Page 30 of Shattered On Ice

Tabarnak.

My smile is brittle as I work to hold it in place while guilt flushes through my system. I’ve been seeing Knight whenever we have a spare moment, our hookups getting longer as we find it harder to leave. He’s gotten comfortable talking to me about his unnamed patients and how they’ve healed or come back from traumatic events. I think he’s doing it because he wants me to open up to him about my hesitancy to come out. He won't say that out loud, and he doesn't pry into my past, but I know what he’s hoping for anyway. I must have picked up the phrase from him without even realizing it.

My brain spins through plausible excuses, and I settle on one that’s more truth than lie. “I started following a sports psychologist on Instagram. She works with a bunch of professional hockey players and posts content that’s good for getting your head in the game and staying focused. I want to work on my mental edge for the season to better handle the pressure. I must have ingested more of her content than I thought if I’m using the same phrases now,” I say. I don't actually watch her content enough for that to happen, but it’s an easy enough answer to satisfy Rook.

“You follow Dr. Alicia Naser, too? She’s great, right?” he says with enthusiasm. “I stopped doing visualization exercises before games when she said that if you can visualize winning, you can also visualize losing, so she doesn't recommend it.”

Relief washes through me at his easy acceptance. “I saw that video,” I tell him. “It’s good stuff.”

“I’m proud of you for thinking about the mental side of the game instead of just focusing on the physical,” he tells me, holding his fist out for me to bump. I tap his knuckles, the guilt of my lies oozing through me before he continues. “Sometimes it feels like more of a mental battle to stay present and focused on gameplay, which affects how you’re actually playing. You’ll be better for it.” His smile is like that of a proud father watching his kid grow up, and I chuck a crumpled napkin at him. He laughs and bats it away.

A server stops by our table then with a necessary interruption. I order something fitting the summer season, unlike Rook. I don't know if I could stomach anything heavier, anyway. The guilt is building, stacking up one layer after another with every deception and lie I use to keep him from finding out about Knight and me. It sours my stomach and adds a sticky coating of shame to what I already carry.

“I leave for Italy tomorrow,” Rook says when the server departs. “I hate the long flight, but I can’t wait to be on the coast riding mopeds, enjoying the sunshine and local beauty.”

“Already?” I ask, cringing internally at my own surprise, like I haven't been counting down the days until I can get Knight to myself without a timer ticking down when he has to leave me. But I owe Rook my time, too. “It feels like you were just telling us about booking the trip. Where are you staying?”

I get Rook talking as the server brings me my summer ale, focusing on taking measured sips while he gives me the play-by-play of what he has planned. Every time I zone out thinking of Knight’s body, or his gorgeous smile plays in my mind, I have to shake myself mentally to stay present. This is my best friend, a guy I care about, and all I can think of is the next time I’ll see his brother. I’m a shitty friend and a terrible person.

I need to put some distance between Knight and me and stop relying on him as much as I have been. What happened to boxing up my feelings and keeping it casual the way he wanted? Maybe if I’d stuck to that in the first place, I wouldn't be feeling so conflicted now. I vow to stay away from Knight as long as I can, out of respect for my friendship. It’s not like I actually need him to function; I’m just into the sex.

Ten

Westin

Ibreak down and send Knight a text two days later.

Westin: Come over. I want to do bad things to you.

Five minutes of agonized waiting later, I finally get a reply.

Knight: Bad things? Naughty boy. I have a surprise for you. See you in thirty.

I pace my house until there’s a knock at the door, which sends me springing to answer it. Knight stands on my doorstep, looking beautiful as ever, but he’s wearing a cheeky grin and his face is flushed. I yank him inside, letting the door slam behind us as I press him into the wall.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” His voice is desperate, needy, not at all matching the words he’s speaking.

“You still showed up,” I point out with a smirk, tracing a finger along his neck. His clean, expensive cologne makes my mouth water with the tantalizing scent of bergamot and spices, eroding what’s left of my resolve. He moans when I nip at his ear.

He wants this as badly as I do. We’re supposed to be using each other for a physical release, but it’s gotten complicated as we find more in common, and it’s harder to leave when the hookup is over. We remember occasionally to go through this dance to feel like we’ve covered the bases and established that it’s casual, nothing more, because if we say it is, it has to be true.

He drops his lips against my neck and drags his tongue down to my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat and sending my blood rushing south. He’s just as excited as he is torn by his guilt. I hate that he feels guilt at all, that I feel guilty as fuck, but that’s what happens when you pick the last person on earth you should hook up with.

“I thought you had a surprise for me,” I whisper into his hair.

His hands slip eagerly under my T-shirt as mine work the ends of his button-down out of his pants before we’ve even made it out of the entryway. His skin is warm when my fingers make contact, dipping down into his perfectly pressed slacks to cup his ass. He gasps into my mouth, the sound carnal and jacking up my already astronomical need to bury myself in his willing body.

His nails score my skin as his hands race up my back, finding my shoulders and digging in while his tongue takes the kisses he said he didn't want. Fuck, he always feels so damn good against me, his body pliant and willing, exactly the right height to fit against me, my broader shoulders and height boxing him in against the wall as I pull our hips closer. The hardness of his cock pressing into mine drags a growl of longing from my throat.

What is it about the things you know you shouldn't want that become so much more desirable?

I shut down my racing mind that’s racked with guilt and focus on what’s in front of me, on him. I lift Knight easily, his legs wrapping tightly around my hips as he circles his arms around my neck. He runs his fingers up my back, curling into my hair as I hurry down the hallway. His touch sends goosebumps racing along my skin, matching my pace. Once into my bedroom, I spin us, setting him on his feet in front of the bed, and get to work removing his pants.

“Oh, God yes,” he groans as I sink to my knees in front of him, my hand already steadily pumping his pretty cock. He becomes unintelligible murmurs and curses—something he only does when he’s lost to the moment—when I suck his balls into my mouth. I slide my fingers back and touch the plug he’s so helpfully stuffed into his tight little hole and groan around my mouthful of him. I pull on the flared base while gripping his cock tighter, and he moans, fingers fisting in my hair as his legs shake.

I let his balls pop out of my mouth. “You’re such a beautiful liar, coming over here saying we shouldn't do this with a toy in your ass so I can fill you up faster.” I give the plug a quick slap, and his legs tremble, dick jerking in my hand.

“It’s your surprise. I thought you might like it,” he stutters. His breathing shallow and raspy as I continue my torture.