwatcher…wasn’t it?
Maybe not, but I couldn’t spend all day watching birds. I had to think about what came next for Vin Kiminski. This place had given me direction when I was a kid, and I kind of hoped it would inspire me now, ’cause I really had no idea. Those burger joints I’d opened in Seattle were an investment, but I had nothing to do with the actual running of Blue Line Burgers. The only thing required was my name and money. Which was pretty much the same story in Elmwood.
I was more than happy to cash in on my NHL fame, but none of those ventures required much of my time. So…what was I going to do with my life? What did I even like besides hockey? Dogs, fishing, food…
Stay tuned for more deep thoughts with the idiot holding his breath for a greedy bird, I mused, jumping when my cell buzzed on the end table next to me.
“McD, how’re they hangin’?” I answered, my gaze flittering to the now empty railing.
My agent chuckled in a low smarmy tone I’d always associated with a stereotypical car salesman. Gary McDermott always had a sweet deal in the works and like most pompous braggarts, he loved to toot his own horn, but he’d done well by me, so I usually let him go on and on about his new boat, new SUV, new watch, new shoes, a new luxe vacation spot no one else knew about. Trust me, it was always something.
I wasn’t in the mood today. I wanted to protect the quiet I’d found here, but morbid curiosity won. Sure, I had contracts for a couple of years of athletic endorsements, but we both knew I wasn’t his big hitter anymore.
“Hangin’ low, baby. How are you doing in the Vermont boondocks? Or are you packin’ your bags for a Caribbean getaway? If you are, let me hook you up. Jen and I stayed at this killer resort in Montserrat. You’d love it. Turquoise water, white sand, blue skies, and fucking amazing cocktails. Take Sienna and turn it off for a while. You won’t be sorry.”
“Hmm, sounds nice,” I agreed distractedly.
“Yeah, man. Relax and chill and then…think about maybe coming back.”
“Where?”
“To hockey, baby.”
I shook my head in amusement. “I’m retired, remember?”
“Un-retire,” he countered. “What are you doing that’s so interesting now? Golfing? Watching Netflix?”
“Actually, I’m bird-watching.”
“Bird-watch when you’re eighty. C’mon, Kimbo, your fans love you. You’re good for the sport, and everyone thinks you’ve got at least one more season in you. Maybe not in Seattle, but what if, say…the Ducks were interested?”